#Little Flame: Heatwave | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

topzsun · 2 months ago

Text

SOMEONE TO YOU

── ♡ MARCH

you and march come to a conclusion about each other. neither of you are happy.

It’s a damn shame the most good-looking men have the foulest of personalities, you reflect under the blistering heat of the summer sun. You attempt to find shade under the protruding roof ledge of the Blacksmith’s Shop, however, it does little to soothe and your thoughts are immediately overtaken by ‘what the hell is taking March so long to deliver you your upgraded sword?’. When the man in question flings open the door, promised weapon in hand and his permanent scowl on his lips, he unknowingly continues to prove you right.

Despite your antagonistic relationship with him, you’d be a fool to say March was unattractive. Strong build with biceps worth ogling over, flaming red hair and eyes the colour of the murky night, he had caught your eye almost immediately when you arrived in Mistria.

Then he opened his mouth and it all went downhill from there.

Despite an entire season since your arrival, March has yet to warm up to you and it's obvious with his pointed remarks and resting frown whenever you are in his vicinity. You return the attitude in kind, because being the bigger person is a foreign concept to you. Hence, a silent agreement has been reached to keep conversation to a minimum to prevent an unnecessary, heated back and forth.

To your surprise, March breaks the silence first, much to your displeasure.

“How many times are you gonna keep damaging it?” His tone is flat, but he keeps his hand out-stretched for you to take your order, which you all but snatch away.

“It’s the mines,” You refute, “Do you expect me to fight with sticks and stones?”

The tension dissipates when you catch March staring wordlessly, rather than busying himself with coming up with a response. Confused, you follow his line of vision to find his focus on the scarring littering the length of your bare arm, the wounds still relatively fresh. Thanks to magical advances in medicine, a quick trip to Valen’s clinic would make the scarring disappear with the bat of an eye. However, childishly you have been rationing your visits to the local doctor since last time she had made a passing quip about her seeing your face more than anyone else in town, paired with a heavy stare. You don’t think she meant any harm, but a visceral part of you can’t stand the idea of someone being disappointed in you. Hence, you’ve been stuck licking your wounds till it felt like an acceptable amount of time has passed since your last visit.

The sound of somebody clicking their tongue startles you, and before you can get a word in, March has already turned on his heel and went back inside. You stand frozen in your spot, wondering what you must have said that caused him enough offence to storm away. You contemplate leaving or apologising, but the door again opens and he stomps back out, something clenched in his hand.

“Here,” He mutters, as if reluctant, and in his open palm you find a tube of soothing gel and a roll of bandages.

“What’s it for?” You ask hesitantly and he looks at you as if you’ve just told him the sky is green.

“Your abrasions are getting red and swollen,” He snaps impatiently and shoves the items your way. “You’ll cause more trouble for Doctor Valen if you catch an infection.”

While his wording would be enough to get a rise out of you, you are still bewildered and oddly touched by his attentiveness, taking the items from his hand gingerly. Before you can finish your “thank you”, the man has already closed the door on you, with only the heatwaves as your witness to this encounter.

Something has shifted in March, and you feel like you are the only one who has noticed.

“Don’t you think there is something different about him these days?” You question and Ryis puts down his hammer long enough to consider your question. You would have felt bad for interrupting his work, but you think you’ve become good enough friends with the carpenter to press for his time occasionally.

“Not really?” Ryis admits with a flippant shrug and heaves another slab of wood onto his workbench. “He seems fine.”

“It’s not like I’m saying he’s acting worse,” You are on the defensive immediately, pursing your lips. “Just… different.”

He spares a minute to stare at you, and you can tell he’s still not understanding the difference between March from the beginning of spring and March halfway through fall.

“Okay, well, give me an example then,” He offers. You open your mouth and then close it, words failing you as you mimic a fish out of water. Despite him waiting patiently, you feel your face heat up in embarrassment that you had no explanation to offer Ryis other than determined certainty. He is one of the kindest people you know, but even he can’t bite back the amused smile that graces his lips as you fruitlessly attempt to explain your thoughts.

“Don’t laugh!” You bark which only makes him laugh louder. “There is definitely something strange going on. I just don’t know how to put it into words!”

Upon your behest, Ryis does his best to calm down, and while he can’t hide his amusement he does spare you a reassuring smile.

“If it helps, I’ll keep an eye out the next time I see him,” His proposal relaxes your shoulders and relieves your recent anxieties as you spare a few words of gratitude. Aside from his brother, the person March is closest to in this town is Ryis and if his best friend can’t notice the shift, then nobody can.

“But if I’m being honest…” The carpenter trails off as he fixes you a curious look, though he shows hesitation about what he says next. “I think the person who’s been acting different is you.”

You gape at him, taken aback by the sudden shift of accusation.

“What do you mean?”

He packs up his tools, making his way to the shop's front door as he gives you a teasing backward glance.

“Well, you’ve been staring a lot at him lately. Somebody would easily think you’d have a… crush on him?”

Cleverly planned, Ryis quickly shuts the door behind him before he can hear you squawking indignantly. Confusion, disbelief and annoyance creep over you on your long walk back home to the farm, passing by March conversing with Reina beside the water fountain. Upon noticing your presence, Reina offers a large smile and a friendly wave which you try your best to return despite your dejected mood. March, upon noticing the girl’s distraction, looks up. Just when you think he’d tactfully ignore you, he takes you by surprise when he tilts his head in your direction in acknowledgment. You felt your heart squeeze in its cage.

Ryis wins, again.

March did not like looking back on the past. His motto resides in moving forward and discarding weaknesses, but that doesn’t stop the tendrils of his early years from creeping around him when he’s at his most susceptible, begging to be acknowledged by him. It felt like a child pleading for attention.

Olric is older than him, but not by much. Distant family members liked to exaggerate the age difference to make March feel less guilty that his brother, who still had baby fat on his face, was now his sole guardian after the death of their parents because nobody else wanted to take on the burden of looking after an aggrieved child. He can still recite the calligraphy scrawled on the banner of the funeral home, the wails and sobbing of grieving friends and family muffled by planked walls. He had grown tired from the noise, and having to look at the monochrome portraits of his parents smiling into the frame, and opted to let the proceedings continue while he sat in the hallway. It was this kind of distance where he felt most comfortable. He touches his forehead to his knees, legs pressed against his chest as he nurses the signs of an incoming headache. He wanted to sleep so badly.

He only lifts his head when he hears the rapid pattering of footsteps against the wood floor and a frantic call of his name from a familiar voice. He turns and almost feels his heart sink when he catches glimpses of his father’s dark hair and eyes, until he realises it’s Olric. His white button-up is untucked and unironed, his clumsily tied necktie held together by some higher power, and his blazer rests on his arms rather than on his figure. His brother had always been a sloppy dresser, something his mother used to chide him for, but when he sees Olric’s eyes swollen and red, he says nothing.

He had to travel from the other side of the Capital from where he was apprenticing for the funeral, so not many aside from their grandmother could click their tongues over Olric’s late arrival. March is led back inside by the gentle grip of his brother’s hand on his shoulder, and it feels warm. Olric doesn’t move his hand even when people make their rounds to the brothers with their condolences, and empty promises to write if they ever needed anything. March never sees them again after the funeral.

They moved away from their home on the outskirts of the Capital, because rent was getting too high and Olric could hardly support himself, much less a young boy now under his care. His older brother is forced to drop out of his position as an apprentice blacksmith, and that’s the part that makes March feel the most miserable out of all the changes that have happened. Yet, Olric never frowned or complained, or even called it a burden. He told him they were moving to a place called Mistria after being offered a position there as a miner, and he knows it’s a subtle nudge to get their life going after spending months in their family house void of his father’s booming laughter and their mother’s firm but loving gaze. To persist is how his family has functioned for generations.

Mistria is small, but quaint and beautiful, and March wasn’t too fond of it because it felt too quiet compared to the rambunctious noise of children playing outside and the whirring of heavy machinery that he was used to. The worst part was how friendly and nosy everybody was, from the man at the General Store who made corny jokes that made him grimace, to the carpenter who would often stop by just to hover over their shoulders insisting he could help them whenever they needed “as a pro!”.

March finds a peaceful middle ground with the family at the Sleeping Dragon Inn. Maybe the principle of “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” worked, because whenever Hemlock and Josephine would stop by to share dishes with the brothers, March grew excited for their visits. He learns they have a twelve-year-old daughter who is the same age as him, and during his first visit to the Inn, that’s where he finally meets Reina.

March has met other people around his age in Mistria. Celine, only two years younger, was too shy for March’s liking. She barely spoke a word, practically hiding behind her mother’s legs and eyeing him as if he were an alien from outer space. It didn’t help he wasn’t much of a talker either, so they sat in silence until her mother came by later in the evening to pick her up after their “playdate”. They exchanged awkward goodbyes and that was it.

Reina was friendly and hardworking, which was a trait March admired. Despite her young age, she seemed to have inherited her parents’ charisma and was able to pick up quickly on what to say around March, and soon he began spending many evenings in the Inn with her and her family. Summers at the beach playing together, and winters spent playing board games in the toasty interior of the Inn. She had also been his first crush, and that was the first time March realised he didn’t hate the idea of love and romance, spending the next few months after this realisation daydreaming of doing things like holding her hand and bragging about being her boyfriend to anyone who asks. Embarrassing to look back on now, but childhood crushes were hardly ever rational. An older March can only be relieved he never followed through with all the corny stuff he wanted to do.

The feelings eventually die down as he gets more and more comfortable being settled into the town, and he realises Reina obviously didn’t like him back. It was for the better, because she and her family had slowly become a second home to him, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

As he gets older, he picks up an interest in blacksmithing. When Errol and Landen hear about this, they are quick to call up old friends and have him enrolled in a blacksmithing apprenticeship in the Capital. He remembers how bright Olric’s grin had been the day he had been accepted, and he feels a mixture of excitement and guilt in the pits of his stomach. He packs up a month later and he’s back to his birthplace, but as he says his last-minute goodbyes, he realises he is going to miss Mistria. From the chirping of birds outside his window to the sound of chatter at the Inn, the small town had become his home. That was also when he decided that once he got his professional license, he would return as the local blacksmith, and that filled him with pride like no other.

True to his word, after finishing up his apprenticeship (and winning kingdom-wide competitions for his craft, he shamelessly brags), he returns to Mistria and is quickly hounded for his success that has spread as far as to the humble town. That is also when he realises that during his absence, a new face recently moved in.

That’s how March first meets Ryis and is instantly taken by him. It’s hard not to be. Where March was curt and testy, Ryis was considerate and calming. Most importantly, Ryis worked diligently and pulled his weight around town.

March always liked the industrious types.

Everything had been going so well for him. His work was going strong, he’d made a new close friend on the same wavelength as him, and he’s still the talk of the town despite how long it’s been since he moved back.

Then you come along and throw a wrench in everything, and suddenly it's hard to go through the day without hearing your name being mentioned at least once. You don’t shy away from making your presence known, and he’s become accustomed to seeing you run around town with an assortment of tools strapped to your back as you greet every face passing you by.

Including him, for some weird reason.

Maybe it was the jealousy that had convinced him he disliked you, or maybe your demeanour was what ticked him off. Yet, despite his snark, you still find an excuse to stop by to talk to him, even if you were meeting his attitude with your own the entire time. March wasn’t born yesterday, he knew you found some sort of twisted entertainment in your banter. Nobody needed to get their tools checked over by him as much as you did.

As Ryis had jokingly put it, March has met his match in the form of you. He could have vomited at his friend’s chosen descriptor, because it sounded too romantic for his liking. He most certainly did not have any kind of feelings for you that involved wanting to kiss you or be yours. He likes people like Reina and Ryis, and he doesn’t like hardheaded and reckless eccentrics like you.

He’s sure of it, even when he notices that the warm glow of the open fire at the Inn casts a pretty light on you. Or how your cocky grins are almost infectious. Or that you looked nice no matter what you tried out at Louise’s stall.

Oh, fuck.

#fields of mistria #fom #fom march #fom march x reader #fields of mistria march #march fom #march fom x reader #fields of mistria x reader #fom x reader #march x reader #march fields of mistria #reader insert #x reader

123 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 1 year ago

Text

Masterlist

Series

Tides of Desire

Complete: TLOU no outbreak AU. Joel Miller is a luxury yacht captain running charters in the Caribbean. You join the crew as a deckhand and unexpectedly complicate Joel's peaceful existence. Basically the TLOU bunch on a Below Deck yacht.

Chapter One - A Prelude to the Open Sea

Chapter Two - The Adventure Begins

Chapter Three - The Cut of One's Jib

Chapter Four - Cut and Run

Chapter Five - Red Sky in Morning

Chapter Six - Edging Forward

Chapter Seven - From Stem to Stern

Chapter Eight - As the Crow Flies

Chapter Nine - Close Quarters

Chapter Ten - On Your Beam Ends

Chapter Eleven - All at Sea

Chapter Twelve - Turn the Corner

Epilogue

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall Into Me

dbf!Joel x f!reader, ongoing

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Chapter One: The Day That I Met You

Chapter Two: It All Turned Around

Chapter Three: No Mirror for Monsters

Chapter Four: Until I had met you there was no sun in my sky

Chapter Five: My whole world came alive

Chapter Six: And I knew my heart wasn't mine

Chapter Seven: I'll Catch You Darlin'

Chapter Eight: We'll Dance in the Street like Nobody's Watching

Chapter Nine: I'd Fall for You Twice if That's What You Wanted

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Petals of Affection

Complete. A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

Part I

Part II

Part III

One-shots

Lost Cause

Summary: Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree. Oneshot.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope.

Inspired by the song Save Me by Jelly Roll. Some of the lyrics have been woven into the story.

~~~~~~~~~

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.

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

#joel miller #joel miller x female reader #the last of us #fanfiction #tlou #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #smut #fluff

519 notes · View notes

judasgot-it · 7 months ago

Text

Everybody Talks

Scenario: Kaldo really, really likes you. He is doing borderline anything he can to convince you to like him back.

This was originally something else but once again! I have gone way off the tracks!

1.7 k word count

Kaldo might have been obsessed with you since day one.

It was everything about you - the way you walked, the way you smiled at him, the way you had forgotten his name for the first 3 months of knowing him and called him 'Mr. Flame Cane' as if he wouldn't notice.

He did. Usually, he would find something like that a little offensive, but the first time he had met you, there was something different about your demeanor that he was willing to overlook your poor memory.

If anything, it made you cuter.

It was overwhelming. You were lost in the building where divine visionaries held their meetings - it was the first time you had ever been there after being inducted into the group.

Kaldo had practically grown up in the building thanks to his lineage, so of course he had no problem giving you a tour.

He had extended the tour for a little too long - you really didn't need to know about the secret crawl spaces or the unused closets. But he wanted your attention so, so badly.

Kaldo felt a little stupid even, sharing embarrassing childhood stories with someone he had only met a few days before. The laugh he received was so genuine and beautiful, that he wished he could record it and play it on repeat forever.

It was addicting. Those few hours of conversation might have caused some sort of spark in him, because after that he was following you around like a puppy every chance he got.

Maybe he didn't have enough chances - you both did have busy jobs, given you were divine visionaries.

But he found that he could do most of his office work while talking to you. You never called him out or told him to leave - all you did was invite him in further, keeping jars of honey and napkins on your desk.

Not once did you call him strange for his food habits, instead worrying about cavities while trying the coffee he had made for you.

It was pretty much expected that Kaldo was going to be in your office 9 times out of 10.

The both of you had discussed it once, as a little inside joke between the two of you.

"Maybe they think we're dating?"

You said this casually, although Kaldo's people-watching skills told him that the blush on your face was not from some sudden heatwave.

The implication had you blushing, and Kaldo wanted to savor it for a little while.

"My mom sent a letter asking if we're engaged, you know,"

He leaned in closer as he said this, as if seeing your reaction up close would ease how fast his heart was beating at that moment.

"There's rumors that we've been courting-"

"You're way too formal, Kaldo. Courting is a noble's thing."

He could feel your hair against his skin, and how your hands brushed against his on the desk. He was taking up your space, leaning in closer to stare at your face - trying his hardest to commit it to memory.

Your skin looked beautiful in the light of the dying sun, the windows behind the both of you giving him a glimpse of what you would look bathed in gold.

Kaldo let his hand overtake yours, testing to see how much of your space he could enroach upon.

"I don't mind it," you said this with a smile, one Kaldo only noticed because he was staring at your lips. "Maybe we should let them think that."

And you both had left it at that. It was like an inside joke to the both of you, whenever someone had asked the question-

Are you together?

Your answers would be between some wild response or a shrug. Now you held onto Kaldo as if he was your own personal teddy bear, but never said a word about it.

His personal space had become decidedly yours; as if to keep the little joke between each other a little more realistic.

Kaldo once kissed you and said 'no' and you had thought it was the funniest thing on the planet. He was going along with it, since he figured that it had gone unsaid that you both were going along with the rumors.

He only slightly hated himself for that decision.

It had started a game between the both of you, that had gone unsaid - going past just spending time with one another outside of being coworkers and friends, the both of you were everything that a couple could be without saying 'I love you'.

Kaldo found himself sleeping in your bed more times than not, and you were eating dinner by his side every chance you had.

It was impossible. Kaldo didn't know if it was still a joke or not whenever you kissed him goodbye; when you held his hand or when you talked to his mom as if you had known her your whole life.

Was it ever a joke?

He found himself floundering around each time he wanted to ask, because what does he even really say?

There weren't a lot of words he could think of when you would kiss him in the same abandoned closets he had shown you only months prior. It made his usual intellect fly out the window - he only thought with his body, trying to memorize the cavern of your mouth and the softness of your skin.

This would never help with the rumors; if either of you still cared about that.

At this point, he wasn't sure what either of you cared about. You were both distracted with your game, rather seeing each other than being interested in anything else.

It was really catching up to the two of you.

You were slacking on your work, and no one even bothered to ask anymore. Kaldo was with you, or you were with Kaldo.

It...really wasn't a joke anymore.

"Hey?"

Kaldo didn't know what to do when you pulled away, your lack of warmth making him feel cold for once in his life. His eyes looked around your face, as if to understand what the hell was going on through your mind.

It was the most impossible puzzle that had ever been put in front of him.

Your eyes didn't portray anything aside from confusion, which was exactly what Kaldo was feeling in that moment.

"Yeah?"

Seriously, what the hell were you two doing?

"Are you okay? You seem out of it."

You were blinking up at him, caught between staring at his lips and making eye contact. Kaldo knew he didn't have the prettiest eyes, but it was difficult to have a conversation with him when you were practically on top of him in a dusty closet.

"No, I'm fine. Just thinking..."

He had a lot of things he wanted to ask you, like if you were ever planning on being serious or if this was just going to stay a game between the both of you.

But he figured he should ask you in a nice place, like outside and in a garden somewhere.

"About?"

Your hand traveled around his body, traveling underneath his shirt and further untucking it. Kaldo was overly aware of how the fabric moved against his skin, and he had to breathe in deeply to stop the sounds that wanted to escape his throat.

This mess was like a tangled-up ball of string - Kaldo was never going to escape you.

"What happened to us?"

"Huh?" He could practically taste your confusion. Your tongue stuck out of your mouth a little, so close to his that he could smell his breath on you - like honey, and the faint smell of coffee.

"This isn't a joke anymore."

Your face practically glowed at that statement, averting his gaze nervously. It was as if he had caught you in a lie of some sorts.

Who the hell were you even lying to?

Kaldo took his hands and brought them to the small of your back, pinching at your ruffled jacket as he tried to meet your gaze once again. You were intent on not meeting his, staring at where the wall met the floor, as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Can you please be honest with me," The last few months hung over him like a heavy heart, and he hoped you would give him the peace by giving him an answer. "What do you really want with me?"

You glanced at his face, and it pulled a blush out of you so red that Kaldo was sure that it matched the ribbons in his hair.

He leaned down, trying to have his eyes in your line of sight. You tried to pull your face away from his weakly, tossing quick glances towards him shyly.

"You weren't so shy just a moment ago babe."

It was hard to be shy as you were both practically one body, with your hands creeping up along Kaldo's skin even as you avoided his eyes.

"I just don't know how to answer. Aren't we good as we are?"

"And what is that?" Kaldo didn't know what emotion was bubbling up against his throat, making him want to close his eyes and hide like you were. There was a force stronger that compelled him to push you for a word - something other than 'the-guy-I-makeout-with-in-closets-and-also-work-with-and-live-with-and-also-pretend-to-be-dating-for-some-reason.'

Dragging the answer out of you was like eating caramel - sweet but also nearly impossible. It felt like he was biting and chewing forever, just to get a taste of what he wanted. He already had you in his arms, but it didn't feel like he was satisfied with having all of you.

At this rate, he needed a ring.

"Well everyone thinks we're, you know...together. Why don't we just be that?" You got the courage to look up at him, the answer only a near approximation of what you wanted to be.

"And you do want to be when mean by together?"

"You're just being an asshole now. You know what that means."

Kaldo felt your nails dig into his skin, as if a punishment for pulling the words out of you like this. It only made him smile, causing you to dig harder.

"I don't know if I do. My mom thinks we're engaged, but I heard some people think that we're merely courting. There's a big difference there, you know?"

"Together."

ignore that im ignoring my entire event, i have no concept of a schedule!

#mashle x reader #magic and muscles x reader #kaldo x reader #kaldo gehenna x reader #kaldo gehenna x you #kaldo gehenna #mashle

168 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

if you’re open to it, could you complete the trio and write smth abt james seeing reader’s scars for the first time, too? ty x

ty for requesting ♡ fem

cw past self-harm [no graphic imagery]

It should surprise James as someone who's never thought about hurting himself, but he has two very important best friends, of which he'd do anything for, who aren't of the same disposition. So when he notices the pale skin of your scars where they criss-cross your chest, your stomach, your thighs, he's almost ready for it.

You attract sad souls, Sirius had said once, mostly joking.

But James doesn't think that's true. He just thinks there are more people who needed love and didn't get it than first appears.

You sit up in your sun lounger. James pretends not to notice when you see him, smiling to himself as you grab your cover up.

"The sun doesn't feel real, right?" you ask, sitting next to him on the picnic bench. "Late September heatwave. What will global warming think of next?"

"It's miserable," he says agreeably, though he loves the heat. "That's nice."

"This?" you ask, waving at your cover up. It's ruched fabric made to drape at your hips, almost like a skirt.

"Yeah, that. You look really pretty."

"Thanks, James." Your smile is all kinds of dazzling. "Nice of Sirius to host a party, huh? Now we can make the most of the sunshine. Did he put you in charge of food again?"

He nods to the spread in clingfilm behind you both. It's safe in the shade, the sun kissing to your knees and not much further. "Doesn't he always?"

"It's good for me. I like your samosas."

"Which ones? The kheema ones?" He nudges you amicably. "You have good taste. I made a bunch of sliders too, cucumber sandwiches. Don't limit yourself."

You stay by his side and eventually peel back the clingfilm on one of the plates, stealing quarter sandwiches with one of your legs pulled up on the bench. Your bikini is little and your coverup slips to one side down your leg, scars plainly on show. He has no intention of bringing it up, until you notice what's happened and flinch. He can't hide that he's seen fast enough, horrified when you fluster, you waver, your eyes pinched with humiliation. "Sorry," you say, laughing awkwardly. "I'm flashing you. Sorry."

He casts a glance around the back garden. Most of your friends squeeze into the lazy spa sweating themselves to death in the sun, and the remainder drink cold drinks by the stereo. No one's watching you but him.

"You don't have to be embarrassed," he says.

"I just didn't want you to see."

"Me?" he asks, startled.

"I mean. Not like that. Not not like that." You tear the crusts off of your sandwich and put them on the plate like you're looking for something to do. "Not like anything." You smile at him a raw shade off of happy.

"Shortcake, it doesn't bother me one bit. You think I care about that?" He ducks his head. "You're you. All of this," —he makes a small gesture at your front— "is you. I want to see all of it. You don't have anything you need to hide."

"All of it?" you ask strangely.

He doesn't get what you're saying but then he does, suddenly, blood rushing to his face and his ears hot as a flame. What a weird thing to say, he stresses to himself. You stupid man. "I'm not a pervert," he says.

You gawp. He gets hotter, if possible, scratching his hair back from his eyes.

"I mean, you're beautiful," he says, "anyone would be lucky to see it all. Oh my god."

You put your ruined sandwich on the edge of the plate and fix the clingfilm as he dies of shame. He's thinking well, courting you was fun while it lasted, all those bad jokes and better hugs, he loved every minute of your attention.

You laugh. "Most of the time I don't care about them," you confess, and he's so happy to hear your voice rolling over his embarrassment he could run a lap, "they're old. Can't do anything about them. But I didn't want you to think I was some sort of freak."

"Is that what you think you are?"

"No, of course not… Silly for doing something like that."

"I don't think it was silly. We do what we can, right?" He eases his arm around your shoulders in a hug, his hand eager to rub at the top of your arm. "I don't think you're some sort of freak, you're my type of freak."

"You really don't care?"

"I care," he says gently, touching the tip of his nose to your cheek before giving you a more friendly amount of space. "A lot. Especially about you, okay? But I don't care about them unless you do. I like you, yeah?"

"I like you too," you say.

"Wanna prove it?"

James asks you to make him a plate of things to graze on while he finds you both a drink. It's not his most romantic of lines, but it means you end up at his side for a dedicated while, flicking condensation at his chest. You don't worry about the coverup again.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

751 notes · View notes

vraisetzen · 4 months ago

Note

Ooo I see! Glad to be the one who asked then 🤭 how about Kokupuffs reaction to reader getting hurt/wounded by another demon whilst she was away on a mission as a hashira (more-so if thought to be followed in the same storyline of one of your written work ‘Notte stellata”; when Koku’s twisted need and lust for the reader just began, like in the early chapters, seeking her out at night, only now finding her returned with wounds from an earlier encounter, the other demon’s scent reeking off of her, almost replacing his own markings upon her body..? (As if it’s some pest messing with HIS ‘prey’, if it makes sense)

Or, perhaps, any smutty, yandere type short fic of Michi in a modern au setting and reader? (TBH, would love to see more yandere Kokushibo or Michikatsu x reader fics/hcs💔 love to see just how they’d depict he’d act..)

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝑺𝒌𝒊𝒏 — �� 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Authors's Note: Thank you for the request! I recently completed a Yandere!Kokushibo fic (that you can find here, if you have not seen it!), but I also wanted to go back to your first prompt, which was too good to pass up — writing Kokushibo in the early parts of Notte Stellata was such a throwback!

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Mature content (steamy, but no smut), Mentions of blood and wounds, No use of (Y/N), Early Notte Stellata interlude — but it can definitely be read as a standalone!

Summary: Kokushibo is a little more possessive than he would let on.

One of the things you dreaded the most after a mission was tending to your wounds; even though you were a Hashira and therefore escaped the worst of any demon attacks, especially those on the lower end of the hierarchy, it was inevitable that you returned home, some way or another, with a scratch or two — nicks on your arms from snagging your sleeve against a thorned bush, scrapes on your knee from dodging a Blood Demon Art.

It was part and parcel of your creed, and you had long become accustomed to sitting in the darkness of your kitchen, lit by the flame from the stove, as you dabbed these small wounds with a soaked linen cloth of carbolic acid before wrapping them up in bandages. Unlike Sanemi, you took no pride in the scars that littered your body; as a young woman, they invited too many unwanted stares and questions from older women in town, and thus you took extra care for them to heal properly.

The back doors to your kitchen swung open with a bang, shaking the windows and rattling the pots in a frazzled din. Startled, you turned your hear around in fright, eyes wide as you beheld the silhouette that stood in the whipping wind and the light of the moon, hands hovered between tucking the bandage around your arm and throwing the bottle at the intruder.

Kokushibo crossed from the moonlight into the threshold of your house, his grand stature partly aglow by the same flickering balefire that cast your wounds into clarity. Gathering yourself, you returned to your bandages, slipping the knot beneath the layers as you kept your eyes on him. Though Kokushibo never extended you the courtesy of a greeting on his visits, his silence, coupled with his wandering gaze as he took in your presence, seemed to precede something withheld on his end.

There was a sizzling tension in the air not unlike the running currents you felt when standing beneath an electric lamp — a trepidating heatwave that lingered closer to your skin than static. The layered strands of Kokushibo's hair stood in a dark halo around his fearsome countenance, the all-seeing look of his eyes depthless and revealing not a single word. Your gaze studied his dark expression, breath hitching as you cleared your throat, breaking the spell of silence that fell over the two of you.

"It's alright; nothing more than a scratch," you assured to nobody in particular; you had no idea why you chose these words — only that you felt the need to shatter the frost that had glazed over the both of you.

Kokushibo took a step forward, the hem of his hakama brushing against your bare calves as he glared down at you; typically you would have caved under the intensity of his overwhelming presence, your knees folding beneath the weight of his unnatural gaze, but you kept your feet planted firmly on the floor, your hands curling into fists.

"Would you like to wait inside?" you added — another redundant statement. "I'll be re-"

A squeak escaped you when Kokushibo suddenly lunged for the juncture between your neck and shoulder, burying his nose into your collar and taking a seething breath. His exhalations fanned hotly over your skin, and at once you clung onto the front of his kimono to stop yourself from being knocked off your feet.

"Wha-?" you eeked out, but your words were cut off by him once more as he gritted into your ear:

"Who was it?" he demanded, arms wrapping around your back as he tugged you close against his broad chest, the heat of his body seeping through both your clothes. A trickle of sweat rolled down your neck as you released a shuddering breath, words failing to come forth.

"Who?" Kokushibo pressed, the thrum of his baritone sending a shiver down your spine.

Then, without warning, he placed his lips over a nick on the side of your neck, drawing a hiss from you as the sting of his tongue painted over the salty tang of broken skin. The groan that escaped his lips was one of displeasure as Kokushibo tightened his grip on your shoulder.

You knew instantly what he was referring to — the demon who had drew these nicks and grazes on you. In truth, it was no more than a lowly creature, dispensible with a few draw of Breaths and the quick slash of your blade; but he had been rather troublesome, his Blood Demon Art being some small, seed-like bullets that he expelled from his clawed nails. You had managed to dodge most of them, but the ones that had caught on your uniform had dug into your skin, stinging as much as an ant's bite.

Could the lower demon have left his scent on you? An Art, perhaps, for him to mark his victims and trace them in the event they tried to escape? As far as you were concerned, you could not smell a single offensive note on you. Kokushibo's response, however, suggested otherwise. His scarlet irises glowered at you as he expected your answer.

You took a deep breath, hands loosening from the front of his kimono. "Just a demon. A weak one."

"And you killed him," Kokushibo said, more as a confirmation of fact than a question.

Despite your flustered state, you were rather affronted by the insinuation of his words. "Of course I did — I am a Hashira, you know."

"Good," Kokushibo groused, angling his face to bestow a line of kisses across your jaw, each more insistent than the last. His hair tickled your chin, while yours on the nape of your neck prickled in anticipation when he finally landed on the corner of your lips. "Because I would have killed him myself had you not."

With those words, he sealed his lips over yours, stealing any words of protest from you. His fingers brushed up your arm to where you had tucked the knot beneath the coil of bandages, unfastening it with a dismissive flick of his wrist. The strips of cloth fluttered down between your feet.

Kokushibo took a step forward, and then another — cajoling you back until your tailbone hit the wooden counter. His hands were impatient, but sturdy, as they undid the silver buttons of your uniform and revealed your pallor beneath: smooth, though marked by small flecks of red from where the tiny cuts had already dried. Conscious of how he was looking unflinchingly at you, you hovered your hand over your front, uncertain of how to proceed as your ear suffused a deep pink.

It's not as bad as it looks, you wanted to say, although you know that your wellbeing was the least of his concerns. The darkness of Kokushibo's gaze deepened as he edged forward, placing his parted lips on your neck once more; this time, you felt the scrape of his canines on your skin, and you tensed in anticipation.

Yet, the sting of his bite — so familiar when he decided to be rough with you — did not come. Instead, Kokushibo suckled over the small marks peppered over your skin, breaking them again with his lips as if drawing poison from a wound; he lavished wet kisses over them as he drifted over your front, ripping your underclothes with the ease of running his fingers through a field of silvergrass.

One by one, he pored through each mark no matter how small, leaving no patch of your skin unturned as he tasted the fresh scars and replaced them with his own. On your thigh, you felt the twitch of his cock as it stirred with arousal — and once more Kokushibo growled, this time rich with hunger and lust. The bare salt of your skin, together with the tang of your blood, was an alchemical potion of desire, turning his irritation into shadowed passion with each bite and lick.

You released a shuddering breath as he coaxed you backward still, his hands slipping from your perked nipples and the tense planes of your belly to the back of your thighs. In one heave, Kokushibo guided you onto the table; keeling backward like a cornered lamb as he encroached forth, you spread your legs for him to stand between them.

You dared not cast your eyes down to your front despite the cloud of desire that shadowed your bodies for fear of glimpsing the bruises he left over in place of marks you gained. Instead, you met your gaze with his and licked your lips, your pants coming in sharp bursts.

Tipping your chip with his index, Kokushibo kissed you fiercely on this mouth — the table creaked beneath your weight and his sudden movement, and you clung onto him for fear of tipping over. But he remained steadfast as you seized the opportunity to divest him of his kimono, shrugging them inelegantly over his shoulder and tugging them down his arms.

With a careless toss, you threw his clothes to the side, and instantly hear glass crashing.

Pulling away sharply, you looked over to find that, in your haste and clumsiness, you had brought both the bottle of carbolic acid and Kokushibo's clothes to the floor. The air reeked of antiseptic, and you pushed yourself up with your hands.

"I need to clean this up," you muttered as Kokushibo leaned forward, nonchalant to the mess you made.

"That can wait," he beckoned, a hand firm on the small of your back to hold your frame against his. As if to reiterate, you felt the pulse of his erection along your inner thigh, in tandem with the first twinge of arousal in your sex. "Come."

His offer was almost impossible to resist, and you felt your arms slacken for a hair's breadth before clearing your addled thoughts with a few forceful blinks. Palms on his chest, you said: "No, I have to — there's glass all over the floor. What if we hurt ourselves?

"I won't."

"But I could."

The kitchen was stark silent as Kokushibo took in your words, and you wondered if you might have taken a step too far; his eyes, amber with dilated irises, seemed more frightening than ever, though you could now read beyond the words carved on them. He was not angry, no; he had not been when he had seen those marks on your body, and while he might have been bristled by this unexpected interlude, you remained silent and firm.

Eventually, Kokushibo took a step back; he shirked himself of his underclothes, and retreated further until you could slide off the table. Briefly, you looked up at him through your lashes, and caught a clandestine second where his eyes dropped for a split second to your body, the language behind his gaze unchanged, a tome's worth of words that you have only begun to decode. But with a flutter of his lashes, you found it indecipherable once more, their definitions slipping from your outstretched fingers.

You contented instead with grabbing a rag from the counter to sop up the spill.

"Don't keep me waiting," he said, with hardly a glance back at you, slipping past the kitchen doors to where your bedroom awaited.

Thank you for reading! For my longer writings, visit my AO3 here.

#vraisetzen #kokushibo x you #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo x reader insert #kokushibo x y/n #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kokushibo #demon slayer reader insert #kny reader insert

49 notes · View notes

kodzukenmaaa · 1 year ago

Text

𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ pairing: Kazehaya Shouta x Reader

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ contents: you're a ticking bomb in a hot weather

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ warnings: cursing.

In the scorching summer heat, you couldn't help the heat but feel your temper is also rising along the temperature. Every single hot day, it seemed like it fueled your temper for the hot day. You always come prepared with a small portable fan you carry around somehow today you couldn't find it after charging it all night, your mom answered your question when you come to her asking "Hey mom have you seen my portable mini fan I just charged last night?"

"Oh yeah, I think your sister has it. I saw her running outside with it in her hand."

Ah yes, that bitch. As much as you love her, you hate her with passion now during summer. Your family and friends often joked how that you're like a ticking time bomb during a heatwave.

Your boyfriend, Kazehaya Shouta. Your caring, patient, and understanding boyfriend is well aware of your seasonal struggle. He knows long before summer when it's a hot day he noticed how you're always snap at people and have that frown and furrowed eyebrows everywhere when it's really hot.

So when summer came, he came prepared for your fiery spirit. One afternoon, when you started to fan yourself with exaggerated exasperation, Shouta appeared with a knowing smile and switched the small portable fan and pointed it towards you. You couldn't help but grin at his gestures.

The gentle breeze instantly lifted your spirits, and you shot a playful glare at your boyfriend, who was smiling innocently.

"Are you saying I'm hot-headed?" You asked him, Shouta nodded. "Just a little, but who wouldn't?"

Over the next few days, Shouta's small acts of kindness continue. He surprises you with cold drinks like ice lemonade, ice cold tea, and, of course, every day he brings his portable mini fan.

His efforts didn't just help her physical comfort; they spoke volumes about his understanding of her emotions and his desire to make her smile.

As you cooled down physically, your emotional temperature also started to stabilize. People found you less prone to snapping at others and even began to enjoy the summer days a little more. Shouta's presence and care were like a soothing balm for your soul.

"You know, I think people mistaken about you being ticking time bomb because to me, you're a controlled burn." Touched by his words, you kissed him on the lips which he hum and kisses back.

As the summer continued, you still felt the heat's effects, but now you had Shouta's calming presence to anchor you. Your love blossomed like a flame in the midst of the season's blaze, reminding you that even the hottest days could lead to growth and renewal.

#kazehaya shouta x reader #kazehaya shouta x you #kazehaya shota x reader #kazehaya shota x you #shouta kazehaya x reader #kimi ni todoke x reader #kimi ni todoke x you #from me to you x reader #from me to you x you #⃗ 🕊*ೃ༄kodzukenmaaa's fics

320 notes · View notes

highflygingcon · 3 months ago

Text

@faultfindingfirebot

"Dearspark, I am partially joking. I was at your graduation ceremony. I noticed recruits were getting smaller and smaller as time went on. It's why Alkaline and I started our little project."

#IC: Trojan #Little Flame: Heatwave

3 notes · View notes

highflygingcon · 3 months ago

Note

Trojan quickly hid their servos, the last few minutes playing in their mind over and over. They had been helping Heatwave organize their medicine caps. D.R.O.N.Es scanners had picked up an incoming Decepticon. Once Trojan knew they were openly hostile, they restrained Heatwave within the inner operating theater.

It was better this way.

The Decepticon called them a traitor. Claimed they never understood why Megatron put up with their constant traitorous actions, assisting the enemy... he stopped talking once they realized how easily he could kill them. A Decepticon who wouldn't kill? What was the point of letting them live?

Now his body lay lifeless, with Trojan storing their spark on their person, and an audible 'snikt', as two very long claws retracted within their right servo.

He would not bother them anymore.

Shockingly, Trojan looked...mostly fine. A bit of leaking energon, sure, but no smell. "I'm fine--" They grunted, but made no effort to push him off.

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ @highflygingcon [Maybe Trojan finally got 'caught' by another con?]

Heatwave finally managed to squirm free of the restraints Trojan had used to keep him away from the fight.

The mech who had attacked them was clearly deactivated, but Trojan hadn’t escaped unharmed.

Running to Trojan’s side, Heatwave began to look them over to make certain that lifting them to get back to D.R.O.N.E wouldn’t cause more damage.

#IC: Trojan #Little Flame: Heatwave

1 note · View note

techhiz · 6 days ago

Note

Can I request Rescue bots heatwave with femme human s/o who’s like another sister to the burns family (but isn’t) and is shy at first when meeting him but is very energetic once comfortable?

Warming up.

The sky over Griffin Rock shimmered in hues of pink and orange as the sun dipped low on the horizon. On the island, where the extraordinary was an everyday occurrence, the Rescue Bots were busy wrapping up another training session with the Burns family. Cody had suggested they bring a few friends to the firehouse for a small gathering afterward, just to unwind.

And that’s where you came in.

Being close to Kade, Dani, and the rest of the family, you were often treated as one of them. Though not officially a Burns by name, you’d been part of their world for so long that the distinction didn’t matter. Tonight, however, was a little different.

You had heard a lot about the Rescue Bots—especially Heatwave, the team’s leader—and how they operated alongside the family. However, meeting a giant, transforming firetruck was a bit intimidating for someone like you. Sure, you were used to wild adventures in Griffin Rock, but meeting an actual alien? That was another level.

You shuffled nervously as you stood near the firehouse, hands clasped in front of you, heart pounding. Cody noticed and offered you an encouraging smile. “Relax! The Bots are cool. Heatwave might seem a little grumpy, but he’s great once you get to know him.”

“Grumpy?” you repeated, your voice faint. “I don’t know, Cody… What if he doesn’t like me?”

“You’ll be fine!” Cody reassured. “Just be yourself.”

Before you could respond, a deep, commanding voice boomed from inside the firehouse. “Cody, are you coming in or what?”

You froze, realizing the voice belonged to none other than Heatwave himself.

The ground trembled slightly as the red-and-silver firetruck transformed in front of you, towering over your frame. Heatwave crossed his arms, his optics narrowing as he studied you. “And who’s this?”

“Oh! This is Y/n,” Cody said quickly, stepping between the two of you. “She’s a friend of the family.”

You gave a small, awkward wave. “H-hi.”

Heatwave tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Right. Well, as long as you don’t mess with the equipment, we’ll get along just fine.”

Your stomach flipped at his bluntness, and you found yourself shrinking slightly. “I-I won’t.”

Seeing your discomfort, Cody whispered, “Don’t take it personally. He’s like this with everyone.”

The evening passed, and while the others laughed and mingled, you remained on the outskirts, quietly observing. Heatwave occasionally glanced your way, noting how reserved you seemed compared to the lively Burns family. Despite your nervousness, you couldn’t help but admire his dedication to his role and the way he interacted with the others, even if he was gruff.

Eventually, Cody convinced you to approach Heatwave, who was standing near the firehouse, scanning reports on a data pad.

“Uh, hi again,” you said softly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Heatwave glanced down. “Something you need?”

You hesitated but shook your head. “No, I just… thought I’d say thanks. For, you know, everything you do to keep the island safe.”

Heatwave blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your sincerity. “Oh. Well… you’re welcome, I guess.”

Over the next few weeks, your visits to the firehouse became more frequent. While you were shy at first, Heatwave gradually noticed your personality shining through as you became more comfortable.

One evening, after a particularly chaotic rescue mission, you burst into the firehouse, practically bouncing with excitement. “Did you see that?! The way Boulder lifted that car out of the river? And Chase—he’s so precise with his movements! Oh, and Heatwave!”

Heatwave, who had been cleaning his equipment, raised a brow. “What about me?”

“You were incredible! The way you coordinated everyone and handled the flames—it was amazing!” you said, your eyes sparkling with admiration.

Heatwave was taken aback by your enthusiasm, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s just part of the job.”

“Still, you’re amazing at it,” you insisted.

From that moment on, your energy became a constant presence around the firehouse. You cheered for the Bots after successful missions, cracked jokes with Kade and Dani, and even started joining in on strategy discussions when Heatwave allowed it.

Though he’d never admit it out loud, Heatwave found your energy refreshing. You had a way of bringing lightness to even the most serious situations, and over time, the two of you developed a close bond.

One day, after a particularly tough mission, you sat beside Heatwave, your usual cheer subdued. “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you properly for letting me hang around.”

Heatwave glanced at you, surprised by your tone. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“No, really. I know I can be a little… much sometimes,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck.

Heatwave’s optics softened. “You’re fine, Y/n. Honestly, you remind me that there’s more to all this than just work. It’s… nice.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and a wide grin spread across your face. “Thanks, Heatwave. That means a lot.”

He nodded, his expression warm. “Just don’t tell Kade I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, the sound filling the firehouse and making Heatwave’s spark feel a little lighter.

#transformers #transformers x reader #techhiz work #rescue bots #heatwave rescue bots

21 notes · View notes

starsfic · 11 days ago

Note

hi idk if your still doing chermia parents but i love your writing and the au I was wondering how would redson kai wilydfire would be like together

Chimera Parents belong to @draw-of-the-moon. Warning, this is going to be OOC since I never watched the media with her, so this is just going off the wiki

Red Son stared at the small redhead girl sitting at his dining table. The small girl stared back, mid-stuffing her face with rice.

Honestly, he had questions ever since he saw the large red dragon sitting in the courtyard. This just added more.

"Hey...there?" he finally said, offering a wave. He should've been yelling, demanding who she was and why she had raided his fridge, but she was so small. "How did you get in here?"

"I brought her!" Kai said brightly, walking in. For some reason, his hair was smoking. "She and Heatwave were living alone in the woods. She's a fire elemental like us! Show her!"

Red blinked but, deciding to go along with it, summoned a flame.

The minute the little girl gasped, eyes sparkling with delight, his heart melted.

Is this what being a grandparent is like?

#Chimera Parents AU #LMK #LMK AU #Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid AU #LEGO Monkie Kid #LEGO Monkie Kid AU #Ninjago #Ninjago AU #au #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #prompt fill #prompt fic

20 notes · View notes

joelalorian · 8 months ago

Text

Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, could be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly realized why that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin

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

119 notes · View notes

username8746489 · 3 months ago

Text

Personal Interpretation of a Sylvie + Lorelai interaction/fight

(Fic under cut; wordcount: 1,638)

"Nightmare Fuel!"

Lorelai quickly blinked the sleepiness from the sheep that had jumped in her face away, brandishing her staff out in front of her like a shield. Her body braced for an impact that never came. Judging from the kid's bewildered expression, she imagined that this was a surprise for him as well.

"Hah!" She laughed, placing her hands on her hips with a haughty grin, "Your epithet means nothing against mine!"

Sylvie stepped back with a grimace, staring her down wordlessly.

Lorelai rolled her eyes, "Ugh, don't look at me like that. It's not my fault I'm better than you." She spun around her staff in an extravagent twirl, magical sparkles trailing behind it, "How about I prove it to you once and for all!"

Beaten without even a bleat, Put this annoying kid to sleep!

She disregarded the muttered "not a kid", sticking the tip of her wand out towards her target, her radiant smile glowing under the light from the multicolored pastel bubbles that would reflect Sylvie's power back at him.

Lorelai's smile dropped when bright orange sparks came out instead, popping loudly in her ears before dropping down to the floor.

"Huh?"

There was only a few of them, but as soon as they touched the ground, an inferno sparked to life, swirling outward like a tornado with a heatwave so strong, it knocked Lorelai onto the ground. There was almost no time at all before the flames were climbing up the walls, covering the entire room in a thick cloud of smoke.

No, no, no, no, no, this isn't what she meant to happen! It was supposed to be a harmless sleep spell! Why was there fire?! No, she couldn't do this again!-

"So that's it," Sylvie said, cutting through the panic in Lorelai's mind like a knife. He seemed entirely undisturbed by the destruction around him, not even making an attempt to protect himself. "You're not afraid of fire, are you?"

Lorelai couldn't respond, hands clutched over her nose and mouth. Why wasn't he scared either?

"No, no, what you're most afraid of must be-"

A shrill, piercing scream rang in the air.

A familar scream at that.

One Lorelai had heard that night.

"Molly?!"

Sylvie startled at that, his apathetic analyst persona dropping for just long enough for the confused words to escape his mouth. "She's not supposed to be here-"

Lorelai didn't wait to hear the rest of his sentence. She shot up to her feet, ducking beneath smoke and jumping over embers, adrenaline pumping in her blood. Nothing could be heard above the beating of her own heart other than Molly's terrified screams.

"HELP! HELP ME! TRIXIE! FEENIE! BOSS!"

Lorelai slid to a stop near a large pile of wreckage, stacked up to the roof of the building. The bottom was already starting to ignite, flames burning brightly in front of her. And there Molly was at the very top, curled into a ball and fingers clutching at her hair as she rocked back and forth, body trembling with the force of her cries.

"Molly!"

Molly sniffled, looking down at her sister, obscured by the smoke in the room.

"Don't breath too much!" Lorelai shouted, unable to think of any words of comfort at the moment.

She was the worst. Lorelai hadn't actually seen Molly since she disappeared after Vincent's visit. She had no idea whether her little sister was alright or not this entire time.

Obviously, obviously, she wasn't alright right now! Shouldn't she be focusing on that right now?!

But maybe this is what they needed to fix their relationship. If Lorelai became the hero she always pretended she was, then wouldn't Molly love her again?

"Lorelai! Make it stop!" Molly sobbed.

God, she couldn't even do this right! Even as her sister risked the same fate as their mother, all she was focused on was her own reputation.

Lorelai swallowed with a dry throat, nodding rapidly as she pointed her wand towards the fire. "I… Um…" Her staff wavered in her grip, mind going blank. No. No, not now! She needed a rhyme for her powers to work!

"What are you doing?!" Molly screamed, knees pressed to her chest as the fire grew ever closer, "Just cancel your epithet!"

"Right! Right…" Lorelai dropped the wand, sticking her hand out and pulling on the familar feeling on her chest to delete her augments.

Nothing happened. In fact, the fire started to spread even faster, clawing up the pile until it was licking at Molly's rainboots.

"No!" She shouted instinctively, heart skipping a beat. Why wasn't her epithet listening to her?! She wanted it to stop so make it stop!-

She just needed to try harder. If she tried harder, this would all go away.

But she was trying, so why wasn't it working?!

Molly shrieked, the loudest she's ever heard her sister, flames attaching themselves to her clothes.

"Stop! Stop it!"

But fire didn't have ears. It continued to burn with the same intensity as ever, uncaring of the little girl it had caught in its path.

Lorelai sprinted forward, vision blurred with tears she hadn't realized had formed. A hand caught her by the wrist, yanking her back.

"You can't seriously be planning to climb that, right?"

Lorelai saw red, spinning around and throwing a clumsy punch at Sylvie. "This is your fault!" She screamed, voice intermingling with the cries of her still burning sister. "If- If I hadn't been fighting you, none of this would've happened!" Lorelai kept hurling insults at him, uncordinated attacks with her hands following them, shouting at the top of her lungs to drown out the noises of her sins.

Lorelai could feel it when Molly's voice died down to nothing. It was like she had used her dumb bubble on herself. If Lorelai didn't turn around, she could pretend that's what it was. Like the past five minutes hadn't just happened.

Like she hadn't just killed another family member.

"Your worst fear is not being able to control your epithet, isn't it?" Sylvie asked.

"Huh?"

He snapped his fingers. All at once, the bright fire and heavy smoke disappeared, leaving the room as if time had been rewound. Lorelai didn't dare see what had happened to the Molly that had burned. If she didn't look, she could pretend it didn't exist at all, that there was a chance it wasn't her real sister after all and she hadn't just seen how pathetic Lorelai really was.

Lorelai's knees gave out from under her, collapsing to the floor. She heaved for breath, hiccuping as sobs involuntarily left her. "It's my fault, isn't it?" She weakly asked, "Mom died because of me."

Sylvie's eyes softened just a bit, "I'm sorry."

Lorelai's head dropped, shuddering about the fact that he hadn't even attempted to deny it.

"…Did you mean to?" Sylvie asked.

"What?"

Sylvie paused to think over his words, then elaborated, "People tend to find more comfort when they can place the blame on a tangible thing. But sometimes… Sometimes bad things just happen to people. And we can't control any of that." He took a breath, letting the words sink in for the other girl. "What I'm trying to say is… You shouldn't blame yourself so much. It wasn't something you actively chose to do. You have so much guilt over the housefire that it's led you to isolate yourself from the world in an attempt to prevent yourself from hurting anyone again. But you're still hurting people like this."

Lorelai scowled, "What do you know about me?"

"I-"

"You know nothing about me!" She shouted, "How would you know anything about what I've been through?!"

"You aren't special, Lorelai!" Sylvie snapped, the standard quick temper she had come to expect from the kid. But this one outburst managed to quiet Lorelai down as intended. He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand, "But I don't mean that as an insult."

"How else could you possibly mean it?!"

"I have an epithet I can't fully control in my sleep too."

"So?!" Lorelai retorted. "It's not like you lost your mom too!"

"Maybe I didn't," Sylvie interrupted, "But didn't Molly?"

Lorelai's breath hitched, her gaze returning to the ground.

Sylvie knelt down beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, "You… You aren't alone, is what I mean. Other people have been through what you have. And they can help." He mumbled under his breath, "Better than your dad, at least."

"My dad loves us- me though," Lorelai mumbled, heart squeezing at the truth she had stumbled upon. She had used it as a weapon against Molly for years, but she hadn't fully believed it until this moment.

"Maybe so. But a bad person can still have good traits," Sylvie said. He paused for a moment, then continued, "Of course, the opposite can be true sometimes too."

Lorelai flinched as he removed his hand from her shoulder. Sylvie stood, extending his hand again to help her up.

"You've done some bad things, but I don't think you're a bad person, Lorelai. You can still change for the better."

Lorelai sniffled, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. "I-I'm sorry."

"Am I the one you should be saying that to?"

She had reflected on her actions ever since she noticed Molly had disappeared from their home, something that took an embarassingly long time to happen. And while she had denied she'd done anything wrong at first, trying to chase away the guilt that threatened to take hold of her entire body and soul, Lorelai wanted desperately for their relationship to return to what it was before the housefire.

Maybe one day, she'd be worthy enough for it to happen.

For now, she could work towards that, accepting the help that Sylvie had offered her.

#epithet erased #sylvester ashling #sylvie ashling #lorelai blyndeff #un writes #written in august in a couple hours

29 notes · View notes

vampire-matcha · 2 years ago

Text

Blood in the Wine- 6

Chapter Six: Merlot

A/N: MORE!!! GAZ!!! SMUT!!! Y'all already know I love this man so much.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: P in V sex, unprotected sex, blood play, cum eating, spitting, voyeurism, oral (m receiving), degradation

Chapter Song: Aqua Regia by Sleep Token (yes another ST song sue me)

MASTERLIST, CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH7

---

The fire beside you crackled with fervorous life, the wood spitting sparks into the air, stray embers drifting through the air on their own heat, glowing until they burned up and dropped onto the hearth. The heat warped the air around it, heatwaves danced in the air.

The only sound that contested the cracking wood were your moans as Gaz kissed and licked your body. He stopped at your chest, sucking one of your nipples back into his mouth, making you moan out at the sensitivity of it. Your hands flew up to his head again. He dragged his sharp teeth up your chest, your neck, teasing your supple flesh with the points. Your breath shuddered, and then he was there, breathing your whimper into his mouth. Those burning maroon eyes, reflecting the flames beside you, drinking in your half-lidded gaze.

You could feel the bulge in his pants grinding into you, and for a moment you were brought back to that night at the club, the feeling of him against your body, the excitement of following home, the anticipation of what was to come. You’d waited long enough for this. You’d been through too much already to wait any longer. You needed him.

Your hands trailed down from his shoulders, feeling the hard planes of his chest, the firm ridges of his abs, until you felt the short coiled hair of his happy trail just above his waistband. You heard his breath hitch, felt it puff against your lips. You watched him watching you. Your nails scratched his hair and he sighed. You felt farther south, finding the clear outline of his dick through his pants, and he couldn't help but buck into your hand, his teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip. He let you take your time, reveling in every brush of your fingers feeling him up, the light pressure of palm up against him.

Your fingers made their way under his waistband and he sighed as you lightly grip him. His skin was soft and sticky around the hard shaft. The head was as plush as his lips were, and precum leaked from the tip. You squeezed the tip, rubbing the slit with one finger, eliciting a moan from him.

“Fuck, love. Don’t tease,” he said, his voice breathier than before. You decided to take mercy on him, pulling your hand away to push his pants down, letting his dick spring to life. He helped you get them off, crawling off of you for half a moment to kick them off.

You finally got a good look at him as he got back onto you, his dick hanging heavy between your legs. It was big, thick around the middle, and uncut. The shaft was the same beautiful dark tan as the rest of him, and as he stroked himself at the sight of you, you caught a glimpse of the head, a little darker, a little pinker. Your mouth watered. You’d have to get your lips around it sometime, but that can wait until later. In that moment, you needed him inside you.

He situated himself above you, pulling your legs over his hips and holding himself up with an elbow above your head. His eyes alternated between your eyes and where he guided his tip through your wet folds. You whimpered as he rubbed against your clit. His lips were parted as he tried to steady his breathing. He looked back into your eyes.

“You want this?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You really want this? This isn’t- it’s not compulsion, right?” he asked again, worry cracking through his confident exterior.

“I want you, Gaz,” you assured him, reaching between your bodies to grasp him, your fingers interlocking around his dick. He moaned in surprise. “Fuck me, please,” you breathed. He smiled, teeth sparkling in the firelight, and leaned down to kiss you. You held the back of his head, scratching his scalp and he slowly devoured you. He pulled back to look at your face as he positioned himself at your entrance, wanting to see the look on your face as he slowly slid inside.

Oh, fuck, you could feel every ridge of his cock filling you, splitting you open. The head first, the plush mushroom scraping and rubbing the muscles inside you. Your eyelids fluttered and your moans harmonized with his, an unholy duet between you two. He settled in halfway, your body struggling to take him all at once. Your pussy fluttered around him, flexing and contracting in pleasure already as your body fought to adapt to the size of him.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he moans, panting breaths hitting your cheek. “Relax for me, baby. You can take me.” he pulled back out, leaving just the tip in, and then pushed in again, punching a moan out of you, reaching even further inside. “That’s it, baby. Thaaat’s it.” He pulled out once more, gathering more of your wetness with each slow, dragging thrust inside you, until he was fully seated inside, his balls fat and flush to your ass. You groaned in unison, echoing the chorus from moments before.

He held your eyes in his, watching every microscopic twitch in your face, drinking in your image. Then he looked down at where he disappeared inside you and moaned at the sight. He watched himself pull out, wet cock glistening, and then disappeared back inside. And again, he watched the movement, faster this time, making you whine in pleasure. It was as if his cock was made to fit inside of you perfectly. The head of his dick nudged at your cervix, and he began to build a steady rhythm, rolling his hips into yours. As the force of his movements intensified, so did your sounds. You were unable to keep quiet, not that you’d want to. He fixed his eyes on your chest and watched your tits bounce with every slap-slap-slap of his hips.

“Perfect. Fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned. You moaned his name and his red eyes flashed up to you. It was like he couldn’t look away from you for too long. He was mesmerized at the way your face distorted in pleasure, hypnotized at the thought that he was the one making you feel this good. And- fuck!- he made you feel so good.

Your pussy flexed and squeezed him as he fucked you, desperate for more of him as he hit the spot inside you that had your toes curling every time. Your knees hitched higher, legs wrapping around his waist, ankles locking together behind his back. You pulled him down to kiss him, one hand scratching his scalp, weaving through the close-cropped curls on the top of his head, the other digging your nails into his shoulder blade. Your mouth dropped open at a particularly rough thrust, and you threw your head back, crying out loud for more.

“Fuck! Gaz, fuck me!” you practically shouted. “Yes, yes, just like that!” He doubled down his efforts, determined to get you off again. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!” you chanted.

“Fucking take it so good, baby. My perfect girl.”

“Gaz, I’m gonna- ah!”

“Gonna cum for me, baby?” he said through gritted teeth into your ear. “Cum on my cock, baby. You can do it. Cum all over this fucking cock.” His filthy words pushed you over the edge and your pussy contracted around him, squeezing him in a rhythm only the two of you understood. Your legs twitched around his waist and you let out a long, low, drawn-out moan. Your eyes went crossed and your body went limp as he continued to rut into you.

“Fuck! That’s my girl,” he grunted. “Gonna cum, baby. Where do you want it?” Shit…

“Cum all over me,” you told him, looking him dead in those breathtaking maroon eyes. He shuddered above you, thrusting sloppily a few more times, before he pulled out, jerking his pretty cock until he was spilling hot drops of cum onto your stomach and chest, decorating your red, bloodstained skin in white. You couldn’t help the whimper at the sensation of the hot droplets. He moaned breathlessly and watched his cock paint your body. He held himself up above you on his elbow as both of you caught your breath, breathing in each other’s air.

“Holy shit,” he said with a dazed smile, leaning his forehead on yours. You smiled back at him in your post-orgasm bliss.

“There wasn’t a damn thing holy about that,” You quipped back. Your voice was thick and hoarse, and he didn’t miss it. He smiled, seeming to take pride in it, in how loud he made you scream- loud enough to lose your voice. He laughed, and the sound reverberated in your chest. You both looked at the cum settling on your skin, stares lingering on the way it glistened in the firelight. He swallowed hard.

A shaky hand swept some of the cum up on his finger. White and red, him and you- pink. He brought it to his lips to taste. He licked it off with an open mouth and moaned at the taste, but didn’t swallow. Instead, he cradled your jaw and opened your mouth with a light pressure from his thumb, leaned close, and spat it into your mouth. You shuddered. You’d never done something so dirty, so depraved. You liked it.

The taste was otherworldly. Bitter and salty and metallic and acidic. He pushed your jaw closed, never breaking eye contact.

"Swallow," he commanded gently, and you obeyed. He smiled wickedly. In the back of your mind, you noted the irony of consuming him, the way he'd consumed part of you earlier. You smiled back at him. "That's my girl," he uttered lowly, stooping down for another kiss, still dirty, but slower than before.

The two of you made out lazily for a while, until he finally pulled back with one final peck on your lips. He crawled off of you and stood up, studying your cum-covered body with a proud smirk as if he were an artist surveying his latest masterpiece. He bent down to retrieve your ruined, bloody shirt and used it to wipe his pearly droplets off of you, but it was more successful in smearing your old, cold blood all over your stomach. You shivered at the cold, wet sensation, and he grinned even wider. Your body looked like a Jackson Pollock.

He helped you sit up a little and handed you his shirt, which was significantly less bloodsoaked. He pulled his boxers on as you dressed yourself and then held out a hand for you to take.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, love,” he said as he helped you stand on shaky legs and led you to the door. You shuffled to a stop and he looked down at you, sensing your hesitancy. “Don’t worry, the others will likely be in their own rooms by now. You’ll be fine.” You nodded and let him take you down the hall back to your bedroom. You tugged the hem of his shirt down the whole short walk, preparing for Price to pop up around the corner again.

When you arrived at your door, you noted that there was a new, thick deadbolt screwed onto the doorframe. Gaz didn’t mention it. He also didn’t meet your eyes as he opened the door, a resounding click echoing down the hall. He placed a hand at the small of your back and followed you in.

“Go get cleaned up,” He said, giving you a kiss on the side of your head and a gentle push towards your bathroom. You locked the door behind you and saw that a shower head and curtain had been installed for you.

You peeled off Gaz’s shirt, turned on the shower, and stepped under the hot stream of water. You tried not to let your mind wander too much as you scrubbed the blood and mess of sex off of your body. You’d only narrowly escaped certain death for the second time, but at the hands of this Ghost. You turned the water hotter. The events of the day were finally catching up to you, and exhaustion was quickly seeping into your bones. You stood there for quite a while until you started swaying on your feet like a willow tree. You shut off the water and wrapped yourself in a towel.

When you stepped out, Gaz was lounging on your bed, fresh and clean, dressed in sweatpants and a clean shirt. His arms rested behind his head and his legs were spread wide. You stopped in your tracks and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“How did you do that so fast?” you asked, sleep evident in your voice.

“I’m quick,” he answered. You thought back to earlier, how he carried you inside so quickly it was a blur, how he undressed you in the blink of an eye.

“Yeah, I guess you are.” You walked to your dresser to get something to sleep in. You glanced at him to see that he was still watching you. You shifted on your feet and looked down at the towel wrapped around you. “Do you mind?”

“Love, I was inside you an hour ago,” he replied with an easy smile, “nothing I haven’t already seen.”

“Gaz,” you said, a bit whinier than intended. He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes, but closed them nonetheless. You dressed yourself and padded over to where he laid, taking the spot next to him. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to lay your head on his chest. It was surprisingly easy to sink into him, to fall into the plush mattress and the firm, lean muscle of his pec. It was all borderline domestic. It would be, if it weren’t for that nagging sense of danger that crept in from the shadowy corners of the room.

“Price is gonna be pissed… we ruined his couch,” you mumbled, your cheek smushed and your tongue heavy.

“Don’t worry about that tonight. I’ll talk with him in the morning.” his voice was already lulling you to sleep. “Tomorrow was supposed to be a feeding day, but I’ll get him to give you another rest day. You deserve it after that… run-in with Ghost.” You hummed in agreement, and fell asleep to his voice rumbling in his chest, and the lingering sense of being watched.

—

You were alone when you awoke. The bed was cold, but you could just barely feel the indent of where Gaz had lain. You hadn’t even noticed him leave. The pale fingers of the morning sun poked through your curtains. You sat up, a bit disoriented and sore between your legs. The room was quiet as you got yourself ready for your day, trying to grasp and any sense of normalcy in the godforsaken manor. The feeling of being watched never dissipated. You stood before the door, teeth brushed and clothes fresh, and tried the handle. Unlocked.

The hallway was as silent as ever, save for the distant sound of low, rumbling voices coming from Price’s office. Curiosity got the better of you, and you crept silently on bare feet. Gaz had said he’d talk to Price. You tiptoed to the door and paused. Something on the other side sounded… wet? You turned the handle slowly, slowly, slowly. The metal was cold in your hand. You cracked the door open just enough to peek inside.

Price was sitting in his chair, the chair he’d been in when you’d made your pact, with his legs spread wide and a cigar hanging loosely between his fingers in one hand. The other hand was resting on the back of Gaz’s head, who was knelt between those massive thighs, sucking and slurping on his cock. Price guided Gaz’s pace up and down, up and down, slow and leisurely as he brought his cigar back up to his lips. He tipped his head back, blew out a plume of white smoke with a grunt following it past his lips, and looked down his nose at the man servicing him.

You were frozen in place. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t see this. But your legs wouldn’t move, your feet wouldn't carry you away. All you could do was watch with wide eyes and trembling fingers as Gaz choked on Price’s length.

“You use your mouth on her like this?” Price’s voice rumbled, so deep your bare feet could feel it in the floorboards. “You suck on her just like this? Hmm. That's it lad. Just like that.” Gaz moaned around him, wet sounds emitting from his lips; Price puffed again on his cigar, his chest rising and falling faster. “I could smell her on your fucking breath the moment you stepped in here.” His hips twitched. “That’s it. Fucking choke on it. That’s what you get for ruining my nice couch.” He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

“Up here spending your night fucking our new little pet while Soap was bleedin’ out. Makin’ us all hear those pretty sounds of hers. Had to listen to you two while I was chaining up Ghost and patching up Soap. And then,” he bucks his hips into Gaz’s mouth, “I had to take care of myself, all alone. Now you've got to make up for it."

And then his eyes snapped over to you. His icy eyes pinned you in place, and he grinned. His head rolled back further, but he never broke eye contact with you. Your heart hammered in your chest and you knew he could hear it, he could sense the blood gushing through it, flooding your cunt. He pushed Gaz’s head down further and groaned, deep and throaty. He came while staring directly into your eyes, and Gaz swallowed it all. Your mouth hung open as you panted and tried not to drool.

Gaz pulled away, also panting, licked his lips, and looked up at Price. But when he saw that Price was no longer looking down at him, instead smiling at something over his head, he followed his gaze. Both men stared at you, one satisfied, amused, even; the other’s expression unreadable. You tried to break away, to run back down the hall, but your legs had turned to stone.

Oh, fuck.

---

Tags:

@cherry-slushee @iimfae @newcomernewcums @cowboybxtch @quiurifam @sad--pigeon @desert-fern @grizzers @the-wandering-pan-ace @quiurifam @wasteland-babe @obi-wansorrow @tbrfic @tdurmi @xespresso-depressox @mauveserpent @bloodyknucklesforme @330bpm-whiplash @grizzersmama @amazingpandaz-blog @the-pan-ace-writings @kakashiislut @erinwhelan99 @ghost-2513 @confuseddipshit @avalkyrieofparis @beesucculent @enfppixie @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @lostmypopsicle @backupgal @wisp0329 @boxofgasoline @frazie99 @lothiriel9 @ummmmmbeans @roaringinthedeeap-blog @daristfx @itsberrydreemurstuff @legalpadawan @darkmelodies27 @discowizard88 @gloomdoomraccoon @warenai @thychuvaluswife @thriving-n-jiving @ihatethinkingofnames10 @warners-wife @sarraa-26

337 notes · View notes