#Choosing Best News Agency

[gbn24nes12]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Best News Agency in Jharkhand for Your Company

In today’s fast-paced business landscape, the role of news agencies in shaping company branding and visibility has become more crucial than ever. As businesses strive to reach their target audience effectively, selecting the right news agency in Jharkhand can make a significant impact on their success. This comprehensive guide will walk you through the essential factors to consider when choosing…

[nunyabznsbabes]

Katniss is like Lucy Gray this, Katniss is like Sejanus that, and yes fine that's all good and true and lovely but Katniss Everdeen is also a direct parallel to Coriolanus Snow and people NEED to start talking about this because it's driving me crazy.

Think about it: they both grew up poor and deeply vulnerable, losing parents at a very young age, with a matriarchal adult (Katniss' mother and Coriolanus' Grandma'am) who fails to provide for them emotionally and physically. They intimately understand the threat of starvation, even developing with stunted growth because of it, and their narrations in the books share a fixation on food. Throughout their childhoods, both experienced constant fear and suffered a fundamental lack of control over their circumstances. Because of this, they're inherently suspicious of the people around them. They resent feeling indebted to others, especially those who have saved their lives. They're motivated almost entirely by family and deeply connected to their communities. Both are used and manipulated by the Capitol, both are forced to perform to survive and despise every inch of it, both are thrown into the Arena and made to kill. Both have a self-sacrificial, genuinely sweet sister figure acting as their conscience. Peeta and Lucy Gray - performers and love interests with a fundamental kindness and sense of hope about them - fulfill markedly similar roles in their narrative. Both contribute to the development of the future Hunger Games, Snow throughout tbosas and Katniss towards the end of Mockingjay.

It's easy to ignore these similarities because, as mirrors of each other, they are exact opposites. Katniss is from District 12, viewed and treated as less than human; Snow is the cream of the Capitol crop, given the privilege of a name with social weight, an ancestral home, and the opportunity of the Academy despite having no more money than a miner from 12. Katniss has no agency over her life, and responds by being kind whenever she's able, while Snow justifies horrendous evils in order to continue his quest for complete control. Katniss does everything she can to protect her family; Snow does everything he can to protect his family's image as an extension of his own ego. Katniss loves her District and connects with its inhabitants on a meaningful level, but Snow is indifferent at best to his peers - the apparent "superior people" - and only engages with his community for personal gain. Katniss emerges from the Arena horrified at herself and the system, but Snow takes his trauma and turns it into an excuse to perpetuate the violence with himself at the top. Katniss cares for Prim until her death and then snaps at the loss of her little sister, while Snow survives on Tigris' blood, sweat, and tears and then torments and abandons her, presumably because she calls him out on his insanity. Snow actively adds to and popularizes the Hunger Games because of his vendetta against the Districts following his childhood wartime trauma - Katniss briefly agrees to a new Hunger Games in the pursuit of vengeance, but later stops them from happening by killing Coin and choosing a life of peace and privacy. Snow is obsessed with revenge, but Katniss empathizes with the Capitolites and does what she can to keep them from suffering. He exists in a cruel system and selfishly upholds it; she exists in a cruel system and works to dismantle it for the good of her family and community, at great personal cost. And Peeta and Lucy Gray are incredibly similar, but Katniss and Peeta forge a relationship of genuine love and understanding that shines in comparison to Coriolanus' obsessive projection onto Lucy Gray.

So, yeah, Katniss is Lucy Gray haunting Coriolanus. But I bet you anything that eighty-something year old President Snow looks at her, the girl on fire, bright and young and brilliant, emerging from a childhood of starvation with a relentless hunger for success, a talented and charming performer helping her win the Games, and he sees the ghost of his own past. And that's why he's so afraid of her! Because if he sees himself in her, then he's up against his own cunning, his own talent for manipulation, his own charisma, his own genius. He's up against the version of himself that he once wished to be, with the nightmare army of his childhood at her back and her star-crossed lover at her side, spewing Sejanus' truths in his own voice. This isn't to say that Katniss ever achieved the level of power and agency that Coriolanus did during her time with the rebellion, but it is to say that Snow was taken down by what truly terrified him - his own morality, come to finish the job.

[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Week - 29 April 2024

1. Net neutrality rules restored by US agency

The U.S. Federal Communications Commission voted 3-2 on Thursday to reinstate landmark net neutrality rules and reassume regulatory oversight of broadband internet rescinded under former President Donald Trump.

2. Airlines required to refund passengers for canceled, delayed flights

DOT will also require airlines to give cash refunds if your bags are lost and not delivered within 12 hours.

The refunds must be issued within seven days, according to the new DOT rules, and must be in cash unless the passenger chooses another form of compensation. Airlines can no longer issue refunds in forms of vouchers or credits when consumers are entitled to receive cash.

3. How new mosquito nets averted 13 million malaria cases

Compared to standard nets, the introduction of 56 million state-of-the-art mosquito nets in 17 countries across sub-Saharan Africa averted an estimated 13 million malaria cases and 24,600 deaths. The New Nets Project, an initiative funded by Unitaid and the Global Fund and led by the Innovative Vector Control Consortium (IVCC), piloted the use of dual-insecticide nets in malaria-endemic countries between 2019 and 2022 to address the growing threat of insecticide resistance.

4. Germany has installed over 400,000 ‘solar balconies’

This new wave of solar producers aren’t just getting cheap electricity, they’re also participating in the energy transition.

More than 400,000 plug-in solar systems have been installed in Germany, most of them taking up a seamless spot on people’s balconies.

5. Voyager-1 sends readable data again from deep space

The US space agency says its Voyager-1 probe is once again sending usable information back to Earth after months of spouting gibberish.

The 46-year-old Nasa spacecraft is humanity's most distant object.

6. Missing cat found after 5 years makes 2,000-km journey home

Five years after it ran out the door, a lost cat was returned to a couple in Nevada after it was found thousands of kilometres away. The couple are praising the cat’s microchip for helping reunite them.

7. Restoring sight is possible now with optogenetics

Max Hodak's startup, Science, is developing gene therapy solutions to restore vision for individuals with macular degeneration and similar conditions. The Science Eye utilizes optogenetics, injecting opsins into the eye to enhance light sensitivity in retinal cells.

Clinical trials and advancements in optogenetics are showing promising results, with the potential to significantly improve vision for those affected by retinal diseases.

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That's it for this week :)

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[umemiyan]

𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙈𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙀𝙈 / 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏𝙐𝙈. — 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖨𝖨

𝘗𝘙𝘌𝘝𝘐𝘖𝘜𝘚 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘛 𝘊𝘏𝘈𝘗𝘛𝘌𝘙 ･ 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ･ 𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ sfw, but minors dni (nsfw future chapters likely) / an interpretation of "came back wrong" gojo (he's not necessarily wrong, just different) / yandere!gojo vibes / disabled-coded gojo with reader acting as caretaker; it's essentially a learning curve for everybody involved / some dubcon physical affection moments, but nothing serious / 3.4k words

well... we have made it to a second chapter!! this overall idea just really resonated with me, and after learning how it affected others as well, i just knew i had to do my best to keep it going. this is the first ever "part 2" of anything i've ever written, so i beg for just a shred of mercy! i'm trying my best, and thank you to everyone who has said kind things about this story so far. i hope you enjoy <3

The winter air is brisk and a little volatile, but you feel blessed to have it whirl past your skin—even more blessed to watch Satoru’s flesh prickle at the sensation. Alive.

You had done your best to rummage through the expanse of his closet to find a suitable coat for him to wear—one that would cut the chill of an afternoon breeze when it inevitably brushed across his body. January could be unforgiving at times—the harshest of winter moths. You wondered how cold death must’ve felt.

“Satoru, where are your shoes?” You inquired, voice muffled in his closet as you sifted through garments, multitasking in an attempt to compose an outfit for him.

He sat at the edge of his bed, eyes fixed on your movements as they often were, mind turning at your question for a moment. He stood then, paced towards the shoe rack that stood outside the closet door, and reached gently for one of your busied hands. Satoru points your fingers towards the collection of shoes.

You paused your movements, eyes curious as they followed his guidance before landing upon their intended target. “Oh, that’s right,” you said with a small shake of your head, bearing a self-defeating smile and feeling rather silly for your oversight. 

It was a challenge to become acquainted with someone else’s home amidst everything else, responsibilities stacking upon responsibilities. However, Satoru continued to prove that he could recall more than you initially thought, that he could act as your guiding light when called upon. A little ironic, you think. A little pathetic, too? No, you are human, after all. Just as he is.

He smiled in return. You swore there was even a hint of a familiar light-hearted, teasing glimmer in his eye, unless you were seeing things.

(You weren’t.)

For once, you are grateful for the rather serene nature of the school’s grounds as you stroll across them side-by-side with him, much like in days from a not-so-distant past. The remaining fallen leaves from the trees dressing the mountains rustle with the wind, colored by the touch of death but still beautiful all the same, just like something else you know.

“We can always go back if it gets too cold,” you say as a reminder to Satoru of his agency, his home on campus easy to circle back to should you take the notion. You fear he might choose to freeze himself into another early grave if that’s what you wished, and you can’t fathom the idea of making him suffer simply because he thinks it pleases you to do so. Your happiness is somehow his, and although this is a new quality you have yet to decipher, there’s still something about it that strikes you as indulgent and rather characteristic of a gluttonous Satoru Gojo.

He doesn’t respond, gaze flitting across his surroundings as he walks, nerve endings and six eyes absorbing a litany of information. A silent Satoru used to be a rare occurrence but is now the default, the air somehow punctured by the lack of his voice riding along it. However, his presence is still stark, his being brimming with energy as if to make up for the words he can no longer speak. 

Unbeknownst to you, he communicates with you not only with his physical body, but with his feelings, too—waves of energy that he projects outward on instinct, hoping you’ll have the means to grasp what he is trying to say even if he isn’t always sure what it is. It has been rather unsynchronized and sloppy thus far, but with each day that passes, your ability to hear him grows.

You can hear him now even with the only sounds being the breeze rushing in your ears and leaves crunching beneath the soles of shoes. There is something somber about him, more than usual, mixed with that same sense of being lost in a world that feels brand new. 

All of it is familiar to Satoru on a physical level—the paths, the buildings, the foliage—but what prickles his mind is attempting to piece together the myriad of strange feelings that arise as he is faced with more and more reminders of a past that he can’t fully recall. 

It’s as though the memories are trying to surface but can’t quite fuse into something tangible, something concrete, like when you feel a word forming just at the tip of your tongue but it never arrives. He can sense them deeply in his body, almost experience a brief image flashing like lightning through his mind before it disappears. Satoru’s frustration is palpable, and he reaches for your hand.

Icy-cold fingers nipped by winter intertwine with yours, tethering him in place as his fractured mind aches with the burden of obscurity. His physical affection is new to you, but you allow it—welcome it, even. As much as the earnest displays contrast with his previous tiptoeing around connection, it is yet another thing you can’t bear to turn down, not after everything that’s happened. 

You hope it isn’t simply guilt of all things compelling you to accommodate him, but wouldn’t it be equally bad to do it for selfish reasons? Could one misconstrue it as taking advantage, of feeding off his need to satisfy some part of you that had always wanted him?

The various implications make your head swim with conflict, so you force yourself to shut them down for the time being. Satoru is only holding your hand, nothing more, at least for the moment. There had of course been instances of his lips pecking against your own, wandering down to your neck, his hand settling on your waist as if to draw you closer… but you’d always managed to divert his attention in one way or another, severing the connection before either of you could become too engrossed in it. He never seemed overly perturbed to shift direction, but you couldn’t help but wonder just how long his patience might last, and if you’d be able to figure out what you even were to him before then.

Needless to say, nothing could have ever prepared you for something like this. What drives you forward more than anything is your contentment with the fact that he’s here walking the earth with you, as whole as he can be after having been stolen from the arms of death. And despite the abundance of challenges, part of you can’t help but feel special for being chosen to face them.

When your feet bring you near the school’s entrance, gates opening way for a path down the mountain, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, alert like an animal that’s suddenly caught a scent. His grip on your hand tightens, heart plummeting into his stomach as something takes hold of him, something he likely couldn’t put into words even if he had the ability to speak.

You turn to check over him with your gaze, concern etched upon your features at the immediate change of pace. “Satoru…?” you call softly, yearning for a chance to be able to peek into his mind. All you can do is feel the chill of his demeanor.

His name drifting upon your voice earns a split second of his attention, but he is, for once, captivated by something else.

Pierced gut. Blocked throat. Summer sun and the sounds of buzzing.

It’s a memory that lives in his body but not his conscious mind, an instinct telling him to heed the surroundings for a threat that once was. He relives it with a rapid heartbeat, knows it bears importance, but he can only recall shreds of information that don’t merge together to form a full picture. He simmers in mounting frustration.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Boiling blood—the brink of death.

Satoru turns on a dime and faces a figure in the distance, on guard and brimming with a sort of defensiveness you’d never quite seen before, at least not coming from him. Muscles rigid, he squeezes your upper arm as if to warn you, to keep you close, his extraordinary senses absorbing information quicker than you can even pivot to see what it is he’s looking at.

From around the corner of a building emerges Megumi, clad in warm clothes and a mellow disposition. His distinctly unruly hair makes it easy to identify him even from where he appears down the path, hands in his pockets as he strolls towards you upon recognition. 

Satoru’s mind runs through calculations as the young student approaches, attempting to distinguish and fill gaps and create something he can take hold of as a semblance of fact.

Black hair. Sharp eyes. Something… different? 

Megumi’s cursed energy burns in a recognizable way, striking Satoru as peculiar as he instinctively studies it with the six eyes. But it makes sense to him—it’s familiar, even if he struggles to trust it in full. This is someone he hasn’t met since his awakening, but someone his eyes have certainly seen before.

You can sense the fear radiating off Satoru’s being and into yours, the presence of someone other than you agitating his already troubled state. You must act.

“Look, it’s Megumi,” you say softly with an encouraging smile, encasing his hand with your palm and hoping that your pleasant reaction takes the edge off. Satoru is reluctant to avert his gaze, but does so anyway, blue darting in your direction to witness the happiness written in your features. You appear to trust this person, and he trusts you, so despite the pounding in his chest, the sorcerer relaxes his grip.

You guide Satoru to take a few steps forward with you to meet Megumi as he draws nearer, a tired but welcoming smile turning your lips upward to greet him. It’s nice to see the boy alive and well in the aftermath of his own debacle—or at least as well as someone could possibly be. You wish there had been something more you could’ve done to help him recover, but it was known to many that you happened to have your hands full at the moment. Hopefully he will understand.

“Hey,” Megumi utters quietly, eyes scanning over your face and then his teacher’s, trying to briefly assess your individual states.

“Hi, Megumi,” you respond, appraising him yourself. He seems to be all in one piece, which you had been informed of, but had yet to see yourself. It’s nice to have visual confirmation. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he replies quickly, flatly, minimizing himself as usual. His voice is more sincere when inquiring about your wellbeing. “And you?”

You grin, finding a way to sum up your experience without overwhelming him. “Hanging in there,” you muse with a breathy chuckle. There’s no use in worrying him with all the details of Gojo’s current condition and how it has subsequently flipped your world upside down, but Megumi is shrewd, and you’re sure he can come to some sort of conclusion, especially when briefed by the others who have eyes on the situation.

Megumi awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, skirting around vulnerability and concern as his next question arises. “Gojo-sensei… how are you doing?”

Satoru has been silent all the while, of course, but sorting through every detail while you and his former student exchange pleasantries. Neurons fire, rewiring frazzled connections, giving him a glimpse at how this boy is not the same as the one he bears a resemblance to.

Megumi isn’t sure what sort of response to expect; in fact, he feels silly for expecting one at all, posing a question that he’s fairly certain can’t be answered directly. But how else was he meant to conduct himself in such an interaction, to show that he cares? To speak as if Gojo weren’t even there would feel like even more of an insult.

You’re caught in the middle, watching Satoru’s face and seeing the gears turning in his head. “I think we’re all just… learning how to adjust to things, y’know?” you reply with a rather vacant smile, turning back to Megumi who understands your subtext with ease. Rather than speak for Satoru, you’ve made a blanket statement to provide just the slightest bit of feedback, and Megumi is well aware.

The student nods his head with a short hum of acknowledgment, doing his best to see his mentor in this new light—one he never thought would be possible, not when it came to someone who had always claimed to be so strong. But at least there is a light at all.

The wind tosses leaves around between the three of you, filling the silence with its quiet whispers. You wish there was more to be said. You wish you had a solid grasp of how well Satoru really was doing.

“I think Ieiri said she wanted to see you soon,” Megumi states, acting as a courier, trying to fill the space with words.

You nod. “Yeah, we’ve been in touch. We’re actually meant to meet up with her tomorrow.” 

Shoko, while expectedly rather removed, had been one of your primary contacts and supports thus far, apart from Ijichi who shouldered the burden of several essential tasks you hadn’t been able to complete on your own. You felt guilty for sending him out for groceries and back to your apartment for extra sets of clothes, but how else would you manage to make it by? Leaving Satoru alone or in the care of someone else wasn’t currently an option, and taking him outside the school grounds didn’t sound like an optimal idea either at the present moment. So you had to make do in the meantime, and you were truly grateful for the help, but you couldn’t help but hope that things would eventually fall into place. Maybe Shoko would have answers.

“That’s good,” Megumi replies with a sparkle of hope in his tone, then reluctantly adds, “and, uh… just let me know if I can do anything to help, okay?”

You respond to his gesture with a warm smile. “Thank you, Megumi. That’s very kind.” You don’t have immediate plans for taking the young man up on his offer, but you appreciate the sentiment regardless. He deserves to rest and seek peace, not fight any more battles for the sake of others.

A twinge of pink colors the apples of Megumi’s cheeks, and he recedes into the scarf wrapped around his neck, unused to accepting grace from others without feeling inclined to quarrel about it. He is at a loss for words, somewhat eager to make his escape before the vulnerability has the chance to further consume his dignity. You take that as something of a cue.

“Well, we—” you start, preparing to make a closing statement and depart, before being interrupted by a sudden movement to your left—Satoru, breaking free from his fixed state to perform a familiar gesture.

As if finally making a connection, he grins and mimics the Ten Shadows hand configuration for summoning the Divine Dogs, clapping his palms together and examining Megumi’s reaction with ardor. The student is startled out of his mild embarrassment, somewhat baffled by the sudden communication attempt and the implication that his mentor perhaps actually remembers who he is. It’s a pleasant surprise to you both, and a moment or two is required for it to sink in.

Your face lights up with glee, heart warmed by the simple action in a way that’s difficult to express. Megumi appears to be in a similar boat—taken aback, but ultimately stricken with joy.

A modest smile creeps upon Megumi’s lips as he softly mirrors the motion with his own hands, acknowledging Gojo’s revelation. “Yeah…” he says, voice faint but pleased. “Divine Dogs.”

Every brief glimpse into Satoru’s thoughts feels like a blessing, and this is certainly no exception. It’s refreshing to watch him have a moment of sincere connection with someone other than yourself, and it leaves you glowing with hope for the future as you bid Megumi farewell and make your way back home.

“Head back, Satoru.”

Water splashes into the bathtub as Satoru cranes his neck to peer up at the ceiling as per your request, a cup full of liquid streaming over his hair and carrying shampoo suds along with it.

After returning from your walk, you’d prepared something for dinner and eventually urged Satoru into the tub for a bath before bed—yet another activity that seemed to get a little easier every time you did it.

Figuring out how to get him to bathe had initially been quite the challenge, but you had managed to devise a method that had gotten the job done quite well thus far. He might’ve looked rather awkward sitting cramped in the shallow bath with a pair of swimming trunks on while you rinsed him with an old plastic cup you’d excavated from a cabinet, but it was the most effective way to get him clean and preserve both your dignities while doing it. Though you were the only one who seemed to be concerned with such things.

Satoru blinks when a few soapy droplets backslide into one of his eyes, causing him to squint, scrunch, and rub it with his fingers until the uncomfortable sensation eases. He looks at you, almost as if to say, “Hey! That burns!”

You chuckle and shake your head with a playful roll of your eyes. “That’s why you’re supposed to close your eyes, goober.”

He wants to submerge in a pout, but your playfulness rids him of the inclination. Satoru instead shifts his focus to the beauty of your frame perched upon the edge of the tub, a beacon of divinity as you cleanse him with care and devotion. He takes the notion to express an inkling of gratitude by leaning forward and placing a kiss against your lips, lukewarm water rippling around him as it gradually cools.

You’re somewhat stiff and unresponsive, the sudden gesture catching you by surprise as it usually does, but you don’t chastise him for it; in fact, it takes a certain level of concentration for you to avoid letting your thoughts linger on his current state: hair slicked back; flesh exposed and glistening with droplets of water; lips warm, wet, and eager for reciprocation…

Your mouth receives his but does not encourage him for more than a split second, pulling back gently from his advance until you can see Satoru shiver as the water chills his body. His eyes are glued to your face, waiting for a reaction as you prepare to make one more pass over his hair with the cup to see that he is fully rinsed, this time using your hand to shield his eyes from any backflow (and from your expression, which is surely indicative of your now rapid heartbeat).

The action is enough to distract him for the moment, but Satoru is still on edge, teeming with infatuation and need. He is unsatisfied with your response—or lack thereof—and is frustrated with his inability to express it, but your hands carefully wiping drops of water from his face act as a temporary soothing agent.

“Alright, let’s get dried off and ready for bed,” you say, standing to fetch his towel from the rack and bring it back to him before reaching down to trigger the tub to drain. “We’re going to talk to Shoko tomorrow.”

Satoru is less concerned with the meaning of your words than he is with how lovely you sound while saying them. He is once again caught in your spell, entranced by the need to be closer but settling for the scraps that you give him—for now.

You aren’t convinced of his comprehension of what you say, but nevertheless, you use the sweetened tone to deflect from the overwhelm of watching him stand and observe your every move as you help to dry his chiseled body. Satoru is tall and looming, scarred in the midriff, but compliant with your ministrations; however, his easygoing nature doesn’t keep your hands from wanting to shake against the towel that repeatedly caresses his physical beauty. You wish you could torch every thought in your mind, switch your brain off to preserve the strength and sanity that remains. 

You aren’t sure how long you’ll be able to remain steadfast and maintain this cycle of “temporaries” until something eventually changes. And what if it never does?

You suppose the only thing you can do for now is try your best and wait and see what the future holds. It certainly can’t be any worse than what you’ve already been through, especially now that Satoru is by your side once more. That is something you’ve realized you wouldn’t trade for anything.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mz. Bitch's Masterlist

Started: 2/24/24 Last updated: 9/20/24

Due to inline link limits, please click on the story name to start reading and follow the chapter links. Thanks little darlings! Love y'all!

MARVEL

Bucky Barnes *One shots Sex Pollen My Alpha Got Nothing On You Part 2 Movie Night Please Come Back Vibranium & Stainless Steel *Series Breaking the Class Ceiling **Finished Bucky Barnes is a middle class clerk. He needs to marry well to take care of himself and his father. Y/N Y/L/N is the heir to a millionaire fortune, who is blunt, no-nonsense, flirtatious, and looking for a partner. Everyone is vying for her hand. Can Bucky ever win? Pretty Pointy Smile **Finished Bucky was born different, and has been judged for it ever since.  His father has had enough and sells him to the circus.  The acceptance and love of his newfound family, and the beautifully fierce ringmaster, help him realize he’s not the monster everyone else made him out to be. Sugar Mama **Finished Bucky is overworked and struggling to get by.  The bills are piling up and he’s consistently in the red with no end in sight.  Y/N is a billionaire’s daughter, entrepreneur and philanthropist having a hard time finding true friends or love.  She has a proposition for him. Marriage of Convenience **Finished Y/N’s father is gone, and he leaves it all to her.  But in 1880s Oregon, she can’t own land without a husband.  Under the threat of it all being taken away by a land hungry Sheriff, what’s a girl to do with no prospects?  Maybe one of the cowboys on the farm can help… The Temptation **Finished Father Barnes is devout, steadfast, and undeterred by flirtatious congregants.  So why does this fallen angel tempt him so?  You cannot serve two masters.  Will he choose God, or his heart? Norsemen & Anglo-Saxons **Finished Princess Y/N has a secret that her parents are ashamed of.  A conquering Viking chief recognizes the gift she has.  Will they be able to bring peace between warring people, and maybe find love along the way? Stranded **Finished Tossed overboard and lost at sea, Bucky washes up on an uninhabited island.  Injured, lost and scared, with little to no wilderness training, he fights to survive.  But is he really alone? The Fuck Up **Finished Bucky fucked up.  A few times.  Will his best friend ever be able to forgive him?

Naughty Nanny **Finished Bucky had a lovechild from a one night stand.  He barely even remembered it, and was surprised to find a baby on his doorstep 9 months later.  But one look at that little girl and he knew she was his and that he’d die for her.  The only problem was, he knew nothing about babies, and being an Avenger meant he couldn’t just drop everything and be a dad full time.  Then he found the perfect nanny…or so he thought. Run, pretty girl, run **Finished Even with the safeguards put in place after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., the remaining Avengers find themselves on the run after the American government falls into disarray.  The code word is sent, and they’re officially fugitives.  Bucky makes a run for the safe house set up for emergencies like this where the Avengers are told to meet up, but on the way saves the pregnant agent turned payroll specialist that he was partnered with.  Will they make it before she goes into labor?  Or at all?

Pretty P.A. **Finished Y/N has been the personal assistant to the most influential and famous fashion model agency director in the industry for the past 13 years.  They’ve decided to retire, and are leaving the agency in the hands of their protege and former model, Bucky Barnes.  He seems plenty qualified, and Y/N is excited for a chance to work with him.  Change always takes time,  but the new insanely hot boss is distrustful and hesitant towards her.  The Gorgon **Finished The village nearest the mountain by the sea has a generations-old tradition of offering sacrifices to the monster in the mountain to gain favor and keep its wrath away from the people.  Every person starting from the age of 15 has to take a turn in making the journey up the mountain to the mouth of the cave once a year to drop off the gifts…and it’s a journey that some never come back from.  Y/N took her turn when she was 15, and now the rotation has come back to her again.  If the gift isn’t given by the autumn solstice, there’s no telling what harm the creature will wreak onto the people.  With a seemingly insurmountable obstacle in her way, will she make it to save her and her people?  Can a monster have a heart? Dreamboat **Finished Y/N, her brother Steve, and his best friend Bucky all moved out West for a new start after Y/N was almost caught up and hurt in a rival gang fight.  Steve wasn’t in shape to fight in the war, but Bucky was drafted.  While out West, Y/N finds herself in trouble again from the local bar owner.  Steve is suddenly drafted for an experimental division of the army, but leaving Y/N alone isn’t an option.  Bucky comes home needing help, and Steve comes up with a crazy compromise.  Sweet Pumpkin **Finished Summary:  Bucky is struggling with the dating world and knows that if he ever hopes to have a serious relationship, that he needs to get through his touch deprivation issues.  It’s not that he doesn’t want to touch people, or them to touch him, but after decades of pain he doesn’t know how to accept physical intimacy from others, or how to give it himself.  He hires Y/N, an intimacy coach and professional cuddler, who comes highly recommended.  Will his heart be able to distinguish between a service given versus real love?

Peter Parker *One shots Emotional *Short Series Tasty **Finished Peter just wanted to have one night of fun.  Then that night of fun almost killed him.  Now it won’t stop haunting him.  And he’s loving it. 

*Series The Young Duke **Finished Queen Y/N is running out of time.  At 35 years old she has to marry and make an heir to the throne, but all suitors so far have been unsatisfactory in one way or another.  Duke Peter Parker is the young Duke of Queensland, and his family is on the brink of ruin due to his parents’ failures and famines throughout the years.  He needs to find an advantageous marriage to save his family’s estate, so when an invitation from the Crown comes, he jumps at the opportunity.  Will it be a match?

Steve Rogers *Series My Queen **Finished Steve Rogers is the newly inherited Duke of Brooklyn, struggling to fix the mistakes of his parents while enduring an overbearing, matchmaking mother.  He has no intention of anything romantic in his future, but will a forced love connection with the Queen change his mind?

Stucky *Series Emerald Hallow **Finished Steve Rogers wants to move on.  He wants to forget Peggy, and dive into the 21st century.  But this man of the past doesn’t know how to navigate being an Alpha in a modern world of skittish Omegas.  He prides himself on his self control, never wanting to harm or scare them, until something just smells too damn good. And he's not the only one who smells it...

Actors

Sebastian Stan *Series A Patient Man **Finished Sebastian swore to never fall for another co-star again. Until Y/N drops into his life.

[peachsukii]

₊✩‧₊ ⎯ sidekicking at dynamight's agency turns out to be more rewarding than anticipated.

cw // age gap (mid 20s & early 40s), mentions of divorce & a child, suggestive, not proof read ⇢  k.bakugo masterlist

You’re a new sidekick at Bakugo’s agency, a mid-20 something who transferred from another prefecture after moving across the country. He’s in his early 40s, a well seasoned pro hero with plenty of experience under his belt and a successful agency to top off his accomplishments.

Unfortunately, he’s divorced with a kid that his ex-wife hoards from him. Sometimes, his son comes by the agency after school if his mom doesn’t show to get him - one of his assistants walks him home if he’s not in the office himself. It’s a messy situation that everyone chooses not to question him about, including the media. All it took was one stupid pap to ask him about his failed marriage to scare the ever loving shit out of anyone from asking again.

He’s not looking for anything or anyone, hasn’t been on a date in years, avoiding anything to do with “love” by busying himself with work, trying not let any of the dread sink in. His heart is too broken from the divorce and all the shit he went through with his devil of an ex-wife. It often kept him awake at night, adding to the bags under his eyes and the silver highlights in his ashy mane.

And then, there’s you. You’re a firecracker in disguise, passionate and determined to be the best damn hero at the agency. One day, you’re training in the office gym with the other sidekicks and become frustrated with them, unsatisfied with their bland routine. You wanted a challenge when training, something to keep you progressing and not plateauing. Stomping up to Bakugo’s office in the middle of the day, you bang on the door a few times impatiently, hands on your hips when he finally opens the door.

“Newbie? The hell do you want?” He grumbles, crossing his arms over the broadness of his chest. Even in his early 40s, he looks damn good, the perfect buff dad body. It may be littered with scars and stretch marks from weight fluctuation over the years, but he viewed them as badges of honor.

“The sidekicks downstairs are boring with training and I need something better. I’m not gonna stay stagnant with those rookies. I need a better trainer.”

Bakugo glares daggers at you, for both insulting the other sidekicks and interrupting his focus on the stacks of paperwork sitting on his desk.

“So you decided complain’ to the boss that provides the training was the smart thing to do?”

You huff, rolling your eyes and take a step closer to him. “No, Dynamight. I want you to train me. I need the best of the best to be an asset to your agency.”

The way you emphasize ‘I want you’ makes him flinch - a phrase he hasn’t heard in years.

“Ya think I have time to train with a sidekick?” He scoffs, ready to shut the door on you when you grab his wrist, making him jump from the contact. Your eyes lock onto his and a chill runs down his spine at your next demand.

“You’re gonna have to make time.”

That marks the day that you, the newest recruit, left the one and only Katsuki Bakugo speechless. He wanted nothing more than to laugh you off and shut the door, but he hurriedly whispered “Fine, tomorrow at 5am” against his better judgement, then slammed the door.

And thus began the tradition of training with your boss twice a week. It was rigorous, as you expected, but you were more than capable of keeping up with his pace. After a few weeks, he stopped acting grumpy about it and started complimenting your progress. You’ve gotten multiple reports back from other heroes saying they’ve seen an improvement in your work, and how you’ve been extending that to the other sidekicks.

What happened the next morning is something Bakugo still can’t fathom, nor did he think he could ever feel something like it again.

It’s 5am, a regular training session in the agency gym - like always. Today, he’s got you working on your hand to hand combat, focusing on grapples, pins and guarding. He encourages you to go all out, and you do, resulting in sweeping his legs out from under him to knock him on his ass. He’s about to say something snarky like “lucky shot” when you steal the breath from his lungs by following up by pinning him to the ground, straddling his hips and gripping his wrists above his head, chest pressed against his as you hover inches from his face, huffing with sweat trickling down your forehead.

Bakugo's mind goes blank and all his focus shifts to your body contact. All he can think about is the pressure of your fingers snaked around his wrists, the plush of your chest squished up against his own, how your thighs are clenched on his hips and the sensation of your ankles tucked against his thighs. He can feel his face heating up, and his groin, unable to look away or run off somewhere to hide. He's somewhat thankful you have his wrists pinned, elsewise he may have...no, he can't think about that.

"...hello? Earth to Dynamight?" you call at him, releasing one of his wrists to wave your hand in his face. "You okay? You're looking a little pale."

He violently shakes his head, clearing his throat before muttering, "M'fine, now get off'a me."

He scoots backward on the gym mat when you leave his personal bubble, tucking his legs up to his chest with his head on his forearms. He doesn't notice that he's biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and has broken out into a cold sweat. You're standing there, dumbfounded, and decide to call it off for the morning.

"Well, I'll let you get to work or whatever it is you gotta do. Sorry for knocking you on your ass so hard, Dy-"

"Y'can call me Katsuki, you know. S'not always strictly hero names around here."

Where the fuck did that come from? You barely know her.

You grace him with a smile, tilting your head sweetly. "Thanks, Katsuki. I'll see ya later." And off you go, skipping to the locker room to wash up for your shift later in the morning.

What the fuck was that?

Bakugo's stuck sitting on the mats a little while longer, desperately waiting for himself to cool off like a horny high school teenager. He's got a million thoughts running through his head, and the one at the forefront is you in the same exact position, only...

...No.

He can't think of you like that.

Can he?

Shit, he didn't even talk to you outside of mandatory meetings before this training bullshit. But he can't deny you're attractive, and your personality only makes you that much hotter to him.

And so, Bakugo walks into the shared locker room, purposefully locks the door and turns on one of the showers, as hot as he could manage. His back begins to redden from the pressure and temperature of the jet stream as he rested his forearm against the tile. Soon enough, all thoughts of you cumulated into the drain at his feet, ejected from his body and taken care of.

Until the next morning, where he finds you sitting at his desk with two coffees.

"Mornin'! Brought you a 'sorry I kicked your ass' apology coffee. Your assistant said you like it black, hope she was right!"

Shit.

tags; @slayfics @maddietries @starieq @liluvtojineteyam @jays-adventure3 @simp-plague

[skyahri]

There For You |Shota Aizawa X Reader| HC

Summary: Aizawa steps up after Oboro's death, but panics when things get a bit too real.

Warnings: TEEN PREGNANCY! AFAB reader. Set one year ahead for story purposes. Mentions of death. Implication of sex, but no actual smut.

- - - - -

You'd known Oboro your entire life. Your mother's were best friends and had planned their pregnancies, so you were only a few months apart.

You two were close as could be - playing, having sleepovers, and studying together always. When his quirk manifested and yours didn't, he made a promise to always protect you.

When high school came around and you were both accepted to UA (him under the hero course and you in general studies), he kissed you for the first time.

That kiss was just the beginning of a wonderful relationship. He was doting and loving, just as he'd always been, but the connection was deeper now.

In his time at UA, he made great friends, ones that accepted you as a part of the package deal. Your group was a match made in heaven. You were happy he had such a wonderful support system.

You remember how excited he was when he was accepted to the Purple Revolution Agency with Aizawa for his work study. You praised him for his hard work and celebrated that night. If you had known what would've come of it, you'd have begged him to take any other offer.

Shouta was the one to tell you. You'd come home from school to a house full of pros and officers, confused as to what happened. He quickly escorted you outside and explained the day's events to you.

The news of his death was absolutely gut-wrenching, especially since you'd only recently found out you were eight weeks pregnant.

At the time, you'd panicked, horrified of the social repercussions sure to come. But now? Now you were thankful to have something left from him.

"Oboro... asked me to take care of you. Both of you."

Shouta was there from then on. Not that he'd been lacking in presence beforehand, but now he was more dutiful.

He shut down any attempts you made to push him away, assuring you that any support and companionship he provided to you was of his own free will, and not because of any promise he'd made to Oboro before his death. He did make a promise, yes, but even if he hadn't, he'd still probably be here.

Hizashi and Nemuri helped as much as they could, but choosing to be front-line heroes complicated things more than Shouta's underground work.

Once the baby came, a beautiful little girl you'd named Kumori, Shouta's life felt a little less empty.

He'd been so preoccupied with finishing school, starting his career, and supporting you, that he hadn't allowed himself the space to cope with the loss of his best friend. He'd been well aware of the void Oboro had left, but never really paid much mind to it.

But now he felt like didn't need to. Like all the grief had resolved itself and he instantly jumped from denial to acceptance.

Kumori became his pride and joy. He spent all of his free time with you and her. Aside from night patrols and the occasional assignment, he didn't have much going on, making things all the easier for your makeshift family to function.

He took her to the park and played with her. They watched movies together and usually fell asleep halfway through. On days he was busy, he'd always make sure to check in with a text, something you always appreciated.

When she started to talk, her first words were of course 'dada' and directed at him. It stirred up something unsettling with him. He apologized profusely, not realizing that he had inadvertently stolen Oboro's spot in her life.

"Don't be silly, Shouta."

Such a simple response to such an insanely complex situation. He wasn't sure how to take that kind of response or the problem at hand in general, so he decided to take a step back from you two.

That night, when he went home after his patrol, he stayed home. You texted asking where he was and if he was okay, and that only made him spiral more.

What was he doing? Taking Oboro's spot in your life. Raising his child, spending the night with his girlfriend, and having dinner with his parents.

How pathetic.

He didn't go over the next night, or the one after that. Before he knew it, an entire week had passed and he hadn't so much as responded to your messages. He couldn't. Not with the dread and guilt he was feeling.

There was a knock at his door. He looked at the time and groaned; nearly six in the morning. He got up and looked through the peephole, relaxing when he saw Hizashi's bright yellow hair.

"What are you doing here?"

He pushed his way into Shouta's apartment.

"Y/N has been going crazy blowing up our phones. Nemuri and I have tried covering for you, but I think it's time you're honest with me."

Shouta wasn't sure why, but he unloaded onto Hizashi at that moment. He spilled everything uncontrollably in a long, incomprehensible rant. This completely caught Hizashi off guard. H wasn't expecting anything other than an argument to ensue if he was being honest.

Shouta told Hizashi everything. How he practically lived with you, how he raised your daughter, how he felt like he'd taken advantage of such a loss.

It took Hizashi a few minutes to let everything sink in. He was confused at first. The way you and Shouta spoke about your relationship made it seem like he had more of an uncle-type role in Kumori's life. He was surprised to find out he was so involved. Of course, Shouta always claimed to be busy, but he and Nemuri had assumed he was lying to get out of things.

Shouta gave him an expecting look after a few minutes with no response. Hizashi apologized, too caught up in his thoughts to realize he'd totally zoned out.

"I think Oboro would be more upset if he found out you'd abandoned his kid."

"I'm being serious, Mic."

"So am I."

They stared at each other for a moment.

"She thinks I'm her dad. What kind of piece of shit steals their friend's life after he dies, huh?"

"You're crazy if you think like that, dude. Would you prefer she be all alone? Or his kid grow up with out a dad? He asked you to take care of them for a reason."

"It just feels wrong."

A smug smile crept its way onto Hizashi's face.

"You love her, don't you? That's why it feels so wrong."

Aizawa looked at his friend like he was sick in the head.

"What are you on about? Don't be ridiculous."

But the more the thought about it the less ridiculous it sounded.

He loves his life. He loves you and your daughter, something he's well aware of, but now he's questioning what sort of love he held for you two.

He'd never tried to label it before, but now that he was trying to, he found any other type of love to be unfulfilling.

"You need to leave."

He pushed Hizashi out, not leaving any room for him to argue.

Shouta took a breath to calm himself down before grabbing his things and heading out as well.

He made it to your house in record time, relieved to see only your car in the driveway. He knocked on the door and waited patiently.

When you opened it and saw him, you quickly reached out and pulled him in for a hug. He returned the gesture, holding you tighter than he had before. After a moment, you pulled away, and promptly punched him square in the chest.

"Where the Hell have you been?!"

Just like he did with Hizashi, he told you everything. All the thoughts and feelings that had been eating at him this past week, the guilt and anxiety that plagued him, and what Hizashi had said.

"When Oboro told me to look after you, I don't think this is what he meant."

"Believe it or not, we actually talked about this before he died."

Shouta looked at you bewildered.

"Not this specifically, Shouta," you laughed, "He told me if he ever died, he would want me to continue living. I think he'd be happy for all of us."

Oboro knew there was significant risk in his line of work. He didn't expect to die so young, of course, but it's all the same. He would hate for you to never love again. To be all alone in the world or lose all ambition.

"Please, never let my death be the end of you."

His words always lingered in your head. It's why you never felt any type of way about Shouta's involvement in your and your daughter's lives. It made you happy, and that's all anyone could ask for.

"So... what does this mean for us?"

You weren't sure how he'd take the question. He didn't seem too content with whatever it was racing through his head.

Shouta leaned forward and kissed you. When you leaned in and responded, he grew more confident. He put his hands on your face and you bunched yours in his shirt. He pulled away and looked at you.

"I think he was right. I think... I do love you."

[queerpunktomatoes]

Project 2025 for the Conservatives in Your Life

Look, I know we can't get everyone to vote blue. But all we have to do is create genuine doubt. Someone who opts out of voting instead of voting for Trump is still a win.

From the mouth of Trump's team themselves, here are some policies from Project 2025 that even conservatives raise their eyes at.

Page 97 "Senior acquisition leaders should design a system that allows decision-makers to stay within the law but bypass unnecessary departmental regulations that are not in the best interest of the government and hamper the acquisition of capabilities that warfighters require." Translation: Reduce workplace safety regulations in the interest of making more money.

Page 285 "The department [of education] is a convenient one-stop shop for the woke education cartel, which—as the COVID era showed—is not particularly concerned with children’s education. Schools should be responsive to parents, rather than to leftist advocates intent on indoctrination—and the more the federal government is involved in education, the less responsive to parents the public schools will be. This department is an example of federal intrusion into a traditionally state and local realm. For the sake of American children, Congress should shutter it and return control of education to the states." Translation: The Department of Education should be eliminated.

Page 320-322 "In July of that year, President Lyndon B. Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act of 1964, after Congress reached a consensus that the mistreatment of [B]lack Americans was no longer tolerable and merited a federal response... In 1973, [Congress] passed the Rehabilitation Act, and, in 1975, the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act... The next Administration will need a plan to redistribute the various congressionally approved federal education programs across the government, eliminate those that are ineffective or duplicative, and then eliminate the unproductive red tape and rules by entrusting states and districts with flexible, formula-driven block grants." Translation: Repeal the Civil Rights Act of 1964.

Page 372 "The U.S. nuclear arsenal needs to be updated and reinvigorated... Fund the design, development, and deployment of new nuclear warheads, including the production of plutonium pits in quantity. Expand the U.S. Navy and develop new nuclear naval reactors to ensure that the Navy has the nuclear propulsion it needs to secure America’s strategic interests. End ineffective and counterproductive nonproliferation activities like those involving Iran and the United Nations." Translation: Withdraw from "let's not use nuclear weapons" agreements, build more nuclear weapons, and resume nuclear weapons testing.

Page 482 "Eliminate the Head Start program." Translation: Remove free education/health programs for low-income families.

Page 524 "Rescind the Biden rules and reinstate the Trump rules regarding... The Endangered Species Act rules defining Critical Habitat and Critical Habitat Exclusions."Translation: Remove protections for endangered animals.

Page 587 "The Working Families Flexibility Act would allow employees in the private sector the ability to choose between receiving time-and-a-half pay or accumulating time-and-a-half paid time off." Translation: Employers are not required to pay extra for overtime.

Page 664 "The National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) should be dismantled and many of its functions eliminated, sent to other agencies, privatized, or placed under the control of states and territories." Translation: Americans should not get free extreme weather warnings. We should have to pay for it, and watch commercials between segments.

Remember, quality over quantity.

Only use the talking points you think will really stick with that conservative person. We do not want to give them more reasons to support Trump.

For example, do not tell a conservative homeschool mother that Trump wants to get rid of the Department of Education. It will backfire.

And importantly, Trump is lying about not endorsing Project 2025. His press secretary stars in the recruitment ads and he is mentioned over 300 times by name in it.

Learn this stuff so you can back your arguments and talk to the conservatives in your life about what their vote might contribute to.

[gffa]

Rewatched the Rebels episode where Kanan and the others go to meet Ahsoka's friend for help in finding good base locations and it turns out to be Rex and everyone has a real bad time of it, because this show was for a young audience, sure, but it also didn't shy away from Kanan's trauma or letting us know that Rex had been through a lot of his own hurt, too. The clones having to live in this space of what they'd done, that it hadn't been their choice, but it had been their hands, killing the Jedi, the people who fought besides them on the battlefield, who bled and died for them, the clones were the ones who killed them because their very agency was taken away, their thoughts were overwritten, and you have to live with that guilt and anger and hurt, because it wasn't your choice, you didn't want this, but it was your brothers that still did it, and you have to worry that the Jedi will be angry at you for it, will come after you for being a danger to them, for having killed their children, and then you come face to face with a Jedi, a Jedi who is angry at you, who doesn't believe you, who was a child when a clone murdered his master in front of him and then tried to kill him, who had killed other kids his age, and how how how could anyone not want revenge for that? Jedi were taught not to seek it, but how could anyone possibly face the genocide of their entire people and culture, and not say this was different? How could they not go through that and decide, no, this did need to be avenged? And no amount of trying to explain that you didn't want it, you didn't know at the time, you didn't choose this, can ever undo what happened. And that you don't know if it's worse to have your mind stripped from you and monstrous acts done with your hands but you lived or if it's worse to have seen your entire culture murdered just for being born with the Force and for standing up to fight against evil and having the entire galaxy lie about who you were and what you did and why you did it, to still be hunted down just because you could touch the Force, no matter whether you fought back or not, to not even be able to just say the words, "I'm a Jedi." without someone probably turning you in to the Empire. Both sides of this utterly trusted each other once upon a time and that trust was shattered through no fault of their own and everyone can understand why everyone else is the victim of something truly horrific, but still can't get back to where they were before, because it doesn't matter that none of them chose any of this, it was still their hands that were forced into unthinkable acts and their kids' bodies on the ground and nothing can ever undo that. You have to do your best to let go of the horror and move on, maybe find something new, but you'll never not see everything that happened when you look at the other person. Anyway, I'm gonna go punt myself into the sun brb.

[mothric]

mob psycho 100 has impressed me on multiple counts but one thing that keeps standing out to me is the way Mob fills the role of Shonen Hero.

I love me a classic shonen protag. I love the hinata shoyos and the ash ketchums and the gokus, the spunky go-getters who are a little rough around the edges but want to be The Best at the Thing, or Save the World, or Win the Championship. I also love the protags who are reluctantly shoved into the role of Hero and must stumble their way into accepting it, whether or not they actually wanted it at first.

Mob isn't any of those. he doesn't start out as a bundle of boundless energy and optimism. his goal is not to be a hero or to subvert the trope by Resisting the Call. in fact, in the beginning, there isn't a Call. there is no Grand Quest for him to set out on. he's just... a kid, who happens to have psychic powers, and his goal is just to figure out who he is and what he wants and where his place is in the world. that's his hero's journey, really.

Mob doesn't come prepackaged with ambition; he has to work to unearth it. he has to figure out that he has any agency in the first place, and then use that agency to figure out what he wants. he has to handpick his own goals, and he has to choose growth. and he does choose growth, over and over. that in itself is a heroic feat. man, there are whole adults who won't do the internal work this kid does to figure himself out and adapt to new information! we constantly see him meet people who act and think so differently from him, and really think about the things they say and do, and learn something valuable in the process. we continually see him waking up to various aspects of himself, and clarifying his convictions, and adapting the ways he moves through the world, and taking on a more solid shape as a person. we continually see him choosing.

his growth is so organic, and natural, and marked by an increasing sense of self-possession, that by the time he gets to do Big Impressive Heroic Shonen Things, it feels earned. Mob Shigeo Kageyama has come into himself, and he must face some truly terrifying things, but he reaches out to meet them with both hands because he's already learned to meet his own personal challenges and the people in his life in the same way.

Mob doesn't start out as a Shonen Hero, but by the end of season 2 he IS one, because he earned it. he chose it, worked for it, grew into it, and it looks incredible on him.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Rather Or Rather Not - Luke Thompson

Word count: 868

Summary: Would you rather answer questions by yourself or to be joined by your lover and a friend?

The grand ballroom on the Bridgerton set was abuzz with excitement as a game hosted by Netflix began. 

You, Nicola Coughlan, and Luke Thompson, three of the most talented and beloved actors in the Bridgerton series, gathered around a lavish table adorned with candelabras and sparkling chandeliers. 

The theme of the game was Would you rather, inspired by your beloved show, Bridgerton. 

The air was thick with anticipation as you waited for the first question to be revealed.

"It's time to play!" cheered Nicola Coughlan, who portrayed Penelope Featherington, as she flitted about the room, handing out cards to each of the players.

 "Remember, you must answer the question truthfully, and may the best actor win!" With a dramatic flourish, she flipped over the first card, revealing the first question: "Would you rather... binge-watch the entire series in one sitting, or have to wait an entire year for the next season to premiere?"

You all glanced at each other, knowing full well that this was a question you had been contemplating for months.

 You, who portrayed the vivacious y/c/n, grinned widely and said, "Oh, I could never wait a whole year! I'd much rather binge it all in one go." 

Nicola Coughlan, who brought the iconic Penelope Featherington to life, nodded in agreement.

 "I completely understand," she said with a sigh. "It's torture not knowing what happens next."

Luke Thompson, your boyfriend and the man who played the dashing and mysterious Lord Benedict Bridgerton, chuckled and said, "Well, it seems you two have already made up your minds. In that case, I'll have to go with the opposite choice. I'd much rather take my time and savor each episode as they air." 

You and Nicola laughed, impressed by his restraint.

The next question was revealed: by you.

 "Would you rather... have your character end up with your on-screen love interest, or have them find true love with someone else?" you bit your lip, considering the possibilities. 

"Oh, that's a tough one... I think I'd want my character to end up with their true love. Even if it means someone else gets the happy ending, you know?" 

Nicola Coughlan nodded in agreement.

 "Agreed," she said. "As much as I love my character with Colin, I think it would be more satisfying to see her find happiness with someone who truly deserves it if the story would be different."

The tension in the room was palpable as the final question was revealed by your boyfriend. 

"Would you rather... have your character's life play out exactly as it does in the books, or have the opportunity to rewrite their fate and give them a different ending?" Luke furrowed his brow, deep in thought.

 "That's a hard one... I think I'd like to see my character have the chance to write their own ending. Even if it means straying from the source material, it's important for them to have agency and make their own choices."

Nicola Coughlan glanced over at you, who was still lost in thought. "What about you, y/n? What would you choose?" 

You looked up, a determined expression on your face. "You know, I think I'd rather rewrite their fate. Because even if their life isn't perfect, they can still find happiness in the end. And who's to say what's meant to be, anyway?" 

The other actors nodded in agreement, feeling the weight of the question settle over them.

The final question hung in the air, unanswered, but for now, it could wait. There would be plenty of time for more questions, more laughter, and more memories to be made.

 Because in the end, that was what being a part of the Bridgerton family was truly about: finding joy in the journey, no matter where it led.

The question was revealed: "Would you rather... spend the rest of your life in the world of Bridgerton, or step outside of it and explore new roles and experiences?" 

Nicola's eyes widened, and she glanced around the table at her fellow actors. 

"That's quite the quandary," she mused. "But I think I would have to say that I would rather stay in Bridgerton. Not only because I love it here, but because I believe that we are one family and that there is so much out there waiting to be told."

You nodded in agreement. "I feel the same way, definitely. This role has given me so much, and I think there are so much possibilities in this project. I can't wait to see what it still holds." 

Luke, ever the optimist, added, "I'd have to say the same. And I know that whatever comes next, we'll always have Bridgerton and each other." 

You all raised your glasses in a toast, the clinking of crystal against porcelain filling the empty ballroom with a joyous noise.

And so the game went on, the questions flying fast and furious, as you all shared your thoughts, your dreams, and your fears. 

You discussed your favorite moments from the series, your hopes for the future, and the lessons you learned along the way.

You laughed and you cried, you debated and you agreed, and through it all, you all felt a bond that went deeper than any script could ever convey.

[joelalorian]

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

[tianasficrecs168]

WinterIron Fic Recs

NarutoRox: “It’s the Little Things in Life” (Bucky/Tony) • Though Barnes had been living in the tower for almost six months now, things between him and Tony were still a bit awkward. Which is why Tony is a tad confused when Barnes starts leaving him strange little gifts.

Tahlruil: “What Has Been Done” (Bucky/Tony) Bucky has lived with the Avengers for a while now, and he's mostly settled in. During the process, he fell for Tony Stark - hard - but he can't quite bring himself to admit it to the brilliant engineer. So he just does what he can to take care of and protect him, hoping that maybe the other man will fall just as hard for him... and be the one to take their relationship to the next level. In the meantime, he's noticed that there's one member of the team that Tony seems afraid of, and he is definitely not pleased by the notion. Once he finds out what Wanda did to cause that fear, she might wish she'd never left Hydra.

Withered: “Fresh out the freezer” (Bucky/Tony) • Listen; he’s not a total asshole. Tony figures that the guy whose brain has been scrambled since the forties might have some tender sensibilities and he tones down a lot out of respect for that. It’s sweet. But ultimately unnecessary when all Bucky’s been thinking about is bending Tony over the nearest table.

Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar): “Grown Ass Man” (Bucky/Tony) • Tony Stark looks self-conscious, and it takes Bucky a stupid amount of time to figure out that’s even what he’s seeing on the guy’s face, because he’s never seen it there before. “Sorry, shoulda knocked.” Which, yeah, he should have, but he was used to rolling into the workshop whenever he felt like it. He certainly hadn’t expected to find a shirtless Tony Stark in the process of doing something with the arc reactor. And sure, he’s staring, has been staring this whole time, right from the moment he’d walked in, because this is the first he’s actually seeing the arc reactor.

Potrix: “Paths Are Made by Walking” (Bucky/Tony) • The road to recovery is long, winding and a different one for every person walking it. Bucky chooses to help himself the only way he knows how; by doing what he does best. Or, alternatively; the one in which Tony is a mess and accidentally kick-starts Bucky’s protective mother hen instincts.

Potrix: “Flirting (with danger)” (Bucky/Tony) • Tony stares at the man shackled to the wall for a long, unblinking moment. “You’re supposed to be dead.” The man raises an unimpressed eyebrow back at him. “Right back at ya, pal.”

RayShippouUchiha: “The Great Awakening (To Hold Infinity)” (Bucky/Tony) • Constellations wheel around in Tony’s mind at night, illuminating his sleep with the beauty of a supernova, the terrible gaping hunger of black holes, the whimpering cry of a nebula as it births new stars into creation. All of Space laid out for him to marvel at. Tony learns and learns and learns and then he creeps downstairs and babbles relentlessly to his first and only friend. All the while the Cube hums, just a bit smug, just a bit loving, and shows him more.

Monyas: “Bad Scoping Mechanisms Series” (Bucky/Tony) (part of a series - there's 2 more fics here) Like, the general public hates Tony Stark for having been a weapons manufacturer but actually he was pretty popular while he was still in the weapons industry so one wonders, who would have been a fan of Stark Industries before Afghanistan? Military, alphabet agencies, private security, hitmen and assassins? …Hydra assassins? -In which the Winter Soldier, aka Bucky Barnes, is an avid fan of Tony Stark for reasons.-

Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar): “Sometimes Life Happens” (Bucky/Tony) • Tony hadn’t necessarily been looking for further proof of his maladjusted—one might even argue self-destructive—approach to problems, but sometimes life happened, and you didn’t have any choice but to take a long, hard look at yourself. Sometimes, you’re sitting in your car, staring into your recently emptied coffee cup, contemplating whether or not you really want to do this whole “leading a responsible life” thing anymore, and a guy with a gun slides into your passenger seat. Sometimes, that’s just the way your Monday goes.

Ceealaina: “He's Got a Secret” (Bucky/Tony) • Tony snorted. “Are you planning to rent out the Met? I mean, I’m not saying no, the look on his face would be hilarious. But otherwise, I think we can probably make whatever you want to do work with less lead time. We’ve got almost eight months, and I am very, very rich.” Bucky stopped rubbing Tony’s shoulder, ignoring his faint noise of protest. “Eight months?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?” Tony frowned at him. “It’s November.” “Yeah.” “Steve’s birthday is in July.” “Steve’s birthday is when now?” Based on that tumblr post about Steve's birthday not ACTUALLY being July 4, and Steve being in too deep to tell the truth.

RiotFalling: “When is a bed not a bed? (When you’re not in it)” (Bucky/Tony) There’s a tiny safe house, with one tiny window and one tiny couch. And one tiny little bed.

RiotFalling: “Melt into Me (Your Words Are My Own)” (Bucky/Tony) • Bucky has a new strategy for getting Tony to take proper human care of himself. Tony has never been so well fed, hydrated, thoroughly rested, and confused in all his life.  That doesn’t mean he wants it to stop, and it’s amazing how many boring adult things Bucky can get him to do just by patting his head and calling him ‘good boy’. Right up until Tony possibly ruins everything.

RiotFalling: “Hey Tony” (Bucky/Tony) • Steve points out that Bucky never calls Tony by his actual name. Bucky doesn’t believe him, until he does.

RiotFalling: “Show Tunes and Extra Sauce” (Bucky/Tony) • So maybe three years in Bucky is completely in love, and this might be his first bodyguard gig but he's pretty sure that's breaking Rule One. It's definitely one of the top five rules, at the very least. He can't even be surprised with himself either, not when it's Tony. Bucky’s job is basically to hang out with his crush all the time, and sure sometimes he gets shot or stabbed or has to physically drag Tony out of his lab when he starts sleep-deprived-rambling about building some piece of tech from a scifi movie, but most days Bucky doesn't have a single thing to complain about. And then there's Valentine's Day.

InTheShadows: “Nothing More Deceptive” (Bucky/Tony) • When Tony enters the kitchen he is focused on one thing and one thing only - coffee. What he isn't expecting is Barnes to already be in there. What he really isn't expecting is a sassy, verbal Barnes. The man hasn't said a word since he entered the Tower as far as Tony knows. And what he most certainly isn't expecting if for it to become a tradition of late night meetings, flirting and fun that seems to be headed for something more. Right? (What if it's all in Tony's head after all?)

[akookminsupporter]

ARE YOU SURE?!: SEVENTH EPISODE

MY IMPRESSIONS

Preface: This is not an analysis post, and honestly, I don’t want to overanalyse their interactions or everything they said and did—many others are already doing that. My intention with this post is simply to share my thoughts on the episodes, my impressions, and perhaps my conclusions.

I’m writing this as I watch the episodes for the second time.

Ah, I don’t want this to end! It feels like these 6 weeks flew by. 

Jungkook feeling hot in a cold place is so me. 

Jimin looks great with his natural hair colour. I like Jimin’s grey hair, but his natural colour will always be superior, especially with the length he had in this episode. 

Jimin and Jungkook trying to remember if Jimin had ever gone snowboarding with Jungkook before is funny because they were really trying to figure out if it was true, but at the same time, it shows just how many things they’ve done together that it’s natural for them to think snowboarding might have been one of them. 

Jungkook’s look of confusion when Jimin said he’d actually gone snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends, without Jungkook, is also funny. But also, Jimin went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends—without Jungkook? And it's worth noting Jimin said “Jungkook’s friends”, not “our friends”. We know Jimin is close with several, if not all, of the 97-line members, but it’s nice to know they’re close enough to hang out without Jungkook. If Jimin was talking about those friends, of course.

I don’t know, but something tells me Jimin really likes ‘Standing Next to You’. Though I can’t be sure.  I also can’t be sure, but I have a hunch that Jimin really likes the song ‘Hate You’. Just a feeling. 

I don’t think there’s been an episode where I haven’t mentioned that Jungkook’s biggest ship is with food, hahaha. Why is Jimin always looking for Jungkook in supermarkets? Hahahaha. 

Jungkook being a bit baffled about why Jimin was listening to one of his best songs is honestly offensive, hahaha. Jimin’s slightly defensive reply about whether there was a problem with him listening to the song, and Jungkook’s equally defensive response just wanting to know why he was listening to it, is peak Jikook comedy. 

Look, I think every Jikooker out there has said a thousand times that the world needs an official song from Jimin and Jungkook. But seriously, the world needs an official song from Jimin and Jungkook. Their voices blend so well together. Their harmonisation is glorious, and their voices are differently similar—if that makes sense. They really should record a song or even an album together. 

That hotel is incredible. Someone invited me there. I love hearing Jimin and Jungkook speak in satoori. Honestly, that hotel room is amazing. It looks like an apartment. I can’t even imagine how much a night there costs. It’s moments like these that remind me that these guys are millionaires and their agency has loads of money too, haha. 

Of course, Jungkook cut his own hair. Of course, he did. That’s so Jungkook. Jin would be proud too, hahaha. The staff taking photos of Jungkook because he looked cute with his new haircut is just too cute, haha. In the photo the staffer took, Jungkook looked super young! The power of the bowl cut, hahaha. 

Okay but Jimin’s luck… something always seems to happen to him at every location on this show, hahaha. 

Was Jimin really the loser of that game considering he initially wanted to eat the gimbap? Also, when did Jungkook lose a game that he had to take a bite of the gimbap? 

ohh, didn’t Jungkook say in Connecticut that he wanted to play card games when they went to Jeju but they didn’t? Is that why he bought the stack of cards? I choose to believe that’s the reason. 

And then we get to them and their first… bath together. Jungkook started by asking if they were going to bathe there, and Jimin then said they should turn off the camera, which makes sense, but then, did they bathe together? I mean, actually, wash with soap and everything? Interesting. The camera is turned on who knows how many minutes or hours later, and you can see other products or bottles that weren’t there initially, as well as what I presume is a sweater...? After that, it’s just Jimin and Jungkook being Jimin and Jungkook. Those two are hilariously weird in the best possible way. 

Have I ever told you how much I love Jimin’s tattoos? Especially the ones on his back. 

Ah, Jungkook making sure Jimin felt the same cold breeze as him is just too cute. 

Look, I’ve seen a lot of people describe what happened in that bath—or whatever it was—as Jimin and Jungkook matching each other’s freak, but honestly, I’d describe it as men being men. It’s moments like these that remind me they’re just guys, hahaha. Only a guy would put themselves through that kind of torture for no reason. Yes, yes, I know there are supposed benefits to cold baths, but come on, they didn’t really need to do that. 

Okay, so apparently Jimin told Jungkook to hug him once so he could feel how cold it was. My question is, was that necessary? 

THE V! JIMIN’S V LINES! Oh my god. The V, the tattoos, the blonde hair. The man is the complete package. 

Seriously, guys. Men! 

Jungkook’s body is… WOW. He’s got a swimmer’s body. He’s muscular, low on fat, and still looks slim. With a very slim and enviable waist. It’s not fair. The guy has too many attributes already, hahaha. Jimin is a lighter version of Jungkook, but he also has muscles and those V lines—definitely worth mentioning. 

I don’t know if the staff could hear them, but what they “imagined” those guys were saying in the sauna seems pretty accurate, haha. 

Hey, Jimin said when they left the sauna that they should wash up before going to dinner, but didn’t they already do that when they turned off the cameras? I don’t understand.

Jimin and Jungkook suddenly trying to do the ‘Dynamite’ choreography makes total sense. It's Jikook after all.

Going to dinner in your pyjamas is the dream, hahaha. They really have the same sense of humour. They laugh at the tiniest things the other does, and you can tell they genuinely find it funny.

 Jimin and Jungkook basically travelled to three different places just to eat. There’s no better way to spend the agency’s money, hahaha. Good for them.

Something I’m still not sure about is whether Jungkook loved being in Sapporo. I don’t know, it didn’t seem like he mentioned it much in these two episodes. Let’s hope it’s clearer in the last one.

Maybe it’s just my imagination, but did Jimin drop a hint to Jungkook about giving him a massage, or did I put on my tinhat and miss it?

Jimin and Jungkook must be unbearable in private. Seriously, that’s something I’d love to see, them with their friends, without cameras. What are they like?

Okay, so Jimin first said he needed to brush his teeth, and then we see Jungkook with a toothbrush in his mouth saying ‘Come brush my teeth with me’. Did he say that to the camera, I mean, to us? But then suddenly Jimin appears. Where was he, on the floor? Jimin and I share the same level of laziness when it comes to getting something, Hahaha. Taking a photo together while brushing their teeth. Okay. They really kept memories of everything.

Washing up again?! Didn’t they already do that? Twice, apparently?! How could Jungkook forget that in a matter of hours, I’m sure?!

Aww, Jungkook saying goodnight to the cameras is just too cute. They’re such good boys. I remember in the last episode, Jimin mentioned that Jungkook has the ability to annoy people or something like that, and no one knows it better than Jimin. It’s incredible how patient he can be with Jungkook, hahaha. Of course, Jimin isn’t a saint either, because he can also annoy Jungkook at times. They really click.

Jungkook feeling hot in a cold place is so me. He’s my spirit animal, haha. And him looking for something to eat right after waking up is a MOOD.

Okay, but was Jimin fighting with some insect in the bathroom? Hahaha. Jungkook continuing to eat as if nothing’s happening is a mood.

Mmmm, did they shower together again? Interesting. Jungkook’s priority was definitely the food he bought and couldn’t eat.

Was that whole conversation about being excited correct? I mean, the translation, and if it was, why did it seem like they were talking about something else? Why do many of the things they say seem like they’re talking about something different? Why are they like this? Jimin and Jungkook bickering in the sweetest, funniest way has been one of my favourite things about the show.

Model Jimin! Jimin looked particularly stunning in the car on the way to the slopes.

There’s a popular edit of Jimin that says he doesn’t hold or grab things, he hugs them. I think the edit is mainly about Jimin hugging flower bouquets, but I think it applies to everything, including snowboards, hahaha. He’s just too cute.

I think, I think Jungkook was happy about going snowboarding, I think, I’m not entirely sure.

The juxtaposition of Jimin and Jungkook learning to snowboard and ski is just too funny.

It’s good to know Jimin doesn’t discriminate about the ground he falls on, hahaha. Jungkook really just needs a short time to learn something. Honestly, it’s unfair. Jimin is also excellent at picking things up quickly. That also seems unfair.

MY CONCLUSIONS ON THE SEVENTH EPISODE.

I loved it! Not surprisingly.

I know I’ve repeated this a lot, but I love the format of this show. It’s more relaxed. More chill with the vibe and nothing else. It’s much more domestic, more every day in a way. I know I’ve said this a lot in all my posts, but I love how relaxed Jimin and Jungkook are. I love that, even though they were technically working, they were actually relaxing. They were on a proper holiday because it felt like a normal holiday, with no pressure or expectations, just playing, enjoying cool activities, and eating. Eating a lot.

I love and especially appreciate that AYS has shown us a slightly different side of Jimin and Jungkook’s dynamic. More playful and even more every day, I think. It’s lovely to see how comfortable they are with each other, and even though they didn’t go into depth about it and probably won’t in the future, you understand why they chose to enlist together. They really get each other. They’re really similar. And that’s important.

I really love that they managed to do so many things on this show. That they had multiple holidays and, most of all, that they had them in the middle of their busy schedules. I’m glad they had those moments to laugh, enjoy, and just be happy. And I’m glad they created all those memories together.

I can’t wait for the last episode, but at the same time, I don’t want next Thursday to come because it will mean it’s all over and, like them, we’ll only have the memories we made watching them create their own memories.

As a fan, not only of Jikook but of Jimin and Jungkook, I’m infinitely grateful to them for doing this for us. I’m sure they deserve the sky and the stars; it’s the least the sun and the moon deserve, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m sorry and thank you—I just couldn’t stop writing ajajajajaja.

[firstelevens]

Bucky + Realization of feelings at the Worst Possible Moment for the Situation(TM) prompts if you like! 🤗

45. realization of feelings at the worst possible moment

every in-canon version of this that I attempted to write made me So Sad so instead here's an extreme canon divergence that answers a question that I asked in the tags of a gifset back in November of 2021: MR AND MR SMITH AU WHEN?

Bucky is choosing to blame Steve for this.

There are probably others who are more directly at fault. Natasha feels pretty high up on that list, as does Bucky himself. But Nat is too smug to argue with, and Bucky’s blame roster is already pretty full, so he’s decided that this one can be Steve’s fault.

It’s not even that much of a stretch, really: it’s Steve who stumbled onto him while raiding what the Avengers hadn’t realized was a secret HYDRA facility, and it’s Steve who decided to defrost Bucky instead of leaving well enough alone. Steve’s the reason why Bucky ended up where he is, leading a team of technically-reformed criminals on off-the-books missions that Nick Fury deems too high profile for the Avengers, which means that Steve is the reason why, four years ago, Nick Fury sat Bucky down and told him that his lack of a social life and generally menacing demeanor were going to blow his cover any day now.

At the time, Bucky had offered to go fully off the grid, all the better to prep for missions, but Fury had just frowned at him and flatly said, “Or you could just get yourself a goddamn date.”

Part of Bucky had been convinced that it was a joke or some kind of test, but then it had been made clear to him that he would be on desk duty until he did something to shore up his cover identity. It had seemed like pure serendipity when Natasha had wandered in from a mission the next day and had a solution ready as soon as Bucky had bitched about Fury’s ultimatum over a sparring session.

“I know a guy,” she’d said to him. “Ex-military but now he’s an analyst with one of the alphabet agencies.”

“I’ll pass,” Bucky had replied, just barely dodging the roundhouse she’d aimed at his head. “I do enough espionage at work; I don’t need to go home and lie to a civilian about who I am, too.”

“That’s the best part,” Nat had said then, a gleam in her eye. “You wouldn’t have to lie.”

She’d explained, then, that this friend of hers kind of needed a cover story, too. Something about a three year waitlist for an exclusive apartment building, and fine print on the contract heavily implying that unmarried applicants would be rejected. Pretending to marry a stranger had seemed like a bit much just to secure an apartment, but then Nat had pulled up the building’s website on her phone, and Bucky knew just enough about what real estate was like these days to understand why someone might be driven to desperation for a place like that.

Bucky could claim not to know what drove him to say yes, but he’s sure it’s written as plainly on his face now as it had been back then. Sam Wilson had walked through the door, smiled exactly once, and pulled Bucky into his orbit without even trying.

It had been an astonishingly good four years. He and Sam had gone from polite roommates doing each other a favor—Bucky’s cover story had been tailored to the background check he ran on Sam, something about unexpectedly needing a new place to live and the specific requirements of being a veteran—to genuinely being friends. Aside from the one lie of omission, where Bucky had strategically avoided bringing up that he was a formerly brainwashed, hundred year old super soldier who now led an elite spy team, he got to be himself around Sam. Months into their arrangement, it became clear that Sam got to be himself around Bucky, too.

There was room in their apartment for his persistent low-grade grouchiness, and for Sam’s shocking-even-to-Bucky’s-40s-sensibilities collection of vinyl records, and even for the tiny white cat who they’d found shivering in a cardboard box one winter by the grocery store and immediately brought home. He never could have even considered a pet before, but Alpine had been the undisputed queen of their place for two years now, and when missions took Bucky away from home, Sam was there to keep her company. 

He’d even be willing to bet that she likes Sam better by now, but if that’s true, it’s hard to blame her. Bucky has spent the past year increasingly unable to ignore the warmth that settles in his chest when he unlocks the apartment to find Sam curled up on the couch, frowning at his tablet like it personally wronged him. It always takes Sam an extra half-second to realize that Bucky is in the room, and then he smiles just like he did that very first day, and Bucky is a goner for it every time.

It took a particularly harrowing mission to nudge Bucky out of being a coward. He’d been trapped under a collapsed building somewhere outside Prague, smoke filling the air with no sign of help on its way, and when Bucky had closed his eyes in defeat, all he’d been able to think of was Sam and Alpine on that couch, waiting for him to come home.

He’d flown back stateside, taken an extra couple of days to heal up from his injuries, and made his plans to tell Sam everything tonight. 

Bucky has already picked up dessert from the tiny French spot in Dupont Circle that Sam pretends not to love, and there’s an absurdly big flower arrangement that will be ready for Bucky to pick up just as soon as he gets out of whatever meeting was so urgent and secret that it had to be held after all personnel had left the building for the night.

In the elevator on the way up, Yelena mentions a team from a different agency, something about a joint operation to protect a recently turned asset, even though reformed agents are very clearly Bucky’s team’s jurisdiction.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Bucky, as they step out of the elevator. “If they wanted us to play nice, they should have thought about that before elbowing their way onto our turf.”

Yelena makes a noise of acknowledgment and opens the door to the conference room. As soon as she does, Bucky is instantly aware of two things.

One: there is a very small baby in the room, swaddled in a green blanket and fast asleep.

Two: Bucky’s husband is in the room, cradling the baby in his arms and gently swaying. It is the first time ever that it hasn’t taken him an extra half-second to notice Bucky walking through the door.

Bucky feels all the air leave his lungs and can’t remember how to get it back. He’s certain that he looks as shocked as he feels.

He can’t help but notice that Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t.

“Agent Barnes, Agent Belova,” says Fury. “I’d introduce you to Agent Wilson, but I think it might be a little late for that.”

[alienaiver]

Hello Love, I would love to request a reader with IBS with Bakugo crushing on them

hi my love !!! i hope you'll enjoy this, thank you for sending in a request! <3

warnings: none, fluff + sfw wordcount: 1.3k notes: kept the specific IBS triggers as vague as possible. we all know bakugous a big fan of organizing and planning. impressing you is no less meticulous than his entire career plan. timeskip, semi-early prohero bakugou under best jeanist's agency!

Bakugou prides himself in his cooking, always has. So when Best Jeanist gave him his own department in the agency with various heroes, sidekicks and support under him, he decided he’d build up trust in various ways.

One of them was to cook for his colleagues weekly, gathering them for lunch in the open office at the center of his department floor, only asking them all to provide their own drinks.

It’s popular immediately, everyone gushing over the homemade food by a rising hero like Dynamight. He takes the praise in stride and it motivates him to surpass his own dishes every week. There’s only one issue.

You don’t eat any of it.

It’s not like you choose to be anti-social when this particular lunch break rolls around. You just always bring your own bento box, even if he keeps insisting it’s all free and that he always makes more than needed so that no one needs to hold back.

He makes a variety of dishes; Asian, European, even American styled foods, and whenever he goes directly to your seat to personally present the dishes, you just give him this wide smile that turns his knees into jelly before you say, “that’s so kind of you, Bakugou! Thank you.” before you stab your chopsticks into your own lunch.

It ticks him off, but mostly, it makes him deflate. Of course Bakugou’s not cooking for eight people once a week only to impress you, but it had been part of his 12-step plan to make you fall in love with him. Though he won’t ever admit that he has specific steps set in motion.

First was to get noticed by you in the agency as a whole. Then, to be promoted by Best Jeanist from newly hired sidekick to established hero, and third's to get his own secretary – which you became, because you got along so well by the water cooler. After that was to get this department. A minor step in the right direction was also to get you a new desk that had more space for your trinkets.

His current step, the food, seems to be his Achilles heel. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that you’d have the audacity to be uninterested. You’ve gotten along so well for years now, it’s strange that you don’t even want to taste. He can’t find it in himself to see it as rude, because as earlier established, you dutifully show up and socialize.

He’s in his office, boots on the desk as he contemplates his next move. His food was supposed to have given him an in into your life outside of work, inviting you home to teach you a few cooking tricks, have a nice wine and fluid conversations that’d make you laugh and weak in the knees.

And yet, here he is, dateless.

For a few weeks now he’s been taken peeks at your lunches whenever he passes your desk, but it’s not like anything specific glares at him, like a heavy gluten allergy or lactose intolerance. There’s dairy some days, he’s seen peanuts in your bento, too – and meat. Your diet really doesn’t exude vegetarianism or like you have any other food restrictions. Before weekends, he’s seen you taste the cakes that Himiko, the support secretary, brings with her. But you declined the baked goods he was given once from a rescue mission on a Tuesday. They were both the same type of cake.

Are you just incredibly picky?

He shakes his head and hides his pout in the collar of his suit; he needs to go on patrol soon. He doesn’t have time to think about this all day.

//

A few more grueling weeks of grumbling and groaning over how to make you eat his food, he notices a pattern in your lunches that’s taken him a while to put together. Certain items are never in the bento, like eggs or pineapples.

The other night he ate out with his parents, and his mother loudly talked about her colleague’s stomach issues, not caring that everyone in the restaurant was turning their heads to the conversation; Masaru kept trying to douse her noise level. Not only was the topic sort of awkward when everyone around you is eating (though husband and son were no strangers to such subjects during dinner at the Bakugou household), it’d be a bother if a patron recognized Bakugou.

Of course, Mitsuki paid no heed to anyone else but her family at their table, and explained about the condition she’d just learned about. About certain food triggering reactions even if no official allergy was involved; luckily, the healthcare provided by Mitsuki and Masaru’s company covered some very expensive allergy tests, and she’d then told Mitsuki that she had been diagnosed with IBS.

After being dropped off at his own apartment, he’d sat by his computer and googled IBS, which he learned stands for irritable bowel syndrome. He sucked up all knowledge available on the internet, scientific papers and healthcare provider’s talk about certain diets, testimonials from affected people and watched tons of videos from influencers creating awareness on TikTok. If the bags under his eyes were visible at work the day after, no one commented on it.

//

Now his heartbeat’s through the roof as he puts out the food like usual on the center table, everyone gathering and complimenting him on the smell. His hands are sweaty; more so than normal. He keeps wiping them off on his pants, swallowing excess saliva. In the thermal bag, at the bottom, is a dish specifically made with you in mind. He wonders if you’ll hate it.

You walk in next to Himiko, laughing about a joke she made. You part when you go directly for a seat and Himiko comes up to the make-shift buffet, patting his back in praise.

While everyone is busy filling their plates, Bakugou grabs the last bento box and goes straight to you. He puts it on top of the bento you’re just about to open, “here.”

You freeze for a second, eyes locked on the box. Then you smile up at Bakugou, “that’s so sweet Bakugou, but I brought my own food.”

He almost rolls his eyes before he squats down to lean his arms and head on the table and look up at your eyes. Gently, he says, “it should be safe.”

He hopes his voice doesn't sound as raw as it feels.

The comment takes you back as your eyes are locked onto his. He searches them, drowning in the richness of the color. It’s like he’s at the deep-end of the pool, entranced by a spell, only able to keep himself floating. You raise your brow, “safe?”

He turns away from you with a pout, “I often put pineapple in my curry. And eggs in my bibimbap. This is curry without all the things I’ve noticed you avoid.”

Your eyes travel between the lunch and him, comically back and forth like a cartoon character. “That you’ve noticed I avoid?”

Bakugou blushes; shit. He’d really hoped you wouldn’t catch on to that part. He hides his face in the arms that’s resting on the table edge. “Yeah,” he mutters out, muffled by his hidden face. The silence stretches out, and he’s holding his breath.

After what feels like entirely too long, you let out a small laugh and he hears the lid clicking open. You inhale deeply, and let out a satisfied sigh, “this looks delicious, Bakugou. Did you make it all for me?”

He lifts his head, his eyes still locked to the side. His ears are burning, “mhm,” he nods. You almost coo at him, as you pick up your chopsticks, “this is very kind of you.”

Neither of you notices your colleagues standing around you, various expressions of awe and admiration. You’ve both been the office gossip for some months now.

Bakugou looks at you as soon as you’ve taken the first bite, determined to see your reaction through his embarrassment. Through your chewing you can’t help but smile, stars emerging glittering and shimmering in your eyes as you reach a hand to your cheek, “Bakugou, this is amazing!” you say, taking another mouthful as fast as possible. He loves the way his name sounds when it comes out from your lips; you use it so often it makes him dizzy.

“Can you teach me how to make this? Please?”

Step six completed.

He smirks, “sure. It’s a date.”

check out if my requests are open here ✨