#in case my artist talent ever comes back

[thatneoncrisis]

i wrote a big long essay talking about tlt and how it engages with describing the skintones of brown characters its under a read more bc it is so long.

I already left a long comment about this on someone else post but I wish I could study tazmuirs odd little habit of dancing around the fact that Gideon and Harrow are women of color when she describes them, and how this kind of extends to other brown characters

We get a million descriptions for how sickly pale ianthe Silas and cytherea are, what a lovely golden tan corona has, the odd tannish yellow hue of colum, all imagined by her, in her own words, to be white. Then when it comes to Marta and Judith they're called dark like Once in the text. I don't think it's even mentioned for Jeannemary and magnus in the entirety of gtn though I will gladly stand corrected if I missed something. It's such a non factor for them, which normally I would overlook if it wasn't for the aforementioned specificity of how white characters are described on Top of one of the major themes of the book being how John, a Maori man, resurrected a largely Polynesian population and then proceed to rule them using the exact same methods that actively colonized new zealand. Like I just think it's really interesting that in many ways, the story is about two young Maori women completely stripped of cultural heritage, they can't even speak te reo maori they cannot even conceptualize the scale of that kind of loss. Theyve been to earth once and during her brief time there Gideon literally died on it's soil it feels so poignant

Back to them specifically being Not Pale, this is not me saying they would be "less" maori if they were light-skinned that's total bullshit and the entire paradigm exists as a product of European bullshit. My fascination is more with the fact that tamsyn has clearly thought of them as midtoned to dark skinned. I'm going to be really generous and disregard the Tommy Arnold covers- he is a talented artist but he's not the author and Taz stated in an interview that she didn't envision Gideon with an undercut either so he clearly has little liberties he can take and I'm fine with that get your coin dude. For these two I'm going to have to focus on Nona the Ninth, bc for the entirety of gtn, harrow is described as grey, and while I understand that's bc she's constantly under a mountain of white and black facepaint, we basically never get an objective description for either of them. Gideon stand out features are her build, hair and eyes, like a lot of characters, but it could have been pretty easy to throw in a line about how she seems less desaturated than what one might expect from a ninth cavalier, like a rich warm brown, possibly hinting to other characters that she isn't a ninth native

Htn also gives very little to work with, again harrows primary colors are the blacks whites and greys of facepaint and her hair and the reds of constantly sweating blood. The character who's darker skintone is Most remarked upon (also one of the few ever constantly headcanoned) as black, is g1deon. I've actually spoken to a few people about this and there seems to be some actual Mandela effect shit going on where people remember Taz saying he's black despite me never once finding evidence for this. However, this is not a case where I'd be overjoyed to be proven wrong, because g1deon being the one black guy in this entire cast, the one who's dark skintone is commented on the most, being the guy who barely speaks, tries killing harrow with a spear 14 times and then dies offscreen. Not good. Bad, actually

Finally onto ntn, in the beginning chapters Nona remarks her (harrows) skintone is the color of an egg carton. I assume she means the light tan, desaturated brown of the cardboard used in certain cartons, which is fitting for harrow, girls lived in an ice cave for 17 years. This is basically the only word we get on it. I believe a few times the text will say something about pyrrha's (g1deon's) brown Everything; brown skin, russet brown hair, rich brown eyes. that character gets to be viewed and constantly affirmed as a brown character in teh way gideon and harrow arent, it kind of others pyrrha. to contrast camillas hands are called tanned way at the beginning while recording nona's dream, then at the way end it says, "Her face still looked grey beneath its nice normal olive," olive being used to describe her once before in gtn as far as i can see. pyrrha's (g1deon's) skintone is one of her most notable features, its brought up to a noticeable agree the text wants you to keep it in your mind when you think of the saint of duty; "Most of Pyrrha was the colours of the building site: deep dried-out browns, dusty hunks of clay, rusted metal." "Pyrrha wouldn’t burn any colour other than her deep cool brown." "Nona took the water from Pyrrha’s brown, work-chapped hand and even sipped it" "Pyrrha had carried Camilla to bed in her big brown arms like Cam weighed nothing" "Pyrrha said, “Thanks, Nums,” and drained the whole thing. Nona,fascinated, watched the brown column of her throat move as she swallowed." its just notable to me when alternatively with nona you'll get a line like "Camilla didn’t say anything to that either, only rubbed her wrists where the tape had been. Nona’s skin was already back to its nice normal colour." like just the vagueness in nice normal color, we get one line about what shes supposed to look like in the beginning and thats it

towards the end during the broadcast, nona gets her first clear look at kiriona, described as: "warm-coloured skin that should have been a similar brown hue to Nona’s, except that there was something wrong with it." break out the champagne its official

Obviously, dying takes some color from you. If anything, gideons desaturation should make them More comparable given the egg carton comment and harrows general state of constant anemia. Has Nona gotten darker during her time on new rho? Was Gideon lighter than the cover led us to believe? We don't know. We well never know, which is odd, bc these books fucking love purple prose about people's appearances. We have like seven different synonyms for the shade of ianthes hair. New words for black have to be invented in order to convey harrows eyes which are Black, not the dark muddy brown of someone like ortus. It's less that I'm bothered by the text not hyperfocusing on their skin and more it picking and choosing when it will laser focus on a detail like that, and how often it's skipped over to the point that I like, constantly see people draw harrow as incredibly pale, which is very different from being light-skinned

Finally, I know people can dismiss this as like an audience interpretation thing. I know I actively draw harrow darker than Gideon which I know isn't canon. But this is less about Fandom response to the text and more the text itself and how it's like. Afraid to say brown. near the end of ntn i found One instance of it referring to gideons "slim brown hand" on nonas cheek and that is direct as it gets. even her other like, strongly non european traits are sort of danced around. her nose is "a nose that was the complete opposite of Nona’s nose, one that put her in mind of those big poison desert cats Born in the Morning was crazy about." a very fanciful description, you have to infer that nona means that its probably flat and wide, also giving us the information that harrows is most likely narrow and straight, possibly downturned. im not opposed to this, especially given the character talking about her is nona, but then you get the following paragraph:

"Her skin was very much dead-person skin, ashen and tinted the wrong colour around the nostrils and the mouth. But even if she hadn’t been dead, Nona was critical. Her eyelashes were very dark, but short and curly, whereas Nona thought all eyelashes should be long and straight (her own eyelashes were long and straight). The corpse had too much mouth and a dimple (nobody in her home had a dimple). You could not, at least, see the veins in her eyelids, which were heavy and cold and deep-set. But Nona thought it was going to be a shame to go from being so lovely as she was to being so—redheaded."

its a very frank description. dimple, curly lashes, red head, dead skin, probably a wide mouth. her nose is contrasted against nonas nose, which is also never directly described, and then compared to a fantasy animal we have never heard of until right now

kicks rocks. there isnt a point to this. the series is almost over, there is zero reason to like, knock on taz's door and ask why she did this or that. it doesnt stop me from loving the series, and the insinuation that noticing this means i must dislike the series is frankly insane (real thing that happened). if someone got the impression that harrow was white given how shes described i wouldnt blame them honestly, its most apparent she isnt in the third book (with the cover art being incredibly ambiguous) and a single blog post from taz mentioning shes maori, immediately followed by an "oh i dont care how you see the characters" addendum, which i think is like. an odd thing to tack on bc them descended from kiwis is like, very integral to the story, and gideon being the daughter of the maori man who took everything from her she didnt even know she could have and the (presumably, given her name and a very brief description) maori woman fighting to get that world back its like. damn. it feels a little important. that the audience knows theyre maori. like a little. it feels intertwined with the whole thing about john using european standards of imperialism and general aesthetics to hurt his own kid. actually.

[lullabyes22-blog]

hi <3

i am once again asking your thoughts on the latest act of arcane?

Honestly, my feelings on S2 so far are pretty mixed.

:')

On the one hand, visually, it's absolutely heartstopping. The cinematography is incredible, and it's the first time in a while where every episode felt like an experience I had to endure in a good way. Plus the score, the voice-acting, and the sound design is, as usual, top notch.

Buuuut when you have all these stellar spheres working on this show, it makes the areas where they drop the ball stand out.

For me, that's the plot.

Alot of folks have criticized the pacing and how there's too much piled into one season. Personally, at this point I've made peace with the breakneck speed and sort of taken it as a given in a series where 'War' is the overarching theme. I can even let go of the fact that certain plot beats don't feel earned, as there's so much subtlety and foreshadowing that you can easily make the case for them via long-drawn out analyses of every frame.

But the writing, ohhhh boy. The writing. It feels like there's a disconnect between the overall plot and the individual character moments.

It's really hard to articulate, but I'll do my best.

I love that we're getting so much characterization for the main cast. Every episode, it feels like there's a new layer peeled back, and each of our leads has an opportunity to shine.

And that's exactly the problem. They're all shining.

Separately.

When I think about it, the reason why S1 worked so well was because every episode gave us a glimpse into the mind of someone different. We got a taste of what it was like to be in the head of every major player in the cast, and through this, we grew to understand their motivations, their fears, their hopes. I've used the 'gem' analogy in previous reviews, and the way the show handled that concept was amazing. Every character was a facet of the gem that was Arcane, and each shift of PoV allowed us to see them from a new angle.

There was coherence. There was cohesion. And there was a sense of complexity told in a concise and well-planned format.

S2, for me, doesn't quite work the same way.

It's not that I don't understand the characters, or that I don't appreciate the way they're handled. It's just that their individual journeys are so self-contained. I'm not getting a sense of their interpersonal connections. More as if they're crashing into and out of each other's lives, without ever stopping to have a proper conversation.

It's a common complaint with ensemble casts, and I don't mind it for the most part, but the problem here is that Arcane has been very careful about establishing its characters as part of a cohesive whole. They're not just random individuals who happen to share a stage. They're siblings, lovers, colleagues, friends, enemies, etc. And the reason why we can relate to them is because, on some level, they mirror our own relationships. We've seen how they treat each other, and we've come to care about them.

But in this season, I feel like there's been a failure to communicate.

Scenes between characters feel like a series of disconnected vignettes, some of which are great and some of which are not so great. It's as if the writers are trying to force the characters to react to the plot rather than the other way around.

I don't want to be overly critical. So much love and effort has gone into making this show, and I'd never want to disparage the efforts of so many talented artists.

But, yeah. Coherence is a bit of an issue.

I will say, however, that re: the subject of grief, especially in Jinx's journey, this season has delivered some beautiful moments. It's a surprisingly nuanced treatment of a complicated and ugly emotion, and it's something I wish more shows would tackle. The problem with a lot of modern storytelling is that, because it's trying so hard to be edgy, complex and subversive, it doesn't really leave any room for just letting characters exist. And Jinx's arc in particular is a perfect example of this.

I was worried, going into the season, that they'd take the easy route and paint her as a pure monster, utterly deranged from her loss. That's what the fandom seems to want, anyway, and it's what you'd probably expect given the general climate.

But instead, the show has chosen for Jinx to be vulnerable, and to let her arc be honest. Granted, Isha, though she's adorable, still doesn't quite feel like a full-fleshed out person, but Jinx's bond with her has been written with such heartbreaking realism that I'm inclined to forgive the former for the sake of the latter. It's just refreshing to see the series not to take that insulting and reductive 'but Jinx is crazy' route, and instead allow her to grapple with the pain of losing her family and the horror of what she's done, but to also heal old wounds with brand-new connections.

'Crazy' does not mean 'irredeemable.'

And it's about time more mainstream media got this memo.

The series also continues to be stellar at showcasing so much with such restraint. A lot of the scenes don't last longer than a few minutes, and yet you can feel so much conveyed in that brief window. And the framing and composition is consistently masterful.

Overall, though, I'm a bit underwhelmed by this season so far. It feels like an incomplete masterpiece, and the sense that the narrative has lost control is starting to get overwhelming. We've still got Act 3 left, and I'm hoping the final stretch is able to tie things together a little more neatly.

Anyway, thank you for reading this mess! And feel free to share your thoughts as well. I'm curious to hear how other people are finding the series.

<3

[maggie-margret-blog]

Friends with Tattoo Benefits

Mingi was one of those guys you just couldn’t replicate. he had a sort of passion for life that was kinda hard to find in people.I had been seeing him as an artist for a little over a year now, slowly but surely filling my arms and mid section with ink. He was talented and enthusiastic about each new project I threw his way, may it be big or small. Mingi himself only had a handful of tattoos littering his milkish skin,but claimed he was in it for the arts, not the personal experience. I had a theory he was just a bitch about pain or needles, nevertheless I never bothered him about it during our sessions. And he couldn’t lie about the money either. It was good fucking money.

Mingi had become somewhat of a best friend, mixed in with all the other things that come with being in close contact for so long.

We had first met that one fateful morning, 2am to be exact, when I had decided that drunk tattoos would be a hilarious idea. In hindsight it was a wonderful memory and honestly I was better for the experience. My young, college ego had been inflated and a stupid decision was just what I needed to keep my head on my shoulders. The night had just begun for me and my friends, bar hopping and partying at each frat house we could bare to see the inside of. All the ones I had seen prior were rat nests, and yet I chose to place myself there. A few of my friends had tagged along one Friday in search of some of my famous shenanigans. Modesty forbid I ever keep my thrills to myself.

“C’mon let’s dip, this place sucks.” Renel quoted as she threw down a pink solo cup onto the frat house floor. We had only been there about 30 minutes and already we were feeling the effects of poor party planning. A dozen or more drunk college girls stood in a tight circle, grinding on any available guy, and in some cases other gals as Salt Shaker boomed from the shitty stereo system. Since the Ying Yang twins weren’t the vibe for the night, I wholeheartedly agreed- “Let’s get the fuck out!”

“I’m barely drunk! Give me a fucking minute!” San hollered over the loud music, grabbing onto Renel’s ponytail and stopping her from moving any further towards the door. “There’s smoke in my eyes, this drink taste like dog shit and my thong is literally splitting my asshole in half, San.” Renel growled as she swatted his hands away. “That’s your fault. Just take it off and sit down.” He laughed, knowing he was only egging her on. “Fine, here-“ Renel said smuggly as she reaches under her sequined skirt, pulling the lacey garment down her legs and stepping out of it. “Woah Ren-“ I began, on my for her to grab the thong and shove it in San’s pocket. “I’ll go sit down.”

“San you asshole.” I laugh lightly, never quiet getting over those two’s battles. “Remind me to give this back to her. If Yunho ever finds out I have his girlfriend’s thong in my pants, he’ll kill me.” He chortles. “I don’t think I will. You deserve a beating.” I joke.

“Tryna get rid of me?”

“Maybe.”

“He’s twice my size. I’m dead.”

“You’re a good guy, you’re fine.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m heading out. I’m meeting my friend downtown.” Hongjoon, another one of chipper friends, said as he pushed past us towards the exit. “Who?” I called out as the sixth drink I had been nursing finally began to hit me. Whatever this shit was was weak, and disgusting. Yet, I was still drowning my weekend stresses in it.

“Mingi. You know that tattoo guy I was talking about.” Hongjoon enthused. This guy was always so happy for some reason. “Are you getting a tattoo?” I asked again.

“Yeah why? You wanna come?”

“I’ll go. Anything to get me out of here.” I agree hastily as I set the solo cup I had been drinking from down. “I’m drunk enough I’ll go.” San called, as if he hadn’t been complaining of the opposite just minutes ago. “Go tell Renel.” I bark as I follow Hongjoon out into the yard.

Once San and Renel had caught up to us, we were already halfway downtown, passing bar after bar and collectively agreeing that we should all go to each one. “If we keep this up I’ll literally never make my appointment.” Joon whined as he threw back one last shot. “Fine, okay let’s go.” San gave a unionized answer for us all. “Mingi’s gonna kill me. He’s supposed to be closing and I’m already 20 minutes late.”

“We’re almost there Joon, calm down.” San said with a hint of a slur. With that statement we came up upon the shop. The neon light was already off, but a man sat at the counter with his head down to scroll on his phone.

“Hey Mingi! Sorry I’m so late!” Joon said sorrowfully as he brought his hands together and bowed shallowly. “Hey, no don’t worry about it. I was just chilling out.” The man spoke as he raised from the counter and reached out for Hongjoon’s hand. The whole place reminded me of a mechanic’s shop. Sort of industrial and gray, but art was strewn across the walls and a few neon light had been added to spruce up the place.

The size of this man had me speechless, though my drunken stupor may have exaggerated it. Mingi was maybe 6’0 and broad in the shoulders and chest. I could tell by the way his black compression shirt stretched over his muscles, rippling in their definition. With the buzz already prominent in my head, this man looked like a playground to me. All I wanted to do was climb him. I could feel a flush flooding my cheeks as he and Hongjoon giggled and joked over sketches and last minute ideas. I could just play it off as a liquor blush, but I knew it was because of him. Fuck he was attractive. He was just so big and handsome.

“Shouldn’t take too long. Maybe an hour.” Mingi said softly as he looked over the small design. It seemed to be just a simple spiderweb with a few intricacies.

As soon as Hongjoon laid down on the sterilized bed, he was snoring. Joon had never once been awake during a session. Either this was a result of the alcohol, or the pain was a sickening comfort for him. Either way he was out. I spent m my time, however, inspecting the artist and the way he did every little thing. His gloves were blue like they had at a doctor’s office, tight and defining over his veined hands. The tips of his thick fingers were gripping the gun firmly with a controlled pressure. His focus and precision were evident in both his work and how he carried out his task. Why was everything about him so alluring?

“Joon? Are you good buddy?” Mingi asked after working on the piece for a good hour. It was swollen and puffed, but I could already tell it would heal beautifully. “Yeah, I’m cool.” Joon said groggily.

San and Renel were sleeping across the waiting room chair at this point, San’s jacket draped over Ren’s legs. That’s small detail made me chuckle. Sure they had their differences, but if she was naked from the waist down in public, he’d protect her. “Dude sick, thank you.” Joon said as he looked over his Achilles heel, now inked and decorated. “No problem man. Now pay me and go home.” Mingi laughed lightly as he pushed Joon towards the front.

“How much?” I asked as an interception. “Hm?” Mingi cocked his head to the side as I stood from my seat, still a little wobbly from all the alcohol in my system.“How much for a small tattoo? A really little one.” I asked. I hadn’t known how I would get close to him, but this was the perfect opportunity. This way I really inspect him up close. Stare deep into his concentrated expression and analyze his eyes. Oh fuck, those eyes.

“Uh, all depends I guess. Why, do you want one?” He questioned as he handed Hongjoon a pen to sign his receipt. I nodded vigorously as I popped up from the plastic chair. I had no clue what I was doing, or why I just agreed to get a tattoo on the spot, but here I was. “Cool, give me a minute.” Mingi said with a smile, showing off his row of beautiful teeth. They weren’t straight but who cared? Not me! He was so cute!

“We’re gonna head out. I’ll get her back to Yunho.” Hongjoon said as he shook Renel awake for a minute or so. “Okay,” I said shortly as a twinge of turmoil erupted in my stomach. Sure this was kind of what I wanted, to be alone with this new hunk, but now I was alone alone? My body shivered involuntarily, spine tingling and adjusting at the thought. “Where’re you going San?” My voice was timid, a gleaming ray of hope in eye as i asked. I was praying that he could be talked into staying with me. “I’m going home so I don’t die. You know how Woo is if I’m not in before sunrise.” I only nodded at the statement as the unsettling feeling began to sober me. But I couldn’t pass this up!

“This way m’lady.” Mingi’s voice broke my illusion of loneliness as all my prior thoughts raced back in. He was the reason I stayed anyway. “Thank you.” I punctuated with a head nod as we walked back to where Hongjoon had just been napping. “Now, what’s going on? What’re we doing?” Mingi asked as he sat back against the counter, arms crossed to expose the few tattoos he had. Though not plentiful, they were big and loud. The one he sported on his left forearm was a colorful mural of what seemed to be hyper realistic squid. The body was red and luminescent with a somewhat manly aura somehow. It was an interesting choice for sure, but it was executed beautifully so I had to admire it for that reason. His right arm was detailed in black and white, a few odd and ends tattooed on his skin, probably to represent certain things. I did notice a small KQ prominent on the first knuckle of his index finger. KQ had been a music club hosted on my campus for years.

I laughed internally at the thought of this big, beefy man singing in a choir, or performing The Newsies at the campus theater. He didn’t seem the type. “Anything I guess. Maybe something coquette-ish.” I babbled, unable to tear my eyes away from Mingi’s form in front of me. I stood sheepishly in front of him, a facade of confidence saving me face, but only a little bit since I was still kind of drunk. “Coquette-ish? Like the frilly bows and Victorian shit?” His voice reverberated is low bass over the air. I watched his mouth and nose as he repeated what I had said, then nodded. He nodded along and choked down a chuckle.

Mingi drew up a tiny little design, detailed with a small, pink ribbon tied into a bow with a pearl accent. It was actually very cute and even my sober mind loved it. Something tiny and coquettish. I was so happy with it.

“You know I don’t usually do walk ins.” He said as he etched a stencil. “Oh? Why start tonight?” I asked, looking over his shoulder, feeling the heat rising from his body. “If I’m being honest I thought you were cute. And I’d rather you get a good drunk tattoo instead of one you’ll regret.” He chuckled lightly, but my face turned red at the mention of his attraction. He thought I was cute? “Now where do you want it?” Mingi asked as he turned to look at me, now just inches from my face. I had practically been his shell for the last 15 minutes as I watched him sketch, so the sudden movement surprised me. I stumbled backwards a bit, and was sure to fall of Mingi hadn’t gripped onto my belt, pulling me back to stability. His hand was nestled between our two bodies, now practically sandwiched together. I couldn’t help myself as the moment dragged on, but I looked forward at the chest I was now level with. Traveling upwards, my eyes met his. They pooled with a twinge of worry and one other emotion I couldn’t quite express. “Sorry,” I mumbled briefly as I stepped back, only for his hand to stay firm on my leather belt. “No, no it’s okay. Are you alright?” He questioned, unmoving from his position. “Y-yes I’m fine.”

The air was thick and heavy around us. The room wasn’t too big so that might have had something to do with it, but probably not. It was more likely the tension between us that simmered. His hand stayed on my belt, even going as far as to tighten his grip. “How drub are you?” He asks suddenly.

“I’m, I’m practically sober.” I answered.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“N-no I don’t.”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“Tattoo shop.”

“Be more specific.” He hummed lowly as his hand pulled me closer, my hip flush against his thigh.

“Flaming Ink, downtown Astoria,” I answered again, quieter than before.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked finally, lowering himself to my level so he could see my expression clearly. My face was burning as it was, so for him to face me directly turned me to mush. And to kiss him? Oh fuck I could’ve vomited with how nervous I was!

I nodded slowly as the larger man braced my jaw in his palm, gently pulling me forward and pressing a hunger pained kiss to my lips. I was taken aback by the way he was already desperate for the contact. To be fair, so was I. The kiss only lasted about 3 seconds before he pulled away, lips parted and eyes droopy. The flecks of his dyed hair fell into his line of sight. The image in front of me was borderline erotic to say the least. I could tell by the look in his eyes that we were nowhere near finished.

Hastily, my arms found perch on his shoulders and I reconnected our lips, lapping at the pillowy petals and melting as he returned the favor. He tugged me closer, hands finally leaving my belt and landing on my waist, pulling my hips to his own. This was all too much yet I couldn’t (wouldn’t) stop myself. I had only wanted him for an hour or so, but that was an hour too long with out him.

Our lip lock progressed into something else entirely, and what that was I didn’t know. Something primal. Something languid and wet. Before I could count his teeth with my tongue, his hands were burrowed down the back of my jeans, fingers gripping at my ass haphazardly. The hum of the overhead lights was enough of a lullaby to keep us in the moment. Soft murmurs from the radio entwined around us and took the lead. “Mingi,” I said hushly, placing a hand on his chest. Oh finally I got to feel it. The muscles tensed under my touch and I watched the nipple harden from under the shirt. “Hm?” He acknowledged my plea and stopped himself. “I’m sorry it was all so fast, I-“ he began to explain himself, hands leaving my behind.

“No, no keep it there. I’m just— kinda you know, worked up.” I heaved as I kept eye contact with him. Those eyes, those honey brown eyes. Somehow the orange and yellow tendrils of hair complimented his eyes perfectly, encasing them in a warm, golden light. He was beautiful.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” His breath fans over neck slightly.

“Yeah, just not used to it.” I admit.

As far as sexual experiences went, I was dim in the subject. Yet, this was fueling a fire I never knew I had.

“Do you wanna stop?” Mingi asks as he’s pulling away.

“No! No I don’t want to!”

With that answer, Mingi was back to exploring what was exposed of my skin. Hands, finger tips, nails. I could feel everything as he lit each of my nerve endings on fire. Each swipe of his tongue left a burning trail in its path. “Fuck-“ I whispered internally, somehow finding my hands curled in his hair, entangling in the locks and pulling at the roots. The feeling of his lips on my neck made my stomach turn and twist with excitement.

How could this happen so fast? How was this really real? Was I dreaming?

No I couldn’t be dreaming. I could feel Mingi’s curious hands pushing up my shirt, folding the fabric upwards and letting it pool onto top of my breasts. Mingi pressed open mouthed kissed on my chest, tugging cheekily at the lining of my bra, teasing the nipple as he let it free. “Pretty.” Mingi’s voice vibrated against my skin, sending shivers down my entire being. Never in a hundred years could I explain myself and my behavior. I hadn’t been this kind of girl. Sure I partied and went a little crazy sometimes, but I had been strict with dating and sex. I never fucked on a first date. Hell, we had just met, never even went out. Renel would never believe me if I told her what was happening.

My brain was fuzzy as we continued in some sort of soft foreplay. His thick fingers had found their way down the front of my jeans, rubbing generously on my stiffening clit and entrance. My breath hitched as one found its way inside of me, petting at the spongy g-spot. I couldn’t keep my knees from buckling under that sort of pressure. I remembered stumbling around in an attempt to find something solid to hold onto, or at least steady myself on as he rid me of my clothes. I could remember removing his skin tight shirt and finally getting an eyeful of his sculptured physique. He was carved artfully as if by a woman with taste and experience. My hands explored his torso, slowly but surely making their way down my boxers. I ran a polished nail down the shaft of his throbbing cock, only to grab the entirety and grace it with a few passing pumps. His belt and jeans found themselves on the floor along with mine.

I had no time to feel the inevitable embarrassment. “Mingi-“ I moaned as he took the initiative to set me on the table, lips now working down my stomach and hips. A strong hand pushed gently on my chest and gestured for me to lay back and I followed with no hesitation. The icy sensation of the vinyl coating made me shiver, but I recovered as soon as his fingers hooked to the hem of my panties. My breathe caught in my throat, Mingi dragging the garment down my legs and letting them fall where they may.

“You’re sure you’re good with this?” He asked once more, looking down at me from his standing position. His eyes were soft and concerned but I could tell he was barely hanging on. His lids sat halfway across his iris, cutting off the light to his eyes. He looked dark and sexy, but alluring. The tattoos that weren’t apparent earlier were now proudly on display.

I only reeled back slightly at the sight of his miniature. Well, you could hardly call it miniature, but you know what I meant. The dick held itself proudly, the tip a dark pink and mushroomed, while the rod was stained a lighter hue, coursing with a few deliciously placed veins.

With as tender of intentions as possible, I reached to caress the decorated man’s chest and feel the heat emitting from the skin. He was as soft as satin, the feeling becoming addictive against my fingertips. His hands traveled to meet mine, bringing the appendage to his lips and leaving a few short kisses on the palm before holding it above my head. Our fingers intertwined as his other hand cradled the soft underside of my knee, pushing it upwards.

“I’m sure.” I said finally, eyes meeting his and he came closer, pressing gentle and reassuring kisses to my cheek and neck.

“Good,” he hummed.

Another blurry moment flashed as he said a few sweet things then continued to move his body. Soon enough I was in a comfortable position with a hand in his and one helping him push inside. My head fell backward as a silent sigh left my lips. Oh shit. “Oh Mingi-“ the words fell fluidly as he breached past my entrance. The stretch alone brought me back to reality, only to be pulled back into whatever sensual scene this was as he began to adjust. His breath was low but not indistinguishable, I could tell he was already feeling good. A second or so passed in silence until the pit in my stomach had grown twice it’s normal size.

“You can move.” I say, slight circling my hips. A pained hiss left Mingi’s plump lips. He takes the bottom in between his teeth and nods as his hips break their isolation

I felt as though my lungs had been palpated, deprived of air and squeezed to the brink. I felt like I was drowning but I couldn’t stop this. This was all too good. Mingi moved with a steady rhythm and intensity. His hands roamed my chest, poking and prodding at my breasts and using them for leverage for his powerful thrusts. I almost felt ridiculous as lewd noises leaked from my throat. My body shook with excitement and my voice was shaky with adrenaline.

“So cute. I can’t fucking stand it.” He growled next to my ear as he punctuated each word with a particularly sharp thrust. I couldn’t believe I had come here to accompany Hongjoon on a drunken tattoo venture, and ended up fucking the artist.

His motions grabbed me as wild, someone with experience in pleasure. Mingi’s body was following a natural progression as the bulbous head of his well endowed cock nestled against my cervix with each violent bash of our hips. A slight shake wracked my muscles and joints as the pressure and endurance of our position grew tiresome. I was exhausted but so ready to reach a peak with him. Coils tightened in my abdomen when Mingi’s voice sounded, moans and small grunts of praise echoed from him.

“Fuck-so good-“ he panted into my neck as his body curled around mine, encasing me in a lustful embrace. Mingi’s toned arms wrapped around my shoulders and waist while his forehead dropped to my collarbone. I could feel the change in angles as he hoisted my torso upwards to meet his, somewhat suspended in air. The erratic pace and movements of his hips reminded me of some crazed animal in heat. I felt the same way though. My body was craving each and every thing Mingi would give to me. His now harsh grips left marks on my skin that I wild find later; they’d bring back me memories of this night and how desperately I would be chasing a feeling like this again.

Creaks and screeches wailed from the legs of the table, yet Mingi couldn’t have cared any less. My arms gripped around his waist, in a way, propelling him forward. “Mingi!” My voice grew weaker in the moment. I was coming close.

“Mmm- fuck…” Mingi groaned against my skin, lips flattening to my chest and hair falling messily over my shoulder. I let my body speak for me as the intensity of his movements and brought me higher and higher. My walls closed around him, clenching in an effort to warn him that I was there. “Mingi! Uh! Gonna cum-“ I moan directly into the man’s ear, hoping to affect him the way I wanted to. “Mm- go ahead baby. You can cum.” His breath was hot as he lifted his head to face me, pressing a kiss to my lips as he quickened his pace. I couldn’t stop the chorus of moans, colored in shock as he pushed me over the edge.

I lay in waves of bliss. One surge after the other. If I was being honest, I had never cum first in any of my previous encounters. This was a once in a lifetime experience for me and I wasn’t going to lie, it was beautiful.

Mingi stalls briefly before sighing in satisfaction as he pulls out of me. My body immediately misses the weight of him inside of me, closing around nothing but air and slick ejaculat. My chest is heaving as I caught my breath, warm fuzzy feelings filling my body. Never had I ever had an orgasm quite like that.

It was soon interrupted at the sound of Mingi’s hand sliding over his still hard erection. I had been so caught up in my own pleasure that I forgot that he hadn’t cum yet. I peak downward at the beautiful man, his face scrunched a bit as he leans over my body. Without much thought I place my smaller hand in his. I can see a smirk forming on his lips as he allows me to help him rub his moistened dick. His eyes open slightly as we make contact, gazes holding intently as waves of pleasure flood his system. I never break eye contact as he reaches his final breath, our hands slow and a loud cry erupts from the man.

“Oh shit- oh fuck-“ Mingi mumbles quietly, forehead nudged to mine as he unloads on my stomach. I was quick to find Mingi’s jaw and yank his sight forward, our eyes meeting once again. “You’re so pretty.” I kiss him before he can answer my statement.

“Me?” He huffs confused. His string brow bone dips in concern of the comment. “Yes, you. You’re very pretty.” I reply, pulling him in for another kiss. “Thank you.” He says genuinely as heaves and tries to catch his breath.

——

“Soooo…. Do you still want that tattoo?” Mingi jokes as he holds the collar of my shirt open above me, placing it down over my head and resting it on my shoulders.

“I might have to take a rain check on that. I’m kinda tired.” My voice was hoarse and losing volume by the minute. A mix of drinking and calling his name for an hour would do the trick.

“Anytime, really. I do actually do tattoos. I swear. I’m not just a whore.” He laughs, looking down at me as I finish dressing myself and heave a sigh.

“I believe you.”

“Good. Do you think you’ll be back?” He questioned, flicking the light switch and opening the door for me. It was almost 5 am and I had no alibi for when Renel inevitably asks what kept me out so late. My cheeks flushed as I thought over the details. I might just tell her, just to see her reaction. If I knew anything about Renel, it was that she’d flip if I told her I fucked the tattoo guy.

“I’ll be back. For that tattoo and also… you know, if you ever wanna…” I led the the statement, looking down at my hands as he walked along side me towards the dorms. “I’m down. You know for tattoos… and… yeah.” He agreed. It was barely dawn, but I could tell his cheeks were as red as mine.

As soon as we reached my dormitory, I turned to face the man who had just made my night. I craned my neck upwards to face him. Gosh he was beautiful, especially in the light of the rising sun. “Thank you so much for tonight Mingi. And for walking me home.”

“Of course. Anytime, really. Have a good night.” He said gently.

“Or I guess morning. Have a Good morning.” He repeated. I chuckled slightly, placing a hand on his chest gingerly and pushing myself to stand on my tiptoes. I was hoping Mingi would get the idea and thankfully he did. His strong hands embraced me one last time as we shared a kiss. Nothing lustful or suggestive. A light, sweet, tender kiss.

“Have a good morning Mingi.” I said finally as we broke the kiss and I ran off towards the dorm doors.

“Tell me EVERYTHING!” A shrill voice echoed throughout the whole room as Renel surprised me at the door. My heart nearly burst out of my chest.

“Girl, sit down. You’re gonna love this!”

~The End~

[moonlit-stay]

This situation is exhausting, to say the absolute least.

We have fought so hard for Seunghan, for RII7E, for so long, only to receive a "here, take this and shut up" in response.

It hurts me because this is NOT what we want, nor is this something we ever asked for. We want the seven of them together again, permanently; to see the seven of them perform on the same stage and chase their collective dream together, like they were meant to from the start.

It pisses me off to know that SM saw how much global support he has and how much money the fandom has collectively spent to support him, and made this decision purely based on the concrete evidence that they can profit off of him. They look at this beautiful, extremely talented individual and see nothing but dollar signs, and it makes me fucking sick. I do not believe for a second that this was Seunghan's choice, especially when you take into consideration how many times he said RII7E is his dream during his active days. In all honesty, I think they cornerd him, again, and gave him the ultimatum of "debut as a soloist, or we terminate your contract🤷🏻‍♀️" which, wouldn't surprise me given all of his "official social media accounts" were made today. If that was the case, maybe Seunghan agreed because deep down, he hopes he can come back to RII7E, and if his contract is terminated, all chances of that vanish with the contract.

SM did this shit on purpose with the thought process of "if they want Seunghan, fine, we'll give them Seunghan" knowing damn well this is not what we wanted. They're testing the waters, mainly because they're scared, and even with this situation, they will not win. This choice was not well-planned and thought through, this was a last minute panic plan as a way to silence BRII7E who have been participating in (and will continue to) the boycott. The fact that they used pictures from the 2025 season's greetings that he filmed with his members, further proves my point.

It's one thing to be ignored by this bitchass company, but it's another to know they're just using us for money. SM does not care about their artists, the wellbeing of their artists, or the people who genuinely support their artists. They only care about money, and they have proved this time and time again.

All of this and still not a single whisper about the "legal actions" they're apparently taking. If they can't protect Seunghan in RII7E, they are NOT going to protect him as a soloist. I personally could not stomach seeing him on a stage by himself with nothing but hatred fueled people watching his every move while he doesn't have the emotional and moral support of his members by his side. It was bad enough before all of this when they were by his side, standing right next to him. I simply can't.

I'm tired, I'm angry, and I'm so, so sad. I want my seven back together again, permanently this time, more than anything.

[noob-with-a-shitty-computer]

Secret Romantic (Grell Sutcliff x gn!artist!Reader)

A/N: I’m still pretty new to black butler but this woman has been living in my head rent-free for the past few weeks, which fortunately has given me a bit of inspiration to write a fic :> hope u like it and i hope it isn’t too ooc.

Summary: You were not really known to be a hopeless romantic, unlike your flamboyant companion. However, she wasn’t expecting to see a different side of you on the night you dropped your sketchbook nearby…

In the midst of another work-filled night, you quickly flipped through the to-die list one last time. “I think that’s about everyone tonight.” You let out a sigh of relief in unison with the red reaper in front of you, “What a night. I’m so glad that Phantomhive got this case closed rather quickly.” A bit of awkward silence passed until you heard a few quiet giggles, which made you turn to your friend who’s green irises were swinging left and right to each picture she had in her hands.

“Grell, are you listening?!” You raised your voice enough for her to let out a yelp as if she was a frightened puppy. “‘Bassy’ caught your eye again?” You scoff. “Come on, can you blame me? He was ever so graceful, how could I not take a photo or fourty~? Especially when he was wearing that ridiculously handsome suit~!” She dreamily sighs and you do nothing but roll your eyes. You never liked demons, always thought they were a hassle to deal with. It didn’t make it any better that a certain demon butler just so happened to steal the doting heart of the woman who stole yours.

“Well, I’ll head off now so you can have your little fun, I suppose. See you at work, my lady.” You greeted nonchalantly as you quickly jumped out of the scene using your reaper agility. Before Grell could glue her eyes back to the photos, she heard a thud nearby, finding a familiar book on the stone ground. It was the sketchbook you always brought around during work to draw on whenever you had a bit of time on your hands. She remembered the times you refused to show her your artworks, hiding the pages against your chest as a faint but cute blush creeped onto your cheeks.

It seemed that curiosity killed the cat (much to Sebastian’s dismay) as Grell approached the sketchbook with a smirk, letting go of her precious photos for the time being…

“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding from me, darling.” She mutters to herself as she slowly flips through the sketchbook, admiring every image. There’s a sketch of the town you recently visited in the view from a tall building, doodles of a couple of dresses you saw from a store window, and other random things. You were quite talented, she thought, curious if you happened to have a doodle of dear Bassy as well~ It only took a couple minutes until she flipped through a page that caught her off guard.

Several doodles of the red reaper herself were presented to her, some smiling, some frowning, some drawings ended down to her head or bust and there were a couple of full body drawings as well. She flipped through more pages and found herself again. There was one drawing where she was wearing a beautiful dress and another where she and you dancing together, she was wearing the same dress while you wore your own outfit with a similar design. It was like an illustration from a fairytale book, the you in the sketch revealed a big smile that your colleagues don’t often see on you in real life.

The next page had sketches of her in other fancy outfits, the page after that had sketches of her doing her signature pose, the page after that was a drawing of you and her, hand in hand and looking at each other fondly while the moonlight illuminated your figures. She didn’t realize you were so observant over her. It was a bit unsettling, but it also felt endearing to her that you put in so much effort into capturing her beauty on paper. Her mind was filled with different thoughts, the memories of you and her training, laughing, smiling and spending time together all those years ago up till now. She couldn’t deny that it made her heart flutter.

Meanwhile, you were panicking in your room trying to find that lost sketchbook, worried that Grell had caught it first. You dejectedly rushed to your door only to find said reaper in front of your doorstep, causing you to stumble backwards. “Gah! G-Grell, what are y-you doing here..?” Your heart was pounding as you looked over to her hand which was holding very thing you were looking for over the past several minutes. Grell chuckled a bit as she handed it back to you. “Darling, I never thought you felt this way about me~” She stepped closer with a smile.

“I-I’m sorry, I can explain-“ “No, I’m sorry for pulling on your heartstrings like that, my dear.” Grell’s eyes softened as she apologized. “The drawings are gorgeous as well. I didn’t know you were such a romantic~!” She smirked and you huff your cheeks, “I guess you just rubbed off on me, my lady.”

“No worries, it’s cute.” Her smile grew as she watched your cheeks flush and eyes widen. “Aww, look at your cheeks! They’re covered in such an adorable shade of red~” She failed to supress a cheeky giggle. “Stop teasing me!” You quickly protest before she held out a hand to you.

“Heh, well I must admit, you were always dear to me, darling. I guess I was too occupied with my own obsessions to realize it sooner… But since you seem to be interested in a dance, may I take your hand tonight~?” She stated flirtatiously, causing your cheeks to grow hotter. You were a lot less experienced in the world of love compared to the reaper in front of you, causing you to hesitate taking her offer…

But then again, who are you to refuse a lovely lady such as Grell Sutcliff~?

A/N: i need sleep. why must motivation show up during midnight T_T anyways hope u like it :P

[rozeliyawashereyall]

Guys I'm back (not really)!!! I missed you all so much and- oh wow I missed too much, huh.

I'll start with saying that I'm doing okay now! My mental health has improved a lot and I'm very proud of myself :) however! I'm still on break, I just came here to address a few things.

Now to what's happening in the bug army—and lemme just say jeez. I did not expect to come back to drama, especially with how small this sub fandom is.

English isn't my best language so hopefully I'm not being rude saying these-

Most of my information came from @audioroleplayconfessions and a few friends of mine

-Now~ about the discord server. A lot has happened and I won't be getting into too much detail about it. One or two of our members weren't in the best place and sought out help from me and a few others, they're both okay now and are getting proper help ^^

None of us are exactly okay in the head in the army, I don't mean "insane" I mean "just need a safe environment to vent". And that's exactly why the discord was made! But unfortunately it went past an after school comfort club and more of a therapy session.

Thankfully! Me and the mods are being especially stricter on the rules and are actively enforcing them better!

This is still our first time making a server so of course we aren't the best at it, but we're all trying! I do hope that anon can feel safe there again.

that's all I'll say about it, so let's close this topic already.

-The favoritism! Now sure what to say on this one tbh, just that no one owes you anything! If you're so insecure that you have to seek validation from strangers online—and having panic attacks that you aren't being noticed, maybe the problem is with you. Most of our amazing artists that get slightly more recognition is because they're one of the first batch of bugs to appear in this fandom!

It honestly just feels like you're putting the creators on a special pedestal, above everyone—while they're all very talented and incredible people, they're still human. Just like you, just like me. They try to interact with everyone they can and it's clear every person helping with the gator boys series is trying their damn best.

I genuinely do hope you're doing okay now though :(

I'm always here to help and support you if you need it! But now, it's best if you take some time off to focus on yourself! Take a mental health break, it'll do wonders to you, I would know! I'm taking one now ^^

-that one anon ask that was very clearly about me but they didn't say it.

I'm not too fussed up about it, just a little sad I made someone feel that way

I'm not sure what I did that gave you the impression of "annoying" and "pretentious" of me, but I'm really sorry that I did anyways. I do hope you'll still consider joining our little army, and so we too can be friends! I'm sure you're a great person!

Do know I'll always greet you and new members with open arms! <3

Oh and thank you so much to the people in the reblogs that defended me—giving you all the biggest digital hug ever

-and lastly~ I really, really hope none of us gave you a bad impression of us or the VAs! Everyone here is a wonderful person! From talented to kind to fun! Gator boys is an awesome series and we all just wanted to create a small group to fangirl and boy about it X3 I'll admit things have gotten a bit too far, but me and the founders are trying our best to keep everything under control.

Now, I'm not too good with words—but, I'm very sorry about everything that happened these few days, but I promise everything will be okay from now on! We'll all make sure of it!

Gonna be putting this post in my pinned for a week just in case-

[sehodreams]

Hey guys, hope you're all okay with the current situation.

After a couple days, I'm finally more level-headed to talk about this without crying, so I wanted to make a little announcement.

I'll close this blog until new notice, I'm supporting the boycott, and yes, I still love the boys.

I know for some people the boycott seems useless since Seunghan already left, and I'll be fr with you all. Now, I don't know if I (emphasis on I) want him back. What happened was traumatizing in so many ways, I just want him to breathe and get better. I'd love it if he came back, but after everything that happened, I only hope he can be happy, regardless of what his decision is.

Still, I find the boycott extremely important because this has become a precedent I don't want to see again.

Over the years being an SM stan I've seen uncountable times how the company has done nothing to support their artists, and I don't want to support such a useless place anymore.

Being an older fan I'm thankful that my boys have careers stable enough to not depend entirely on the company, but even like that, my older boys (Suho, Chanyeol, Xiumin) have talked about how the company has mistreated them despite the time they have there, which makes me think that SM might be genius at finding talents, but they have no idea how to treat them.

What I'm talking about is not my imagination at all. In the past, cases like Henry, JYJ, F(x) and others have been handled like shit, and I simply don't want the rest of Riize to go through that. As I said, there are precedents, and Seunghan's case is merely one more on the list for them.

Yes, they're a big entertainment company, they'll never be affected by one member leaving since they can simply not care and they'll continue making a ton of money. They could easily find a replacement, or even worse, create another group and forget about all of them (No one will ever make me forget f(x) so don't pretend it hasn't happened). And we've seen that it doesn't matter what we think, they'll continue with their own thing if we're not loud enough (Yes, I understand the concept of obligations, but to have contractual obligations doesn't mean they can continue moving in silence). The boycott, in no way, it's the only way fans have tried to make their feelings clear. It's the last resort to be loud enough.

Honestly, I never expected things to get so out of control. I thought it would be like Chen's case. Maybe a little noise and then things would continue with presentations of Riize as 7 like nothing, as if this was just one of the things we'd remember as a fandom but finally move on from.

Of course, we've seen that this idea was extremely wrong.

I considered common sense like reason enough for Seunghan to come back, and that blinded me into not considering that: 1) Seunghan was still a rookie without stable years of trajectory with a fandom way younger and immature, and 2) Common sense is not an objective or strong enough fundament on which a conclusion could be developed from.

I might sound dumb or pretentious as fuck in that last sentence, but the translation of it is just: I didn't consider those crazy assholes would send a hundred funeral wreaths and bully Seunghan until he left (Only because he dated a girl before debut. Let's be honest, the cigarette was never the cause of this hate.)

This whole post might sound like an order to boycott, but I have no control over anyone's actions as much as no one can't control mine. We, in the end, are free to do whatever we want. I won't judge people who will continue consuming SM's content (let's not forget, Riize's content IS SM's content) as much as no one should judge me for deciding to support the boycott. We all have our own reasons, morals, and values, and that's something I appreciate a lot from the fact that we as people (I deeply hope we all) have the freedom to decide how to act for our own wishes. And, as much as I appreciate my freedom to do what I want, with this last resort I hope Riize gets a fraction of said freedom.

I based my decision to support this boycott on the fact that there are too many cases of SM having terrible management with their idols for years and that I don't want Riize to ever be wrongly treated by them again. First was Seunghan, bullied until he was kicked out/forced to leave, but let's not forget what happened when Anton's picture with his friend (holding hands) got leaked from her private account, and when the picture of Sohee and his friend (kissing his cheek) did too. Like this, we don't know with accuracy what other privacy could be violated tomorrow, who the affected one in the group will be, or the SK fans' reaction.

Will they be forgiven? Will they be forced to apologize? We don't know, and there's no way to conclude what the reaction will be.

I understand that all the boys are going through something delicate right now and that some people might not want to affect them more, I respect their choice to not support the boycott, but in my opinion, the situation already got out of control, and this damage might never be fixed, but the next one could be prevented.

I could continue with a whole post about SM mistakes and how useless they are, but I feel my disappointment should be directed to real action now.

I hope we all (the people who wish to support the boycott) do it better this time, and this means, no kind of interaction with Riize's new official content.

That should be the bare minimum for the case, but I'm not really someone who gets satisfied by the bare minimum.

I (again, emphasis on I) consider that there's no official content that doesn't go with this little standard. With this, I mean fanfiction, fanmade videos, and anything based on Riize's new content (even old one, but I'm a little tired of continuing this idea, you can think on your own). Therefore, I won't be writing for Riize to also support this boycott. (I know some might laugh saying You didn't even post that much anymore, well yeah that was a block but now it's a decision.)

I'm not sure when I will feel comfortable enough to write about Riize again, but I hope not much time goes by. In my case, I don't expect Seunghan back because I don't know what he's really thinking, and I deeply wish he did, but I don't want to force him to do anything he doesn't want after these traumatic events.

I could say he has to come back, but deciding to be more empathetic, I don't wish any kind of hate (and definitely not this kind of hate) over anyone, not writers, not fans, not idols, so I don't expect him to be on the public eye immediately after officially leaving the group, but I do not want to support a company that puts all their idols to this kind of risk, and I expect them to at least show they're doing something to prevent this on the future.

There's a concept I remember a lot, and it's that by doing nothing you're still risking a result. SM, being silent and non-acting, is putting all the boys at risk, and I only expect SM to prevent this invasion of privacy and damage from repeating and the situation from getting out of control again.

We, as fans, have no obligation to protect them, but SM is their employer, and as such, they have it. Yet, until now, these roles have been reversed.

I believe SM has the resources to do something, and until that happens, I hope we continue giving the message through the only way they'll listen: The boycott.

[phantoms-hall]

Julieta Madrigal SFW Alphabet (Fem!Reader)

A/N: This is my first time posting anything on here so I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing but I'll figure it out along the way.

PS- Agustín kicked the bucket in this universe. Sorry brother. Mostly inspired by Moon_calvary's Por Amor Al Arte on AO3.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

As one would expect, she's a very affectionate person. Kisses and hugs are your daily bread with this woman. She also does not mind public displays of affection, in fact she welcomes it. Whether that be holding hands, hugging each other from behind when you spot one another around Encanto etc. Short answer: she adores physical affection.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Given how many people she sees on a daily basis, I would say her first 'encounter' with a probable close friend has to be someone who caught her eye. A creative type of person: artist, singer, somone who plays an instrument, something along those lines. I believe she'd have watched you in passing when she spotted you out of the corner of her eye, and began to look forward to seeing you around. Then inevitably when you wound up at her table because you got injured, she striked up a small conversation. Ever since, whenever you see each other you'd talk for a bit until you became closer with each meeting. When you started meeting more frequently, you'd learn that she has so much to offer as a person; her humor, her talents besides cooking and what not. You'd begin to know Julieta Madrigal as a person.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She loves cuddles, no more needs to be said. If she's had an especially rough day, she likes cuddling into your chest at night while you play with her hair. She also returns them in excess: she'll rub your back while she cuddles you, hum sweet songs into your ear or just talk about her day until you fall asleep and/or feel better. However she likes being on the receiving end more.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Given what happened with Agustín, I'd say she would want to wait a while before resettling but it's not a definite no, she just needs time to readjust even if she wants you with every fibre of her being. Do I really need to say anything about her cooking? Well, I will anyway. Her food has a flavour that no other could replicate. The love and care she puts into each dish is potent and makes them all the more better for it. As for cleaning: she has a magical house so I assume that Casita deals with most of the cleaning other than the dishes. In that case, she's a master dish washer. Never seen dishes as spick and span as hers.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

She'd let them down easily. She obviously won't break up with someone without a good reason so she would make sure to go into detail about why the relationship wasn't working out. And if nothing is their fault, she would make sure and reassure them of that.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Like I said above: not too quick to remarry. She wouldn't mind getting engaged, but the marriage might have to wait a bit. The fact that her girls and entire family practically adores you though, does make her want to do it sooner rather than later.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Her touches are as soft as they come. They feel like silk on your skin while her warmth encapsulates you like a blanket on a rather cold night, and when you touch her it's as if she's melting right into you. As for emotionally, she just as gentle, if not more. When she's overwhelmed she'll quitely come to your side and rest her head on your shoulder and play with your fingers or just keep her hands somewhere on your person to ground herself and if you spot her not looking quite like herself, you'll take her somewhere quiet. When it's you, she'll spot the signs of emotional distress immediately and come to your side, to offer verbal or non verbal comfort depending on how the mood is and like you, take you to where you find it most peaceful.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Like I established before: she adores physical affection and hugs are no stranger to her or you. She'll hug you everyday before you leave after helping her set up her table- or if you can't make it, before she leaves casita. She loves it when you hug her from behind and give her a kiss on her cheek, which you then have to lean down for her to reciprocate because you're a few inches taller. When she's cooking and waiting to flip her arepas, she'll wipe her hands and snap you out of your daze of admiration by trapping you in a gentle yet equally tight hug and places a small kiss on your nose. Her hugs are as soft as can be. Her body heat spills onto you like a warm bath and when her chest meets yours, it's the best feeling you can think of as she rests her head on the crook of your neck.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Actually saying that she loves you took some time but before that she would call you mi amor and all other sorts of nicknames. However, after she was able to tell you about her feelings for the first time, I love you became a daily mantra that you would chant to each other.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She's truly not an inherently jealous person. But she does feel a twinge of jealousy when men approach you and begin to shamelessly flirt with you when you're at her table, or if she sees another woman outside her family getting a little too touchy with you when you aren't that well acquainted.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses are divine and feather like to the touch. Her lips are soft and warm much like the rest of her and are always coated with a sweet and savoury taste. From the moment she spots you- you get a kiss on the cheek, forehead, nose; you get the point. Her favourite place to kiss you though is your lips and a close second are the back of your palms. Her most favourite place to be kissed is her neck. But if you ask her, she loves your kisses no matter where they are.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

She raised six. The woman definitely knows what she's doing if what her daughters, niece and nephews say are anything to go by. Children also seem to adore her by default.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

She usually ends up waking up before everyone to prepare breakfast and her daily medicinal food. However, you don't take too long to wake up after she does, missing her warmth and by the time she's preparing clothes to wear after she showers, you're awake- so you shower and get dressed together. You help her prepare breakfast on most mornings and wash the dishes while keeping her company until the rest of the family starts to come down stairs. Then you help her pack everything and take it to her table so she can start her daily healing.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are sometimes spent in a similar fashion. After you two prepare dinner, sometimes she would start experimenting with new recipes and you'd be her taste tester. Other times, you'd shower and get ready for bed together. You'd talk about your days, read a book to each other, or just lie there in comfortable silence. Nonetheless, your nights together are tranquil.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

After a few weeks of knowing you, she'd open up to you about the stress of being the only healer in the village and the despair of losing her husband. However, she always spread them out in lengthy intervals at first, not wanting to make every conversation heavy. After you two got closer, she started to find a good balance with voicing her worries and concerns.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

She's an extremely patient person and it takes a lot to anger her. But if you manage to get her genuinely angry...you screwed up big time.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She remembers every thing you tell her, little or big. Your birthday? She knows. She even knows the time you were born and you don't even remember even though you told her. What colour you like? She knows. Your favourite scent? Of course she knows. Your least favourite animal. Yeah, she knows.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Her most cherished moment with you would be the moment she finally admitted she wanted to be yours and she wanted you to be hers. She remembers every detail of it. Where it happened, the look in your eyes, the scent of your hair when she leaned into kiss you for the first time, the feel of your heartbeat on her palm as she rested it on your chest, the tears, everything. She holds it close to her soul.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Don't let her soft nature fool you, she will get defensive for you if need be. She'd very politely yet subtly warn others not to cross her path when it comes to you. As for you, you're less subtle and polite about it and will scrap with someone if they even tried to say or do something to her if you had to. But because you know she's not much of a confrontational person, you'll excuse yourselves and take her gently by her hand to somewhere that she feels safe and hold her tight. However, according to her- anywhere's safe when she's with you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

No matter what she does, she gives it her absolute all. Especially when it comes to you. You get new gifts from her often. Remember when I said she remembers your favourite scent and colour? Yeah, she asks Isabela to grow the flowers so she can make you scented candles and perfumes. She and Mirabel even sew dresses for you in your favourite colour, while Luisa helps her mamá find new places she can take you on dates. When anniversaries roll around, be prepared for a feast and I mean a feast.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She tends to bottle things up until she eventually can't take it anymore. While she's way more open with you than before, that bad habit seems to linger. And though you don't have any issues with comforting her during a break down, you wish she would let you know about these things earlier so you can help. She also bites her nails and lips when she's anxious.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

While modest, she knows she has a nice figure and equally nice features. But as she ages, she seems to get a little more self conscious- however you're always there to make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world and she loves you for that and more.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

It scared her at first to think how dependant she had become on you. The thought of you leaving in any sense of the word terrifies her to no return and if you leave her like Agustín did, she doesn't know if she'll be able to put those broken pieces back together again.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

She likes to sing when she has time to spare. She even writes songs from time to time but she's too shy to share them with anyone, except you of course.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She doesn't like people who are plain rude. She also doesn't like when people are crass and say crude things in the midst of a regular conversation when she doesn't even know them.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She mumbles a bit in her sleep and sometimes pulls the blanket away from you. She also somehow manages to feel if you move a little and pull you right back towards her so she can keep snuggling against your chest.

[kurenai-works]

Hello everyone, today is my 29th birthday.

With that in mind, I figured it would be the best time to talk about this, so I'm proud to present to all of you 東方雷秘儀 ～ Strike in the Holy Apex, my very first Touhou Project fangame!

The game's story will be centered around a mysterious thunderstorm that's raiding the entirety of Gensokyo, so it's up to a group of heroines to investigate the situation and save the day.

As some of you may know, around November of last year, GameMaker has become free to use for everyone, which prompted me to take the opportunity to create an engine that looks roughly similar to ZUN's original Touhou Project games. I showcased it in greater detail on YouTube sometime around late February and I was very pleased by the generally positive feedback it got.

Taking that into account, I continued to expand the work I've done and it has grown a lot during the past four months; menus function properly, game settings can be modified, controller support has been added, several gameplay tweaks have been implemented, and so on. There's still a number of things that need to be ironed out by the time I'm writing this post, but considering the progress I have done on it so far, I have faith that a trial version for the game will be ready for release soon. This has to be the biggest project I've worked on... by a country mile. Speaking of the trial version's release date, that will be disclosed at the very end of this post.

GameMaker being free to use has given me a joy I genuinely can't describe, and I bet my inner child would’ve been happy too by hearing those news. After all, I've had experiences with GameMaker for well over 15 years, basically almost half of my entire life!

So, what should you expect by the time the trial version is released? First things first, it'll obviously consist of only three stages.

Secondly, you'll be able to play this adventure as the usual duo; Reimu and Marisa. More playable characters will be available in the full version.

Thirdly, the game's main mechanic. It's called the Brave Gauge, and it has functionality almost similar to the Season Gauge found in Touhou 16: Hidden Star in Four Seasons. It's not the most original idea I've had, but for the record, and coming back to my familiarity with GameMaker ever since my teenage years, this system was taken from a very old draft which dates all the way back to 2014, while making some adjustments to it. Here's a little bit of proof:

I'm going a bit off tangent here, but seeing these filenames kinda makes me feel embarrassed. The game has "Ascii" on the name because all of the graphics in there were made using ASCII characters, which was done during a time when my artistic talents were non-existent, so they looked quite messy and overall made the game have a goofy aura to it, haha.

And lastly, considering that I'd like this game to be played by a wider demographic, it's gonna be available in three different languages: English, Spanish (my native language, hooray!) and Japanese. These can be selected anytime via the options menu.

I don't know any people who are fluent in Japanese, and the few friends that I have don't seem to know much about the language either, so that translation is gonna be handled 100% by myself using tools like DeepL. I know that translating all the stuff in one go can lead to heavily mistranslated results, so I'll be making sure to convert my game's text as meticulously as I can. If there's anyone out there who understands Japanese fluently and is willing to translate the text for me, please hit me up because that'd be really appreciated. In case that happens, I won't be able to reward the translation financially, but I will be adding your name to my game's end credits.

So yeah, I don't have much else to say. The game's trial version will be available on Itch.io this August 30th.

The game has a long way ahead from being completed, so anticipating a release date for the full version is not feasible, at the moment. Regardless, I'll make sure to update on that once I have made abundant progress on it.

Both versions of the game will be released as pay-what-you-want. In simpler words, they'll be available free of charge with the optional choice of depositing a sum, in case you're feeling generous. After all, not to brag, but it goes without saying that I'm handling every detail in the game; not just the programming, but also the art, music and writing. While I have used some code libraries to facilitate the inclusion of certain aspects in my game, most of the heavy lifting is carried out by me, so it'd be really appreciated to have some compensation for the work I have been doing for almost half a year. It's not by any means mandatory, so it's fine if you can't for whatever reason, hahaha.

Anyway, I hope you look forward to this game of mine as much as I do! See you then!!

[bangpop91]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by the wonderful and fabulously talented @cliophilyra

1. How many fics on AO3?

57

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

357,820

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently it's predominantly 9-1-1, but I also write for 9-1-1 Lone Star, and used to write for Roswell New Mexico.

4. What are your top 5 fics by Kudos?

Sipping Him Like Whiskey

For this Child I Have Prayed

A Contractual Kiss

Growing Pains

Stay With Me

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes. I don't my best to

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I generally as a rule of thumb make sure my angst riddled stories end on a happy or at least hopeful note.

But my WIP Carry On My Wayward Son, which should be completed some time this week will be my angstiest ending

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ohhhhh. That is a hard one. Really that would probably be every story in the Bedtime Stories Series

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Once on a rare pair fic. I deleted the hate and went on my merry way. It was properly tagged so there was no point arguing with someone who was mad I wrote this Flint/Kyle story.

9. Do you write Smut?

Absolutely! I write all kinds. Soft and sweet, emotional, humorous, kinky.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Technically? I have written 911 and 911 lone star into most of my stories even if it is just Easter eggs of the other show.

Otherwise, I'm open to it just haven't found the right inspiration to yet.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to the best of my knowledge. I'm not where near that popular of a fan fic author for anyone to steal my stories.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated.

I have not! I'd be extremely honored though if anyone ever wanted to translated my work though.

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

@girlwonder-writes and I have something in the works! I am very excited about it!

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

This is like asking which of my children are my favorite 😂. My original ship from way back when I was just starting to make my way into fandom was Gemma Doyle/Felicity Worthington from The Gemma Doyle Trilogy. But I also have fallen in love with a great many other ships over the years. These days, Malex, Lizobel, and Flint/Kyle from Roswell New Mexico still hold a special place in my heart. Then there is Luc and Oliver of the London Calling Series, Henry and Alex from Red, White, and Royal Blue, and Joe and Nicki from the Old Gaurd.

And I refuse to pick a favorite 9-1-1 universe ship. I love them all.

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

It's my tarlos/Campbell(tarlossoup) fic I started but have been struggling to write. I still have hope but it won't be for anything hot minute if I do.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Oh man. I want to say it's coming up with interesting concepts. I don't know if I am always the best as executing them. And I am notoriously hard on myself and my own writing. So. I dunno send praise I guess 😂 feed your local artists and writers with compliments.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling, grammar, executing my ideas without getting lost in unnecessary details, sometimes putting the things in my head onto the page in the way I want in a satisfying way.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I LOVE IT! I am in awe of people who can do it and do it well. I wish I was better with language as so I could do it properly. I don't my best to include it where I can but I get self conscious about it

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Oh man way way back in the day I wrote Harry potter fan fiction on Fanfiction.net.

20. Favorite fic you wrote?

Again with asking me to choose a favorite child 😂.

Paul Strickland and the Case of the missing Lion

Madam Vega and the Sensational Six

I Wasn't Looking for You

Every story in the Calypso universe

Just a Kid From Roswell

Lancing the Wound

A Soft Glow

No pressure tags for @marvelousbuckley @girlwonder-writes @nine-one-wanton @racerchix21 @rdng1230

And @dr-lizortecho @winged-fool @thepinkcrayon @thecarrott @dadbodbuck

And @30somethingautisticteacher @judymarch15 @herrmannhalsteadproduction @missmeryl92

[medusapelagia]

A Magnet For Trouble: CH 4 I’d love to wear your touch on my skin

written for the @billybigbang2024

Read from CH 1, ..., CH 5

Find the beautiful art @akichania made for this chapter HERE!!!

Read here or on AO3

This time Jason’s phone rings for real, and Billy invites him out on his first night off. 

Nothing too fancy, just a movie at the local movie theater, but Jason spends almost two hours with Chrissy’s help turning his closet upside down trying to find an outfit that doesn’t make him look like a gravedigger. It’s the first time someone invites him out in ages and he doesn’t know how to dress: too casual and Billy will think he isn’t serious, too fancy and he might think he is presumptuous.

In the end, he chooses a simple jeans jacket, a white polo, and his favorite pair of jeans.

“It’s going to be ok,” Chrissy comforts him, hugging him from behind while staring at their reflection in the mirror, “He looks like a good guy.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s just… What if I’m not ready? I have never had a real relationship, you know? Just casual hookups.”

“If you never start to be serious with someone you’ll never know if you’re ready.” She winks in the mirror, “No more doubts, Jason. Worst case scenario you’re going to have a nice evening with a friend. But from the way he looked at you, I’m pretty sure things will get hot quickly.”

Jason chuckles, turning to hug her and kiss the crow of her head, "I’d be lost without you. You know that, right?”

“I might have my suspicions. Now get out of here. Being late isn’t a nice way to start a relationship.” Chrissy reminds him, so they both leave Jason’s apartment and the policeman gets into an Uber, already waiting for him in front of his building.

The movie theater isn’t that far, and when Jason gets there, Billy is already there, waiting for him in front of the glass doors.

“Am I late?” he asks, looking at his watch, he’s pretty sure he’s on time if not early.

“No, you’re fine. I was just a little bit too eager. And… you know… I wanted to make sure you would actually come.” Billy replies.

“Were you worried I wouldn’t show up?”

“Maybe?”

“That’s so silly. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I treated you like shit?”

“You didn’t… you were just… rude.”

“Rude. Yeah. You can say that out loud.” Billy grins, getting closer and bending toward Jason who freezes, “No kisses? Got it. Just boring old hot sex.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…”

“It’s ok. Let’s have our friendly evening.”

There’s something in the tone Billy uses that makes Jason flinch, but he follows him.

The movie theater is a small one and the options are a cartoon, a romance movie, or an action one and, after a little debate, they opt for the action movie. Billy pays for the tickets, a huge popcorn bucket that they can share during the movie, and a couple of sodas.

“Hey, Billy! How are you doing?” one of the employees asks him, patting his back.

“Hey, Ronald. Still scraping gum to pay for college?”

“Not everyone can be blessed with artistic talent. Some of us still have to clean popcorn from the floor to pay back our student loans.” Ronald replies with a warm smile, “Hey, I’m Ronald. Nice to meet you.” 

Jason shakes the young man's hand and has just enough time to exchange a few words before the screen at their back announces that they can get inside.

“Do you come here so often that the employees know you?” Jason asks while looking for their seats in the semi-darkness.

“Moving with fifty dollars in my pocket wasn’t the cleverest idea ever, but we managed. Heather and I worked here for a couple of years to pay the rent and I’m still friends with some of the boys. You know how stray dogs are. They look for a pack.”

“Are you saying you’re a stray?”

“Am I not?”

“I think you’re purebred,” Jason replies.

“Strays can be purebred.” Billy chuckles, sipping some soda.

Once more, Jason has the feeling that he’s missing something, but he doesn’t have time to ask any questions because the lights turn off and the movie starts with a huge explosion that he wasn’t expecting. It makes him jump in his seat and he grabs Billy’s arm in the darkness. When the policeman turns to face his date, the tattoo artist’s teeth shine in the dim light coming from the big screen.

Jason immediately releases his grip from Billy’s arm, concentrating on the movie. The story isn’t that complicated, the protagonist, a former special forces operative who retired after a mission gone wrong, is forced back into action when his ex-partner and best friend’s daughter is kidnapped.

Somewhere at their back, a young couple is enjoying the darkness to exchange a few kisses and Jason feels almost jealous of them, but he keeps his eyes on the screen, avoiding looking at Billy, until their hands brush one against the other in the half-empty popcorn bucket and they both giggle like schoolchildren.

Once outside, while Jason is complaining about how unrealistic the movie was, Billy chuckles softly, “I love it.” 

“The movie? Yeah. I guess it wasn’t that bad.”

“Your smile.” Billy explains, staring at Jason in the eyes, “You look so soft when you smile. Makes me wanna pick you up and hide you in my pocket.”

Jason bursts out in a loud laugh, “Sorry. That’s not exactly the kind of thing people usually say to me.” he apologizes, wiping away the laughing tears.

“What do people say to you?”

That there’s something wrong with him. That he’s not good at doing his job. That he’s a waste of space.

“Let’s just say there aren’t many people who would like to keep me in their pockets. Maybe Chrissy, but she’s a sweetheart so she doesn’t count.” 

“Is it difficult? Being gay and a policeman.”

That’s a heavy question, but Jason doesn’t avoid it, “Yes. It is. No one knows I’m gay in my unit. I’m not closeted, as you thought, but I’m not out either. I simply avoid talking about my relationships, not that there’s anything to talk about anyway. All my experience comes from a few hookups I had in the past few years. No one wants to hang out with someone like me. It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I’m never enough.” 

He gulps the soda left in his cup in one go.

“Wanna go somewhere nice?”

“Your place?”

“Yes. And no. I’m not propositioning you to have sex, even if I’d very much like to. I just want to have a nice night with you, if it’s ok.”

“So mysterious.” Jason comments, but he follows him back to Billy’s building. To Jason’s surprise, they don’t stop at Billy’s floor, but they keep climbing the stairs till they get to the roof.

“It’s always closed for security reasons, I think someone tried to kill himself or something like that, but I have the keys.” Billy grins, grabbing a bobby pin from his pocket and picking the lock with a few safe and accurate movements.

The door opens with a loud squeak and Billy grabs Jason’s hand and drags him outside with a bright smile. Outside the air is fresh and the view of the town is breathtaking. A sea of lights stands in front of them.

“This is beautiful.”

“Right? I don’t know how someone could decide to end their life here. At most, you could decide not to.” Billy chuckles, and Jason senses that there’s something more hidden behind that affirmation.

“You ok?” Jason asks, tentatively, reaching out to put a hand on Billy’s shoulder.

“If you are sure you want them… I want to give you wings, to fly high in the sky.” Billy murmurs, staring at the rounded moon in the sky.

“For real? Would you… would you tattoo me?”

Billy nods, “It was stupid of me trying to impose my beliefs on you. I still think what you ask is too much for a first tattoo, but if that’s what you want, who am I to deny you?”

“I’d love for you to tattoo me,” Jason replies, but what he really means is: I’d love to wear your touch on my skin.

“It will take three or four appointments, maybe even more. Your skin is very fair and I would guess it’s very sensitive too, and I won’t let you rush me.” Billy states, his eyes pinned on the sea of colorful light under them.

“Ok.” Jason immediately agrees, “Thank you.”

And when they kiss, softly and gently, under the moonlight, slowly dancing at the sound of the traffic, it seems that the entire world was waiting for that moment.

***

They have talked about the tattoo design in detail, and after agreeing on the sketch, Billy has made a huge version of the same images, sticking together different parts of the stencil that’s now waiting for Jason on Billy’s table. They have decided on a long wing on Jason’s left arm and an image of Saint Michael holding a shield and a sword on his back.

When Jason gets into the tattoo parlor for his first appointment, Billy has been really clear about the fact that there are going to be multiple appointments, he’s both excited and worried. He’s looking forward to having his tattoo done, but he’s also scared it will hurt.

The little sketch Billy drew for him is now a huge piece of transparent paper, and for a moment Jason wonders if it was a rushed decision, but that image is so beautiful and Jason needs it on his skin.

“Strip off your shirt and stand up for me, please,” Billy asks, grabbing a razor and cleaning Jason’s skin once more to be sure to get rid of any stubborn hair. He looks like a dork with the eyeglasses on, but Jason tries not to chuckle or move at all. Once Billy is satisfied with his canvas, he makes a few signs with a red marker on Jason’s back and then grabs the huge stencil.

Applying a stencil is way more difficult than Jason thought,  "We want it to bend properly and follow your body structure." Billy explains, while cutting little stress-cut into the stencil to avoid the wrinkles once pressed on the skin. Wetting the transparent paper little by little, Billy moves the image from the stencil to Jason’s skin. An arabesque of blue lines he will follow with his tattoo gun soon.

“Ok. You can lie down, but try to keep your shoulders relaxed, ok?” Billy tells him, gesturing to him to get on the tattoo chair.

Jason nods and lies on the chair, his face turned toward the door to avoid staring at Billy during the entire session.

“I’m going to start. If it hurts too badly, if you need a break or you simply have to sneeze you tell me, ok? Communication is key if we don’t want to fuck up.” Billy says, “We’ll take a few breaks, those are both for you and me, so don’t be shy and just tell me if you’re uncomfortable or whatever.” Billy says, grabbing his tattoo gun, “You ready?”

Jason nods.

“I need verbal confirmation, baby. Are you ready to get your wings?”

“I am,” Jason replies, trying to relax on the chair.

The soft buzzing of the tattoo gun fills the air, while Billy’s expert hands start to pull the skin while moving over the stencil’s blue lines.

Art by Akichania

“So, an angel, huh? Does it have a religious meaning to you?” Billy asks.

“Yes and no.” Jason replies, “I’m religious, you already know that, but this tattoo is here to protect me and to protect others, you know?”

“Like a magic shield or some shit like that?”

“Maybe? Is that stupid?”

“No, it isn’t. It’s cute. You’re cute. And I’ll give you the best wings you have ever seen.” Billy promises him.

Their appointment lasts almost six hours. They take a little break to eat a couple of sandwiches Heather bought for them and they talk a lot. Billy tells Jason a few things about his past and how he misses his mom even years later, and Jason tells him about his job. How hard some days are, and how he is trying to balance his personal life and his work life. Being gay and being a policeman it’s not easy.

“It’s not like I’m closeted, you know? It’s just that I haven't had a partner in a long time so there’s no point in telling everyone I’m gay and putting a bullseye on my back. The police station isn’t the most gay-friendly place ever.”

Billy hums in agreement, cleaning the black ink with a wet towel while he keeps drawing on Jason’s back, but when Jason tries to turn toward him Billy immediately stops and slaps him softly on the shoulder.

“What did I say?”

“Communication is key.” Jason sighs, “Can I turn now?”

“No. I’m working on your shoulder blade. You can move before I start to work on your back, ok?”

“Ok,” he whines.

“If you’re tired, we can take a little break.”

“I want to see you. I’m tired of staring at the walls. Who in his right mind could have chosen to paint the walls red, anyway?”

“No one in his right mind obviously. It was a drunk choice. But Heather and I like the contrast between the black wood and the red walls.”

“Did you paint the wood too?”

“Yeah. Let me finish your tattoo and I’ll tell you the shop story in front of a nice dinner.”

“Are you asking me out, Hargrove?”

“Would you say yes if I were?”

"Definitely."

“In that case, I am. Now hold on a little bit, we’re almost done.”

***

Surprisingly, Billy drags Jason to a little Italian restaurant and not to a McDonald's like he promised to do. The owner, a nice old woman, seems to know him because as soon as she sees him she starts yelling Billy's name and talking in Italian fast in front of a very confused Jason.

"Gloria is the best cook in town. If you haven't been here before, you've been missing out." Billy winks, while the woman shows them to a little table in the back of the restaurant. To Jason's surprise she doesn't give them a menu or anything, she just says in broken English that their food will arrive soon.

The restaurant is small and crammed with people. The air is hot but full of amazing smells that make Jason's mouth water. On the table is a little basket with some fresh bread, oil, and a little plate.

Billy grabs a piece of bread, pours the oil on it, and offers it to Jason who grimaces, "It's good, trust me." Billy insists, while a little bit of oil dribbles down his fingers. Jason takes it and smells it, still unconvinced, while Billy licks the oil from his fingers with no shame. 

With a big sigh, Jason opens his mouth and nibbles at the piece of bread, finding it really tasty.

"Good, huh?" Billy chuckles, taking another piece of bread for himself.

Not once in his life had Jason thought that some oil on a piece of bread would have tasted so good.

"It's not any oil, you know? This is extra virgin olive oil."

"What does it mean?"

"No idea," Billy says so seriously that Jason snorts, spitting the water he was drinking.

Fuck. Their first date and Jason already ruined it!

"Sorry, sorry! I'm so sorry!" he mutters, trying to dry Billy with his napkin.

"Oh, I see. It's that kind of date, huh?" an annoyed red-haired girl says.

"Don't know. Maybe? Max, this is Jason, Jason, this is Max, my sister."

"Step-sister." she immediately clarifies, "My mom married his dad. Big mistake. Not only now she’s married to Neil, but I gained this pain in the ass."

Jason's confusion must be clear on his face because Billy immediately clarifies that Max lives with her dad and her Nonna, the old restaurant's owner.

"I didn't even know it when I first moved here, but Max came to the shop for a tattoo and she recognized me from our parents' wedding. And Gloria adopted me.

That's the moment the old woman chose to come back, say something to her nephew, and pinch Billy's cheek.

" Arriva subbito. " She says, and even if Jason doesn't really speak any other language apart from English, arrival must mean that something is coming and he's proven right when a few moments later two steaming dishes of pasta appear on their table.

" Vino. Vino. Il vino ci vuole! Maaaax! Maaax! Il vino! " The woman yells and the annoyed teenage girl gets back with a bottle of red wine that she pours into Jason’s glass without even asking them if it's to his liking and avoids Billy’s glass.

The restaurant is a little bit chaotic but very homey  and at the end of the dinner Jason finds himself hugging the old woman and swearing with tears in his eyes that he will come back while Billy and Max keep laughing their asses off.

Once outside, the fresh air cools them a bit; the little restaurant was really hot.

"So, that's the place you bring all your dates?" Jason asks while they take a walk, keeping his hands in his pocket to avoid reaching for Billy’s.

"Actually, no. And I won't make the same mistake again. It seems to me that you fell in love with Gloria instead of me."

"She's amazing!" Jason agrees with a bright smile.

"Can't deny that. And I can't compete with her culinary prowess so… is this over?"

"This… what?" Jason asks, without daring to look Billy in the eyes, but he grabs him by his shoulder and turns him toward himself.

" This . You and me." Billy explains gesturing to the two of them.

"I... I don't want it to be the end.” Jason stutters, lowering his eyes, “I… I’d like it to be the start of something." he admits in a lower voice, his eyes pinned on Billy’s red Converse.

"Good. Me too." Billy replies, lifting Jason’s chin before kissing him under the yellowish streetlamp's light.

Billy's mouth tastes of coffee, and Jason grabs Billy's jacket's collar and kisses him even more deeply, feeling his dick twitching with interest.

"Slow down, tiger. Your back had enough stress for one day. Let it rest a bit. Do you remember what I said?"

"Clean it three times a day with soap and water, and gently pat it dry. Keep applying a moisturizer or ointment after cleaning it to keep it moist and protect the skin until it heals."

"Good." Billy grins satisfied, taking Jason's hand, "You know what? I thought your skin was too sensitive for a tattoo, but it’s not. It’s tough. Like you.” Billy winks.

“What can I say? I’m a tough cookie.” Jason chuckles.

"You might be, but you melted like snow in the sun last night."

The night before, with the excuse of having to help Jason shave his back to have him ready for his tattoo appointment, Billy fucked him in the shower. It was a very pleasurable experience, and by the end, Billy had to drag him to bed because he was too spent. 

“Maybe I should blow you, on your next appointment.” Billy chortles, “Would you like that? Me and you, the smell of antiseptic and metal and your dick in my mouth?”

God. Billy’s mouth is definitely something.

Jason shivers, nodding, and Billy grins like he won a great prize.

“So be it. Next time I’ll make sure to book your appointment on Heather's day off, and if you're a good boy I'll blow you. As a reward.” Billy winks and Jason almost suffocates on his spit.

They walk around the block, chatting like they were old friends, and Jason realized he missed all of this. The only person he really trusts is Chrissy, but now that she has a girlfriend they don’t see each other like they used to do, and Jason never made friends at the station even though he has been working there for almost two years. Billy is so full of life and experiences. He goes swimming every morning, he has an extended family that cares about him, and a business partner who’s also his best friend.

All that Jason has is Chrissy, and he doesn’t even dare to bother her too much.

“Are you sure you’ll be ok wearing your uniform tomorrow?” Billy asks when they get closer to his place.

“Don’t worry. Tomorrow is my day off, and I’m not the only man with a new tattoo and a job, right?”

Billy's lips lift just enough to let Jason understand that he’s slightly amused.

They wait for Jason’s Uber, and a moment before it arrives, Billy kisses Jason, wishing him good night.

***

Chrissy is staring at the tattoo on Jason’s left shoulder. 

“That’s huge!” she comments, looking at it so closely that he can feel her breath on his skin.

“Do you like it?”

“I surely hope you like it, because it’s huge!”

“You just said that,” Jason replies, trying to turn and look at Chrissy’s face, but she stops him and keeps looking at every detail.

“It’s really well done. It’s a piece of art, I’ll give you that, but isn't it a little bit too much? I mean, I get that you like this guy, like really like him, but asking for such a huge tattoo sounds a little bit excessive.”

“I didn’t pay for a tattoo to fuck a guy, Chris! I thought you knew me better than this!” Jason frowns, shaking off Chrissy’s hand and putting back on his t-shirt.

“All I know is that you fell in love with a tattoo artist and bam, huge tattoo on your back.”

“I’m not… I’m not in love with him, ok? We’re just seeing each other. It’s nothing serious.”

“Do you hear yourself? ‘It’s nothing serious’,” she mimics him, “but you still made him draw on your back like it was a canvas!”

“Ok, you hate it. Got it.”

“It’s not- Listen. I like it, ok? It’s very good, it fits your arm perfectly and when your muscles flex it really looks like you’re moving that wing. What I don’t want it’s to see you get hurt.”

Again, goes unsaid.

“Billy isn’t like the others. I swear. He was clear with me. He told me he didn’t want any emotional involvement with a closeted guy, and I get it, ok? But yesterday he took me out for dinner. We went to this little Italian restaurant his family owns, well his extended family, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, everything was perfect. The dinner was incredible, the walk under the moon was so romantic and I think we started something. I’m not saying we’re in love but… I think he likes me back. And I don’t know if it will work out between the two of us but I want to try.” Jason turns, his chest still naked and the plastic protection that Chrissy just applied on his tattoo, “Can you… Can you try to be happy for me?” 

Chrissy sighs, relaxing her shoulder, “You’re right. I should have been more supportive. Sorry about that.”

“I know you care about me.”

“Of course I do! You’re family!” she replies, jumping at him.

Jason bites down a little whimper and Chrissy immediately apologizes, releasing her tight grip.

“When am I going to meet him properly? I need to give him the shove talk.” She says, crossing her arms in front of her in a threatening way, and Jason bursts out in a loud laugh because there’s no way a tiny and soft girl like Chrissy could ever threaten a muscled man like Billy.

“Don’t laugh! I’m trying to protect your honor! You’re such an ungrateful brat!” Chrissy complains, turning her back, offended, while her blond ponytail jumps from one side to the other.

"Sorry, sorry. You're right. I'm sure you'll scare him off if needed." Jason replies, kissing Chrissy's forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replies, hugging him gently, not to hurt him again.

[aliceksoo]

IU "Love Wins All" MV analysis

Every once in a while one of my favourite artists releases something so good that gets me to the point of obsession, which means coming over here writing about all my thoughts.

And no one does that quite like IU (which is why she is my absolute favourite solo female artist, not in k-pop, just in Music).

Here's a short (LMAO, knowing me it will be super long) analysis of this MV!

The story begins with the two main characters in this story (interpreted by IU and V from BTS), running to escape from a flying box, the villain of this story set in a dystopic reality on the verge of apocalyptic doom.

The two characters run to hide inside a Mall, and from the first shots we can already notice few characteristics:

IU is mute, while V is blind from one eye.

the two are lovers.

Once they manage to hide from the flying cube, they get inside the Mall, where they notice a huge pile of clothes in the middle of it.

They keep exploring until they reach an old electronics shop, and they find an old camera: after trying it, they notice that while using that they can "imagine" an alternative reality, in which they both look healthy and clean.

A reality in which they can pretend to be happily in love, while enjoying moments in a world full of colors, which no longer exists...

...So they start to explore around the Mall while imagining their happy moments. They go through a restaurant, where everything is rotten and molded, but they sit at the table and look at each other through the camera, imagining how it would feel to share a meal together, taking solace in those simple moments of happiness, like having dessert together, wiping sugar from your lover's face, etc.

In this imagined reality they suddenly find themselves surrounded by people, but they all look anonymous, with black clothes and covered faces: this is because they do not matter, what counts in this shared fantasy is the happiness between the two main characters, the only focus they have is on each other and their love.

After playing around they run away from the crowd and find themselves in another shop, where they find wedding dresses. Full of love for each other they quickly change into those and play around, pretending to be a newly married couple celebrating their eternal love.

...But their reality is catching up, and in the middle of this happy fantasy, the cube finds them and forces them to resume their escape

While running away the two end up in front of an open gash in a wall, which shows to the viewer the bitter reality of the world in this story: these cubes are everywhere and are destroying the world.

The two keep running together and they end up in front of the huge pile of clothes, where they get cornered by that same cube.

The two stay together and try to fight it, but in front of the inevitable ending the two hold each other and face their destiny together.

We see from the dying camera on the floor that the two get taken by the cube to be vaporized, and after disappearing their wedding dresses fall on top of the existing pile of clothes.

There are many things I can discuss while reviewing this MV, but I want to focus on a few of them.

THE STORYTELLING - when it comes to the Art of Storytelling, setting up a whole world, characters, and narrative with a coherent arc NO ONE does it like IU and her team. This is not one isolated case, she made it a mission in her work to deliver intense stories, ever since her major successes after "Good Day" back in 2010 she slowly established her own sound and image while also experimenting with this focus on narration and "theatricality" that makes the viewer immersed in her stories. Go see: "Eight", "Celebrity", "Coin", "Above the Time", "Ending Scene", "The Red Shoes", "You&I", "Modern Times", "Good Day" and more to get a clear idea of this. You need talent, vision, hard work, effort, and creativity to constantly deliver this quality of work, and IU along with her team is just doing that.

THE ACTING - this ties in with the first point, but I'd say there is no great storytelling if the acting is mediocre. She is one of the most recognized Korean actresses in the industry AND internationally, and it is for a reason. Her acting is intense yet delicate, complex, and fragile, she always gives depth to her characters and develops their backstories to give us a 360° view of them, which makes them more relatable. No matter how involved you are in your work, and no matter how much money and effort your company and team put into it, in the end, if the artists do not make a personal effort to deliver their performative art to the viewer your work will never be 100% effective. IU goes all in each and every time. With her is always quality over quantity, and it shows. Shout out to V for delivering a solid performance: I could easily see parts of him in the "happy" scenes of the story! When he smiles his expressions always look genuine and innocent (if you are ARMY or even a casual BTS fan you will easily know what I'm talking about). He definitely improved a lot since his past experience in a K-Drama, and I can't wait to see more of him on screen once he gets back!

THE CUBE - this is the first important point I want to make in this analysis. Why the cube?! I am sure the jokes about the choice of using a flying cube as a villain are hundreds on the internet, but I haven't seen anyone pointing out a possible actual meaning, so here are two I personally thought of. - The cube immediately reminded me of bright screens: this might be an implied nod towards the online world, the media, and in general the hate that people (and idols especially) receive in the incessant scrutiny both professionally and personally, sometimes resulting in severe and dramatic consequences. If you are familiar with IU you know that her life has been exposed to the public since she was basically a child, and she is now where she is DESPITE all the criticism and invasions of privacy she had to face. You probably also know that she has lost more than one person very close to her, partially because of this online hate that people keep spreading, so it is not too wild to assume that she might have wanted to add that to the meaning of this work.

- ...But more than that, the meaning I personally picked up is more universal and relatable to EVERYONE watching this story. The cube, more than a cube, is a BOX. Which is a symbol for all those social constrictions, limits, labels, and expectations, that society forces on each and every one of us to "fit" inside a specific box. To blend in, to conform to specifics, to get in line and live your life within those metaphorical boxes, that determine whether your aspect, your personality, your career, your private life, etc. are all ENOUGH to the standards the society expects you to follow. It is not a random choice that the two main characters shown in the MV are both showing visible characteristics that make them "different" from the expected conformity. IU's character is deaf/mute (Not sure if it is both), and V's character is blind in one eye. They both have SOMETHING that makes them unable to conform and because of this, they will never be able to fit inside their specific boxes. Because of this, they cannot exist in this dystopic society, that starts to resemble our very reality more and more.

THE PILE OF CLOTHES - Tying the previous point regarding the cubes, I need to point out this last important element in the story. I am sure 99% of you already picked on the not-so-subtle nod to the "Spring Day" MV, which also shows a huge pile of clothes to represent the lives that were lost during the Sewol Ferry Tragedy that happened in 2014. This in turn is using the concept behind a work of Contemporary Visual Art by an artist called Christian Boltanski. With his work "Personnes", representing huge piles of clothes just like the ones shown in these two MVs, the artist talks about life, death, and memory.

He depicts the reality of groups of people that for several reasons (wars, poverty, etc...) have lost their lives. He urges the viewer to go beyond the random acknowledgment of this: he asks us to EMPATHISE, to actually understand that we are in front of the only symbol of lives that are no more. He demands our understanding by showing us something universal, like their clothes. We do not know their names, nationalities, aspects, or whether they were part of metaphorical boxes...

The same artists once said that used clothes, for him, are traces of lost identities, objects of a subject that is no more.

He leaves the clothes, forcing the viewer to focus on those details, to ask questions about those people, to imagine their stories.

He urges us to remember.

I think that the lyrics and the title itself are pretty explanatory of the intent of this song: IU wanted to deliver a powerful message of universal love, and she chose to do it through an MV that shows us how Love can shine bright even in the face of death and tragedy, and she did it in an original, dramatic, deeply moving way that leaves a deep impression on the viewer, perfectly on brand with her previous works.

She showed us that Love Wins All, and she reminded me yet again why she is my absolute favorite solo Korean singer.

[the-bar-sinister]

Not Needed, But Desired (8322 words) by VickytheSnake, thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 2/2

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Baby 5/Komurasaki | Kozuki Hiyori

Additional Tags: Femslash, Rare Pairings, Getting Together, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, genre: pirate slice of life, Background Slash, Third Corazon Trafalgar D. Water Law, Minor Donquixote Doflamingo/Trafalgar D. Water Law, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff Summary: Baby 5 finds herself head over heals for the newest member of the Donquixote pirates, Komurasaki, the runaway princess of Wano. In the aftermath of a minor scuffle with the marines the two women grow closer despite their wildly different backgrounds.

-

It took most of the day for the family to denude the island of anything interesting— between the marines, their ships, the materials the Spade pirates had left and, yes— the buried treasure that Pica had unearthed underneath the encampment. 

Fred's tidepool had been left where it was, and they took a sliver of the vivre card just in case.

Dinner was the usual raucous affair with the family, everyone back on the ship and talking about the island and the fight, and the haul, and the upcoming Uta concert. Komurasaki sat beside her once again, and once again, came to help with the cleanup after it was over.

Baby 5 scrubbed at a dish as the conversation still buzzed in her mind, her smile lopsided as she glanced over towards Komurasaki to hand her a plate. "Excited for the Uta concert, Saki?" 

Saki nodded and handed her another plate, before drying the first. "I imagine that it's going to be a lot different from the musical performances I've been to."

Baby 5 giggled and ran the offered dish under the water. "Probably yeah, what's the music of Wano like anyway?" 

"I wish I could play some for you," she said, "unfortunately my instrument was destroyed when the Polar Tang sank."

"Awww…." Baby 5 pouted around her cigarette as she scrubbed hard at the plates. "That sucks, maybe Giolla can make you a new one? She's a talented artist, she could probably figure it out if you told her what it was like." 

"Perhaps," she considered, carefully drying more dishes, as they worked together in a dance considerably less brutal than their battle together earlier. "Though I'm almost curious to learn a new instrument now that I've left Wano behind."

"Oooh…Dia's got a guitar, if you're interested in that! I can probably beg him to let you borrow it. I think some of the others have instruments too. I tried to learn one once, but I'm kinda iffy when it comes to musical talent." Baby babbled on as she fussed with a plate, turning it over and over and over again. 

"Do you ever sing?" Saki asked her. She cocked her head, giving her a curious look with her sea-deep eyes again.

Baby 5 flushed deeply, catching her eyes with a flustered half smile. She sang, she'd sing for Diamante when he played the guitar, or when Vi danced along to the feverish beat in her dances with Doffy.

She didn't think she was very good, admittedly. Back in the day, Law had always snarled that 'she sounded like a dying cat trying to sing a love song', much to her embarrassment. But the family never seemed to complain.

"S-sometimes," she murmured, "for Dia and Violet, and Doffy when he's feeling lonely." 

"If I can borrow Dia's guitar, will you sing with me?"

Baby 5 felt her face heat up even more. 

"Y-yeah of course I will! I'd be happy to!" She half turned to look at her with a wide smile "But I warn you, I'm—okay—at best, but I'm going to try my hardest for you, ok?" 

Saki smiled at her. "I think a genuine voice is nicer to listen to sometimes than a well trained one. My own is… very well trained." Her smile flickered a little.

Baby 5 reached out and her suds-slick fingers brushed against Saki's cheek near her flickering smile. "Anything I sing'll be genuine, promise. I… can bet it is, Saki. Honestly I'm curious to see how you take to the guitar, huh?" 

Komursaki paused and leaned into her touch. "Perhaps we can ask this evening. Oh– speaking of which. I noticed that there were clothes among the things we brought onto the ship."

Her fingers lingered against her skin, brushing softly near the cheekbone as she titled her head. "So there were, actually. A whole bunch of 'em, even. Think anything'll fit you?" 

"That's what I was wondering," she said. She turned so that her lips touched her wet fingers and kissed them softly. "Do we need permission to go through them?"

Baby 5 felt a sudden thrill roll through her at the sensation of the woman's lips against her fingers. "You're an officer of the Corazon Army, Saki-baby. You don't need permission for somethin' as simple as that. We can just walk right in and help ourselves. 

She smiled brightly and pressed her cheek against her fingers again. "After we're done here then. Would you look with me?"

Baby 5 leaned in and pecked her lips before she grinned widely. "I'd fuckin' LOVE to. Let's hurry up with these dishes, Saki! I'm dying to know what we find!" 

"Let's hurry then. So am I." She smiled, and kissed her back softly.

The kiss lingered over the smell of soap for a long moment before Baby 5 redirected their attention to their chore. Usually she delighted in the little chores and tasks she did around the ship, reveling in the small hits of validating happiness at helping her family even in such small ways.

But today she found herself rushing side by side with Saki as she worked to clean the dishes as fast as possible.

She couldn't wait to see what Saki wanted to wear, or how damn good she'd look in it. 

-

Komurasaki had never seen so many unfamiliar clothes. There were several crates of them, including the ones that had been brought from the island, and the ones apparently retrieved from the personal items of the marine ships. There were a lot of various sizes, and styles, and levels of wear, and almost without thinking, she and Baby 5 had started to sort them as they went through.

"They're so different." Komursaki— Saki, as she was starting to like being called— liked how unfamiliar they were. She'd been enjoying wearing Violet's dresses, certainly, but this presented an opportunity to pull herself even further from her roots on Wano.

Baby 5 was holding up a marine coat, her cigarette dangling from her lips as she tossed it over her shoulder into the 'to be heavily altered' pile. She seemed rather happy to be sorting through clothes with her, enthusiastically shoving various pieces at Saki as she found them when they didn't quite fit into this pile or that.

"From the stuff in Wano? I'd say, this stuff came from all over the great blue seas!" 

"So I can tell! Are all of these common to wear? Aside from the uniform pieces, I mean."

For most of Saki's life, she'd worn ceremonial clothing— clothing that had been picked for her, and was worn for a specific display purpose, and which she often needed assistance to put on or take off.

Baby 5 grinned at her around her cigarette, the ruffled frill of her maid's apron rustling as she bent down and picked up a pair of tall boots and held them up to her foot to judge their size. "Yeah, most of it anyway. See…this kind of style was really popular around Dressrosa."

She picked up a shirt , meant to be worn open at the chest in a garish pale green animal print of jagged stripes. "Bright, flashy, animal print. Very common where we used to operate." 

"It has a very eye-catching look." She ran her fingers over the fabric. "I wonder what it would be like to wear something like that. Do you think I'd look ridiculous?"

Saki was pretty certain that no matter what she wore, she'd look ridiculous. She was ridiculous. She was a princess. An oiran. The best oiran. She was a decorative novelty at best, something to be dressed and cared for. To have her hair brushed and styled.

The fact that she had left Wano was ridiculous.

"You wanna give it a try?" Baby 5 asked her excitedly. "Doffy and Derringer and…geeze, a buncha the other officers and executives all love that kinda look. I think it'd look fuckin' adorable on you! Hell! It kinda goes with your hair, too!"

Baby 5 didn't seem to think it was ridiculous at all. Maybe because she herself was a little ridiculous. If it would make Baby 5 smile her ridiculous smile, then Saki would try it whether she looked adorable or not.

"You think so? Then I'll happily try it. You'll have to show me how to put it on, however."

Baby 5 made a muscle, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm the best at helpin' people put things on. I used to help Derringer out when he was trying different dresses and stuff as a kid. And Sugar has me help her all the time!" She laid out the shirt, and looked around "Y'want a skirt to go with it, or a pair of pants?" 

Saki thought about it. "I've never worn pants."

Baby 5 looked up at her with wide eyes "Wano doesn't even have fuckin' pants??? What DO they have? I mean, besides 'way too much fuckin' propriety' I guess."

She tutted her tongue and pulled out a pair of pants in lemon yellow with a little sunburst on the ass.

She held them up with a big grin. "Ta da!" 

"Kimono, mostly," she answered. She looked over the pants. They were absolutely ridiculous, and Saki loved them immediately. There was no way anyone would ever think that someone wearing those pants was a princess, or a famous oiran. "Oh those are fascinating. Please show me how to put them on, could you?"

"Y-you got it!" Baby 5 saluted before she turned a deep and flustered red. "but you're gonna have to strip. Is that alright?" 

Komurasaki was very familiar with being naked in front of people. Clients and servants mostly. She hadn't even thought for a moment to be embarrassed about it, but as Baby 5 brought up that she might be, she felt her cheeks flush.

"Is it a problem?"

"Not with me, Saki-baby!" Baby 5 chirped as she brushed her hand through her curly and unruly hair. Still, there was that notable flush on her face as she looked her over. "I mean—you're beautiful, and I'm comfy around you, and if you're comfy around me…"

Saki decided to tease her a little. "Would you help me undress, then? If there's no problem."

She turned and raised her arms for Baby 5 to help her out of her dress.

Baby 5 turned a deeper shade of pink before she scurried over in a rather animated fashion to dip down and start unlacing the back of Saki's dress with nimble fingers. "Y-yes ma'am~" 

She laughed softly, and teased a little further. "Ma'am, hmm?"

The dress slipped off her, exposing her pale, soft flesh. One day, she hoped, it would be marked with scars from a life well lived. For now it was a soft, unpainted canvas.

"I mean if you want me to call you ma'am! Or I can just call you Saki-baby, like usual!" Baby 5 had started to babble as her fingers trailed down her unmarked skin as she peeled the dress downwards. 

"It sounds like you like calling me 'ma'am'," she teased. "So I'd like that."

"S-sometimes," Baby 5 squeaked as she half knelt to lower the dress down Saki's hips. "I mean it's what a maid calls people…and Doffy likes it when I call him Young Master, so, I mean.."

She was certainly flustered now as her smile went lopsided. "I'm glad you don't mind it, ma'am." 

Saki chuckled, letting the dress fall around her hips, exposing the soft rise of her breasts, and flustering Baby 5 further– she was certain.

"Not at all."

From the slight tremor and the intense heat coming off her as she eased the dress aside and stood to look up at her—and very briefly but obviously her breasts—it was safe to say she was very flustered.

"You wanted me to show you how to…uhm…wow you're pretty, ma'am." 

Saki tilted her chin down to look at her with a coy glance. "Why thank you."

Baby 5 smiled up at her–that wide and ridiculous smile that she wore sometimes, this time with cheeks flushed red as a rose and eyes visibly trying not to drift down to Saki's chest as she fumbled for the yellow pants. "You're welcome, Miss Saki." 

Saki liked that smile of hers. It was so unrestrained, so carefree. It made her happy to see.

She lifted her feet, one after the other, to step into the pants as Baby 5 helped her.

Baby 5 slid the ridiculous yellow pants, their fabric slightly thick and stiff but soft to the touch as they slid up her legs as Baby 5 knelt with her arms around her, smoothing out wrinkles as she pulled them up. 

Saki watched her with amusement, letting her dress her. Saki was very good at letting other people dress her. It was more fun with Baby 5 doing it. The pants felt strange however. A little bit constricting, but not in an unpleasant way.

"They fit?" she asked.

Baby 5 ran her hands up her legs with a flustered edge to her big grin. 

"Yeah, I'd say. They're snug, but they're kinda meant to be? They're the type of pants that are meant to show off your curves, you know? Your hips." She lightly patted the sunburst on the ass, flushing as she did. "That's why it's got a decoration there, too." 

"That's very new for me," she said, smirking a little as her ass was patted. She was working to show her emotions more naturally— to restrain herself less. "Showing off curves. When I'm dressed, at least."

Baby 5 seemed to notice, especially with the way she wiggled down there in seeming joy.

"There's a kind of thrill in showing off even when dressed, you know? That's why I wear such a short skirt and low cut blouse." She stood slowly as she grabbed the shirt, still standing rather close to Saki. "Ready for your shirt, Miss Saki?" 

Saki ran her hands down her waist and hips– snug in the pants. "How do the pants look without it?"

Baby 5 seemed to have a physical full body shiver—a very strange one as what looked like a brief ripple of small knife edges trailed up her body as she looked at Saki with wide and interested eyes. "Gorgeous, I mean, it's a bold look!" 

She chuckled, watching Baby's shiver. "Good. Too bold for now, I think. But perhaps some other time."

Baby 5's eyes lingered on her chest again for a moment as she smiled. "Maybe some other time. You'd look great, Miss Saki."

She shifted and raised the shirt, which she started to help her into with a quiet hum. "so this is meant to be worn open at the front, or at least mostly open." 

"Does it need a garment under it?" Saki asked curiously.

-

Baby 5 felt like her brain was sputtering out in real time. At some point she'd gotten so entranced with Saki that she'd started slipping in her coy little 'Miss' and "ma'am's" before she knew it. Flirtatious deference, not like the desperate and needy deference she showed when she needed, NEEDED, to be wanted—but the same sort she showed for Doffy.

She looked up at her, as she slipped the fabric of the shirt over her arms with a chew of her lip. Saki was beautiful, the most beautiful woman Baby 5 had ever seen and certainly one of the most charming. There was just something about her, especially as she introduced her to things outside the narrow box of Wano.

She'd helped her dress, picking through the admittedly impressive pool of seized clothing to find what might suit her until she found something that just screamed 'Saki the deadly pirate'. A bright and cheerful color that'd well reflect any blood splattered across her in the heat of battle.

As they goofed around together she seemed to start to show more, a smirk here and a smile there, opening herself up to Baby 5 in a way that made it feel almost intimate.

Baby 5's crush was threatening to turn into something deeper as she buttoned up the buttons up to just under Saki's chest.

"You can wear one but they're not necessary. A tube top, or a bustier would probably work, but if you leave it open like this it covers the breasts but shows the curve of them and the overall shape of your torso."

She smoothed out the long lapels of the shirt and tried to arrange it nicely around her chest "just be careful bending over for stuff." 

"Hmm." Saki let Baby 5 arrange it for her. The way she let her help her dress reminded Baby 5 of Doffy, too. It was clear that Saki was used to people dressing and undressing her. "I'll keep that in mind. I'm curious how it looks without."

She hoped that familiarity wasn't ruining it for her, she hoped that it wasn't 'too close to Wano'. There were few casual and intimate moments Baby 5 liked more than dressing and undressing someone she cared about. The lingering of touch and the choosing of the right outfits to make sure the person shined—it was something that appealed to her honor as a maid, and the part of her that buzzed with affection and attraction.

"Then I won't get an undergarment! And maybe find you a mirror, Miss Saki!" 

Saki leaned into her, letting the touch linger just like Baby 5 had hoped. Her smirk was hitched and comfortable. "Do please find me a mirror, Baby. I'd like to see how it looks."

Baby 5 bowed her body with a widened grin. Impishly, she lifted Saki's hand and kissed it before she scampered away with a nod, looking around the room for any mirror that might help. "There's got to be one around here…"

She remembered seeing one in one of the chests of the Spade Pirates' clothes, and sure enough there was a large mirror under a few pairs of denim pants.

"Do you think it looks good?" Saki asked curiously as Baby grabbed it.

Baby held it up in front of her, peeking out from its side to grin widely at her as she spoke honestly. "I think you look fantastic, Miss Saki. It's very West Blue, or-–I mean, it's very Dressrosa too. You look, wow…you're takin' my breath away."

It was true. All of it. The way the brightly colored pants clung to her thighs and the curve of her hips, and the open dress shirt with its bold minty animal print baring her milky flesh and the just-visible curve of her breast….it was making her a little weak at the knees. 

Saki pushed her shining green hair back behind her shoulders. "Taking your breath away? That's a high compliment. I think I like how it feels, anyway."

"It is! Lookit, I can barely breathe!" she put her hand to her throat with a flustered grin. "Wheeze, wheeze." She flushed, that– that was a stupid joke. She looked up at her again and tried to babble it off. "you do huh? It's a comfortable kinda outfit and it REALLY suits ya…Miss Saki." 

Saki was, unfortunately, too busy giggling at the joke. She pushed her hair back again and caught her breath. "Thank you… thank you. Can I see the mirror now?"

Baby 5 jolted before running it over to hold it out to her with a grin. "Here you go!" 

Saki gazed into it for a moment, and then started to preen, smoothing her new clothes and her hair. "I really need to do something about my hair, I think…"

Baby 5 watched her preen, so much like Doffy in that way again. She flushed, ducking her head. "They look natural on you, ma'am…your hair? Are you gonna cut it?" 

"I don't know," she said. She grabbed it and held it back, looking at herself in the mirror. "I've always worn it up."

Baby 5 leaned closer, bringing the mirror up to better reflect her face and hair. "like in a ponytail?" 

"No," she shook her head. "Quite complicated hairstyles. I'm contemplating what it would look like simply tied back, versus cut."

Baby 5 chewed her lip for a moment before she reached back with one hand to fiddle with her own hair. The wide curls bounced as she slowly undid her favorite ribbon and pulled it from behind her head.

She paused before she asked. "Can I tie it back for you, Saki-baby?" 

Saki paused too, and glanced curiously at the ribbon in her hand. She smiled warmly. "Please."

Baby 5 put the mirror down, and twisted the pale yellow ribbon around her fingers for a moment before she slipped behind Saki. 

"Just tied back huh? Alright gimme a sec…I used to do this kinda thing all the time for Miss Monet." Her nimble fingers gathered up Saki's hair "and luckily I had this ribbon on me…I mean, I usually do—"

"I suppose it's still warm from you using it," Saki said teasingly, letting Baby toy with her hair.

"A-absolutely, it is!" she wound it around Saki's beautiful hair, working to tie it back. "It was a gift to me when I was a little girl. It's kinda old now, but Doffy gave it to me when I first joined the gang as a child. I got really into collecting bows for a time, wearing all kinds of different ones, including this really cute big red one. But this one was always the most special to me." 

"That's so sweet," Saki leaned into her. "It's… touching that you trust me enough to use in my hair, even for the moment."

Baby 5 flushed, leaning into her from behind as she tied the ribbon and let Saki's hair fall between them. For a moment– one lovely moment, she let herself nuzzle gently against her back and take her in, feel and scent. "Of course I do! I-I mean you're a part of the Donquixote family, right? And we've been getting along, and, I trust you. I know you won't do anything to it." 

Saki smiled at her. "No, I wouldn't."

She turned to face her again, and put her arms around Baby 5's waist.

Baby 5 looked into her eyes, her hands lingering on her shoulders as she gave her another broad smile. "Well that looks fantastic on you, too." 

"Then I should get some ribbons of my own. I don't think I'm ready to cut my hair just yet." She leaned her forehead against Baby 5's.

"You should, Miss Saki," Baby 5 leaned forehead to forehead, her fingers gently tracking down her upper back. "Did that mean something special in Wano? Cutting your hair? I'd heard some islands have special ceremonies around it."

Geeze, though. Saki was gorgeous like this. Unbuttoned from the prim and proper 'Wano' life she talked about in such a tired voice, dressed colorfully with her hair tied back—she really looked like part of the family.

Baby 5 brushed her thumb in a gentle circle against her shoulderblade. She had really gotten to like Saki. A lot. Her heart pattered in her chest as she met her eyes over the smolder of her cigarette.

She let it fall to the ground where she snuffed it with the tip of her shoe. They'd kissed..--- they'd kissed earlier. That meant that Saki liked her too, right? More than just needed her, maybe. Possibly—if she was lucky. 

"Mmm…" she shook her head gently against Baby 5's. "I don't want to think about what it meant or didn't mean on Wano. I want to cut or leave my hair because I like it. That's the way I'd like to do things from now on."

"Good. Then you just gotta keep following your heart, Saki," Baby 5 murmured "and I think your hair looks beautiful. It's nice to see my favorite ribbon on you…" 

"You like it, hmm?" she smiled that teasing smile at her.It made Baby 5's heart race. She was being teased, like a whole hell of a lot . But somehow she didn't mind it at all.

"I d-do, yeah. I'd love to help you experiment with your hair, too. If you want." 

Saki batted her eyelashes, and her voice lowered coyly. "I'd love to experiment with you, too."

Baby 5's face went brick red, and she was damn sure that she'd started steaming like a kettle or the tank of some kind of explosive. She sputtered a little, unable to find her voice as she tightened her arms around Saki.

"I…ah, you wanna experiment with me, Saki?" 

Saki pressed her nose against Baby 5's. "If you'd want to. Tell me, please, if I misunderstand."

She was asking her, directly asking her—so many people in the world outside the Family disregarded her feelings or pressed their advantage on her desperate to please nature, but Saki asked.

She smiled shyly, nuzzling her nose against her. It was no wonder Doffy approved—and it was no wonder that Saki was tightening the threads around her lover's heart.

She nodded slowly. "I want to, you didn't misunderstand Saki—I promise you didn't." 

Saki kissed her softly on the lips. "Why don't we go back to your cabin. I believe we had a conversation from earlier to continue."

Baby 5 let the kiss linger a moment before she nodded and offered her hand to Saki with a chuckle "I was hoping you remembered that, Saki. C-come on before someone comes in and teases us huh?"

A conversation to continue, wanting to experiment—Baby 5's heart skipped a beat. She could take that as proof, right? Real proof. Proof that Saki liked her and didn't just 'need' her.

She wanted her enthusiasm, their mutual enjoyment…

Baby 5 was all too happy to give it to her. She gripped her hand firmly for a moment, holding it to her chest with an increasingly warm and eager smile "come on, Saki—Lemme show you around my room." 

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Congratulations, you so deserve all the followers and many, many more!!! As you know I am a HUGE fan of Heat and recommend it to all my friends. Anyhoo my ask is ⚖️🤨✨

My wonderful and most prolific cheerleader! I’m SUPER sorry for the ridiculous wait on this, but I finally got around to your wild Marcus Pike/Sex Pollen?! prompt. I really hope I did this sweet boy justice and that all the banter and smut make up for keeping you waiting so long~!

Thanks, as always, to @just-here-for-the-moment for putting up with my ass and beta reading to make sure this wasn’t complete trash and smutty enough.

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Spanish woman, written by a Latina. Here’s my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000

🚨Author chooses not to include detailed warnings, but the following: Mentions of Teresa Lisbon, marriage, con artist behavior, crime, past relationships, unrequited love, sex pollen, deception, undercover work, graphic depictions of unprotected sex, and slight hurt-comfort.

Haze

There was a time when you were simply a skilled vixen – an entrancing, expert wheeler of the power of suggestion who'd been skimming your way through affluent circles from city to city, but never enough to draw attention to yourself. At least unless you wanted to.

Then, it'd all changed with a chance fumble that was spotted by the least likely source.

He'd been the special agent that had ensnared you and brought you into the fold – propositioning you into using your talents to sharpen the skills of the task force he'd taken the lead position in D.C. for. His team admittedly needed the consultation of someone with the experience and sophistication of being entrenched in the art world, albeit from the wrong side of the law. And you fit the bill.

You hadn't had much choice, considering the prospect of prison for your femme fatale lifestyle to date, and the precarious situation you'd been caught in by said special agent. So, you'd agreed to a career as an indentured asset to the bureau, with the tenure of your time working within the task force at his total discretion.

It had been a contentious adjustment.

Part of you was incredulous that you'd been foiled by the likes of Marcus Pike, and part of him was perplexed that rather than be eager to happily oblige the task force – and him, as its leader, you instead were intent to buck all conventions. This included a vexing, seemingly incessant need to push his buttons – buttons he never even knew he had.

Overtime, though, you'd both found a status quo – a begrudging understanding of how you'd each need to operate and let the other maneuver in order for the arrangement to work.

"—Hope you're not having another late night, Savedra. Not with all the work we have to tackle on this case—"

"Ah, I wonder: Was there ever a time in your life that you weren't in your pajamas and nursing your warm milk before Nick at Nite comes on, Pike? That you went out and had fun without fretting over an early bedtime? Don't worry, I'll be in bright and early—"

"That's what you said the last time, though—"

"Extenuating circumstances beyond my control, Pikey boy—"

"A 'couture trunk show' is Manhattan is hardly a good enough excuse to blame as an 'extenuating circumstance'—"

"To someone who wears the same rumpled suits? Oh, I'm sure it isn't. Now c'mon, Pike's Delight, tell me: How hard did the cashier at Kohl's laugh at you when you bought three versions of the same tie on-sale?"

"They did not—! This tie was a gift, actually—"

The pinch between his brows, the twitch of his lips fighting not to pull into a scowl, and the gruff way he countered back were his unmistakable tells that you'd needled him just right.

"You literally wore one that looked exactly like it the other day, and there was the blue version you had on for the inter-agency ops meeting last week—"

"They're completely different colors, though—"

"But they have the same dull polka dot configuration and they're the same exact semi-satin fabric, which makes them different versions of the same tie—"

"Alright, Dandy Lion. Give it a rest, and go before I set a curfew for your comings and goings."

Your smirk had been charming as you turned to lope down the hall towards the elevators, tossing a casual wave over your shoulder.

"Have a nice night, Pike."

The snappy repartee between you two had become notorious within the task force, and many couldn't help be amused – and take bets – on which of the two of you would have the last word, and the best zinger. Pike tended to score the most in the former, while you easily dominated the latter.

Still, though, Marcus found ways to rein you in, and started to take secret satisfaction in exasperating you right back.

"—I do not appreciate you freezing my accounts, Pike—"

"First of all, it's a single account, although I am considering having all your accounts frozen. Even the ones you think we don't know about—"

"That seems punitive and uncalled for—"

"The account in question is a corporate account, Savedra. It is for work-related expenses, not for lavish shopping hauls at Nordstroms—"

"Um, excuse me, that was a work-related expense. You want me to impersonate a wealthy socialite traveling to London for a black-market art auction, remember? I can't seriously be expected to do so without having the latest Fall must-haves—"

"Oh, so three Mooglar dresses and three Loubootan heels are the Fall must-haves, eh?"

Your full lips flattened in that peeved way for a nanosecond – the tell that indicated he'd successfully annoyed you before you placed your hands on your hips and smoothly deadpanned, "It's Mugler and Louboutin, Pike. And yes, they are essential if you want anyone to believe my cover—"

"You can expense one outfit. The costs of the other two will be docked from your stipend for next month—"

"So, it wouldn't be a good time to mention that I also pre-ordered a limited-edition Chanel purse…?"

"…How much?"

"Oh, it's an absolute steal! And, it'll only go up in value—"

"How much, Dandy Lion?"

You knew he meant business whenever he refers to you by your codename.

"Just a little over six grand…"

"That's more than three times your monthly stipend—!"

"…So then you'll let me expense it to the corporate card?"

"...Close the door on your way out, Savedra."

The smug purse of your lips indicated you'd been teasing him, and you confirmed so by chiming over your shoulder as you strolled out, "No worries. I already have a Chanel bag that'll work for the trip."

"Good. I'll make sure to call the Shanell store and let them know to go ahead and cancel that order, then—"

Pausing at the door, you turn to shoot a berating glare at him where he's sat behind his desk, and scoff condescendingly, "Oh my god, you are purposely butchering the label—you know damn well it's Cha-nel, not Sha-nell!"

You see the sly little quirk to the corner of his mouth he coolly veils by dropping his chin low as he shrugs and drawls, "Dully noted, dandelion."

You pursed your lips and grunted a cavalier sound before strutting out, deciding then and there you needed to do some forensic accounting of your own.

According to his records – the ones you pulled up after hacking into the bureau's internal database, Marcus Pike had been an FBI agent from right out of college. Graduating with honors from a Criminal Justice major, he'd been recruited, gotten stellar marks in Quantico, and received several letters of recommendation. He had an impeccable record, and was frankly a poster boy for a government do-gooder.

A few more backdoor breaches and search engine deep dives later, and you were able to paint quite a full picture from the social media collage-like bits of information you were able to access from college buddies, family friends, and federal databases.

Circumventing the encryption of his email provider allowed you an administrator's view of his account, and you were mystified that this man archived so many communications, no matter how inane, dated, or of innocuous consequence they seemed.

At least until you found the consequential stuff.

There was the correspondence with his divorce attorney from over a decade prior, the utility bills for the home he'd once shared with his ex-wife, the frank and disarmingly candid emails between said ex and him – one of which had the doozy of a line: I love you, Marcus, but I don't think I'm in love with you. I'm not really sure I ever was.

You felt guilty reading his response. Not because you were invading his privacy, but because you could feel how sympathetic he was towards basically being told how having married him had been a mistake – that they'd been fools who rushed into it at a young age before they even knew what they wanted in life. His answer, which was brimming with a veiled, resigned sadness to it that tugged at a heartstring – I guess I just got ahead of myself and took you along with me. I'm sorry – was a window into Marcus you didn't expect to get, nor feel deserving of having.

And then seeing the emails between him and an Agent Teresa Lisbon? How they'd gone from platonic forwards of suggested restaurants to check out, to apartment photos sent back and forth between them? Jumping then abruptly to a galling 'Dear John'-style email from her where she apologizes to him and offers to go in person in order to handle the shipping of her belongings back to Dallas, and promising to properly discuss her decision to break things off with him and not take the job he got for her at the D.C. FBI Major Crimes unit after all?

You'd been astounded.

"Did he really ask her to marry him after a couple of months of dating?!" was your flabbergasted rhetorical question to your empty office during the afterhours snoopfest.

Using your powers of suggestion, you'd eventually gotten more of the details from the task force's tech expert who'd come from the Dallas office with Pike, having befriended the congenial guy who tended to get very chatty over caffeinated drink breaks.

"—Totally brutal. Like, one minute he was smitten and cajoling her into picking an apartment, then he was fist-pumping about her saying yes to his impromptu proposal, and boom – she dumps him for Jane. Talk about getting mind-fucked," he prattled on over coffee, none the wiser that you were internally cataloguing everything.

However, this wasn't the usual fact-finding on a mark that you were used to undertaking.

Pike hadn't struck you as a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and you perplexingly felt complicit in capitalizing on manipulating your way further into the good graces of the bureau thanks to him vouching for you with the powers that be, knowing now how much of a true-blue good guy he was. Even when he was getting his heart torn out and stomped on.

You ignored the thought about the parallels between he and you in that regard.

"—You with us, Savedra?"

Focusing back onto the meeting you're currently in, you curtly nod to Pike and quip, "Yes, I was just thinking about who would be best suited for the undercover side of the operation, since no offense, none of your fellas really fit the bill."

"Oh?" Marcus crosses his arms and leans back into the wall next to the projector screen that's currently displaying the pattern of the art theft ring's hits. "Care to share why you think so?"

Glancing across at the male agents, before arching a brow when you look at Pike, you gesture to the screen and explain, "The museums aren't the pattern; it's what they took that reveals the pattern. The items taken were antiquities – meaning requiring large crates and secure shipping out of country. Antiquity theft is a perfect front for the real heist: Moving narcotics across borders. They get packed in with the stolen piece, and act as payment for the traffickers moving it."

As you explain, you pull out your tablet and take over the screen of the laptop attached to the projector to screenshare several examples of police busts showing drugs packed in with stolen sculptures.

"There is a very elite pool of players with the means and networks to pull this kind of heist off, and based on the size of these antiquities? I think we're dealing with The Jackal."

Everyone exchanges looks of varying degrees of confusion before Marcus furrows his brow and queries, "Who?"

You roll your eyes as you seamlessly pull up the digital dossier that you'd taken the liberty to compile for the meeting. "It's a wonder how this task force is meant to achieve a damn thing, with the lack of intel you guys have involving actual international art theft…" is your aloof musing as you pull up a database cataloguing the thefts of antiquities and ancient artifacts. "So, The Jackal, boys and girls, is the head of an intercontinental ring of thieves operating in the Mediterranean the last five years or so. No one knows his true identity, but many of the buyers who were captured and cooperated with authorities in Egypt and Greece have given details about how they network."

"Ok…and what leads you to believe that no one here is suited to go undercover on this?" Marcus questions, crossed arms tightening as he eyes you intently when you give him a mischievous look.

"So, there's no way to actually infiltrate this ring. Which makes this operation moot. However, if we impersonate the ring to one of the trafficking syndicates, we might be able to find the buyers and retrieve the artifacts. And right now? None of your fellas resemble the description on file for The Jackal—"

"Wait, you want an agent to go undercover as The Jackal?" Marcus cuts in before he braces his hands onto the conference table so he can lean against it after you nod dramatically. "Well then. Care to tell us your plan?"

You do, detailing the honeypot-trap-style plan and how you'd be the facilitator for The Jackal and the targeted traffickers.

"—However, like I said, we don't have anyone who currently fits the bill for The Jackal—"

"And what is the bill?" Marcus inquires before remarking, "You just said so yourself. No one knows what this guy looks like—"

"No, but most do know rumors of what he's supposedly done, and his physical description leaves a lot lacking, but paints a general picture: Tall, broad-shouldered, boxer-like physique, tan skin, dark hair, strong jaw, dark eyes, and a well-kept beard. His demeanor is intense, intimidating, reticent, but quickly prone to violence," you elaborate, pointedly glancing around at every agent at the conference table, silently noting to Pike how none of them fit the description.

"However, I think with some sprucing up and a change of grooming habits, we might have a decent candidate," you remark coolly before you tap on your tablet screen to pull up a current badge photo of an agent in the task force that you think could be transformed to go undercover.

Marcus glances over at his own I.D. photo and watches the gif animation you created that augments his appearance by adding a beard and lengthening his hair slightly.

Some of the other agents have to stifle snickers or check their smirks as you innocently smile at their boss, who is glaring sharply at you.

Needless to say, when it's just you and him in his office after the meeting, you are able to argue your case effectively.

Marcus spends extra time at the gym, and grows out his hair in preparation. He even agrees to allow for your styling of him when the time comes.

A month later, Marcus has grown a beard and let his hair shag out into a more rugged style. You've been covertly taking notice, appreciating how his boring dress shirts now cling to his shoulders and accentuate the muscle of his pectorals and arms. It would still be another month before the seeds you'd planted for the sting operation had taken root, and likely a couple of additional weeks after that to actually execute the operation, so you figured you'd use the time wisely while your guy Pike threw himself into work across the task force's other major cases.

Marcus had gotten to a point with you where he didn't see you just as a rambunctious asset anymore, and with your cooperation and aptitude for the work, he began to categorize you as an integral member of the task force.

After all, you'd ingratiated yourself with the other agents and techs, helped train everyone in how to spot forgeries from the real things, and had volunteered to be the lure on certain cases, as well as his expert when it came to navigating relations with the bigger international agencies. There had been many times now he'd been complimented on the ingenuity of employing you to the cause, and there'd at least been one offer to take you off his hands if he was inclined to part with your expertise and charm.

Marcus took the praise in stride, and summarily declined the offer.

You were smart, resourceful, and masterful when it came to the work. His team was better for it, and he recognized – privately – that he was lucky to have you helping the task force look so skilled in cracking cases.

And the fact you were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen wasn't bad, either.

Still, he'd learned his lesson on courting while on the job, and you were definitely not someone he could earnestly consider as, well, anything more than an unconventional resource with a riskily long leash he was responsible for.

However, he debates about how sustainable this whole arrangement was, long-term. He'd gotten better at reading you, though, so he decides to bide his time for the right moment to discuss where your ambitions currently sit. After all, just because you were an 'indentured servant' didn't mean you weren't looking ahead to things – to a life after you'd done your time.

He wondered if you might want to become an in-field consultant, permanently. You'd partnered with the agents on his team on a whole variety of cases, and had earned their respect. Hell, they trusted you, and from what he could see, it seemed to be vice versa with you as well. And with every case you participated in, Marcus saw something new that slowly peeled the mystique and chipped away at the impression he had of you.

From witnessing how truly charming you could be while talking to foreign officials, to how genuinely kind and selfless you'd been when empathizing with victims of a museum heist, to the infectious warmth you exuded when the team was on downtime after a particularly grueling case. All these different facets had started to form a better picture of the woman you really were, and Marcus found himself looking forward to learning more.

When he returns from a short trip to Dallas for a deposition after a couple of days and heads up to the task force's floor to catch up on work late in the evening, he walks by your office and finds you pacing around with your tablet, in the middle of strategizing the big operation.

"That's a big artifact you've pulled from the archive," Marcus comments after he's watched you map things out.

You whirl around and snicker at seeing him lope in to survey what you've pinned to the transparent board in your office.

"Go big or go home, Shaggy," you can't help razz, grinning when he gives you a deriding look. "What? It's a good look for you, Pike—"

"Careful, Savedra. That sounded dangerously close to a compliment," he puckishly taunts and slips his hands into his gray slacks pockets when you squint humorously at him.

"Well, that's because it was," you remark simply, turning to retrieve your stylus from the desk and missing the way his features etched with surprise. "I think another couple of weeks of beard growth, and you'll be ready. Oh! And at some point, we have to go get you fitted for a couple of suits—"

Frowning, he crosses his arms and grumbles, "I have plenty of suits—"

"Correction: You have plenty of sad, drab, 'I clearly work for the FBI' suits. Nothing dashing and stylishly-tailored like what The Jackal has been rumored to wear," is your matter-of-fact counter as you sketch out a floorplan for the honeypot's meet room.

He grunts noncommittally and runs his fingers across his moustache as he looks over the map of the warehouse planned for the fake stolen art depot. "Well, it's a good thing I have a fashionista on the books who'll help spruce up my wardrobe, then, wildcat," he drawls in a raspy musing, and you can't help glance his way and admire the broad set of his shoulders under the gray blazer.

"So, how was Dallas?" you find yourself asking as you busy yourself saving the schematic that's on your tablet screen.

He turns halfway to look at you, as if surprised, before shrugging and recovering the aloof look on his features while he turns back to the board. "It was uneventful," is all he replies, but by the way he balances his weight onto one leg and crosses his arms tight, you can tell he's lying, but trying to be cool about it.

He's lying to himself—trying to convince himself it was uneventful.

You hum, and set your tablet and stylus aside on your sideboard before sitting on the edge of your appointed desk. "Well then, Pike's Delight! Please tell me you'll do something eventful? Have a wild weekend planned? Or are you going to spend it organizing your sock drawer—?"

He turns with a snort to snicker, "Give me a little credit. If you keep the sock drawer organized, you don't have to spend time getting it organized," and at your chuckle, he adds, "I'll spend it likely how I did last weekend—"

"Oh, let me guess: Farmer's market, then back to your place for dinner in front of the TV—"

"…I don't always go to the farmer's market to grocery shop, but yeah, dinner and a movie, sure—"

"Bet things were riotous at the produce stand—Oh! And I bet you watched something racy on Lifetime?" you can't help jibe irreverently as you cross your arms and lean into your perched seat more.

"Nope," Marcus smoothly refutes, before admitting, "It was TCM, and nothing racy."

You smile, truly amused. "Food shopping outside, cooking, and a Turner Classic Movie? Sounds like some action-packed shi—"

"Instead of ragging on it, you should try it out for yourself," Marcus finds himself blurting charismatically before he's registered the gravity of such a proposition. Your features betray mild intrigue, as if you're waiting for him to say something else to signal it's a joke. When he begins to muse, "Ah, I only mean—it's a cool spot with great vendors. I'm not much of a splurger on that kind of thing, but every once in a while, I go and get stuff to whip up a nice dinner—"

"Oh? Have you been holding out on me, Pikey boy? Are you a secret foodie?" you chime with a lilting tone, smile brilliant when he scoffs, as if caught. "You are! Well then, now I gotta see this 'nice dinner' and be the judge of your culinary compétence, cowboy. Although, I'm pretty sure I can whip up a way more delicious supper—"

"I'm gonna have to see that for myself, so it's settled, wildcat."

How you ended up making plans to meet up at the farmer's market on a lovely autumn afternoon to ingredient shop and have a cook-off at Pike's place is beyond you, but then again, he had a way of wearing your guard down into lightheartedness, and it wasn't the first time you'd had fun just bantering with him either. So, here you were, with your canvas tote at your shoulder over your nondescript leather carryall purse as you glance around for the agent in the promenade's foot traffic. Thinking about the puckish smirk he had on his full lips when he called you 'wildcat' – the nickname he seemed to prefer when he wanted to disarm you, while 'dandelion' is what he used when he was charmed by you.

"Well, you actually showed."

You turn to see Marcus in a pair of comfy-looking jeans, light-gray Henley shirt, and dark leather jacket with matching boots and belt.

He eyes you with an appraising glance before admitting, "I had to do a double-take to make sure it was you. I think I've only ever seen you in fancy tailored outfits the entire time you've been with us."

"I'm just channeling a cool and relaxed normie at a farmer's market," you tease as you smoothen down your comfy thin-cotton terracotta sweatshirt, feeling at ease in the formfitting black jeggings and cognac-colored boots.

"It suits you," he compliments before his brain has registered the inappropriateness of it.

You can't help smile before you hand him the shopping tote and deride, "That's quite the compliment, I suppose. Now make yourself useful and carry this so I can have my hands free to peruse, hot stuff."

Huffing in amusement, he takes the tote and falls in step with you as you both start strolling through the bustling outdoor farmer's market.

It's an afternoon filled with light conversation, quipping repartee, and lots of shopping thanks to you both agreeing to a friendly cookoff back at Pike's place. Once your shopping tote is full and he's carrying two paper bags filled with items, you both head down to the nearest metro station and ride the line to his stop.

The walk to his apartment is pleasant, even though you're arguing.

"—Why keep it a secret?"

"Because you'll have a smart remark and develop an instant bias—"

"We're cooking in the same space, Pike—"

"So? You just make your dishes without spying over at mine—"

"Ugh, fine. Oh, we haven't discussed what the winner will get—"

"Lifelong bragging rights?" Marcus proposes smugly as he keys open the entry door and holds it open for you.

"That's it?" you snicker while opening the foyer door and holding it open for him.

"What else is there?" he jokes as he leads the way to the elevator.

Once you're both in and he's pressed the button for his floor, you chime, "How about if you win, I'll quit ragging on you for a week, and if I win, you let me out of my servitude—?"

"That's hardly equal in value, dandelion," is his glib counter as the elevator doors slide open.

"Alright, M. Then what do you propose?" you lilt sardonically while he leads the way to his door and keys in.

Marcus grunts a humored sound, thanks to your James Bond codename reference growing on him the more you use it in convivial conversation.

"Winner gets to pick the movie?" he compromises as he opens his door and gestures for you to enter.

You do so, and take in his bachelor abode with so much veiled intrigue that it takes you a moment to think of a retort to his proposal. "Uh, fine. Sure," you finally singsong, as if resigned to it, but really you don't mind it.

After all, you're too busy admiring the art on his walls.

The apartment was cozy. He had a large L-shaped sectional couch and mid-century modern side tables mixed in with functional bookshelves and accent pieces that made the space warm, yet tastefully elevated compared to the general bachelor pad.

It's an open floorplan, so the kitchen is adjacent to the living room with the island separating the spaces, making it easy for Marcus to catch your appraising surveying after he's set the grocery bags down on the counter next to the stove.

"Alright. C'mon, let me have it," he charismatically jibes, gesturing for you to go ahead and voice your critiques of his place.

You chuckle and shake your head irreverently as you lope over to set down your full canvas tote onto the opposite side of the kitchen island from where he's standing.

"I'm impressed, actually," you tell him honestly, smirking when his brows arch up in surprise. "No, really. Being confronted with proof that you do have good taste is quite gratifying—"

"And there it is," he scoffs and blows a raspberry as he sheds his leather jacket and tosses it onto the nearest kitchen table chair's back before hiking up his Henley's sleeves and drawling, "Alright, Barefoot Contessa, let's get this show going. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Placing your purse on the end table with the lamp and strolling around to go to his sink, you nod towards the record player stand with the organized shelf filled with vinyl albums you spotted next to the entertainment center and remark as you wash your hands, "Impressive collection. What's the last record you had playing?"

He's just finished setting out all his ingredients onto his designated end of the kitchen island when he quirks a taunting brow and drawls, "Nothing you'd be into, I'm sure—"

"Hah, try me. Put it on, and I bet I can guess what it is—"

"If you can't, then you have to tell me your favorite album, and if I don't have it, you have to pull it up on your phone and play it," he challenges with a charming smile as he goes to the record player.

"Deal," you chirp as you take stock of his kitchen before checking in the bottom cabinets for the pots and pans that you'll need.

You get a head start on setting up for your cooking thanks to him fiddling with the record player before you hear the speakers crisply come on as the distinctive intro to the song reverberates through.

At the melodic plucking of guitar strings, you smirk and shout over your shoulder, "'Roundabout' by Yes, off of their album 'Fragile'."

Marcus is impressed, poking his head around from where the wall beam blocks you in the kitchen. "Well, shit. It didn't even get to the chorus—"

"I told you, Pike. I know my stuff," you smugly rub in as you start to chop vegetables on the cutting board you found in the nearest drawer.

"Marcus."

You pause and look back over at him with a curiously arched brow when he lopes in and leans his shoulder against the beam after crossing his arms, casual and relaxed as he stares with warmth in his dark brown eyes at you.

"We're off the clock, so…you can call me Marcus," he elaborates.

"Well then, you do the same," you tell him softly before dipping your chin down to hide your delighted smile as you resume chopping.

He leaves the album to play, and you can see his broad frame near in your peripheral. His baritone is like velvet over steel when he says your name, then rasps, "—We're each doing three courses still?"

Your brain fixates on how Marcus said your first name for the first time. Not the shortened version some of the other agents and techs refer to you by while at happy hour, but your full first name, and he enunciates it the way it's meant to be, which sends an exhilarated, effervescent tickle up your spine.

Heat tingles into the seat of your core, for some odd reason. "Yes. Best of two out of three wins, and gets to pick the movie," is your smooth retort as you cube the rest of the tomato. "Now, quit cheating and go to your corner of the kitchen!"

He chuckles and hops to it, seeming unconcerned with the needing to do any prep for his dishes.

"So, you're into 70's rock?" he queries as he washes his hands in the sink.

"I like all music. But c'mon, that was a classic. Anyone would've guessed right—"

"You'd be surprised," he counters affably as he dries his hands on a dishtowel. "If it isn't from the last decade, most people can't name it—"

"By most people, do you mean 'most women I break out the record collection to' can't name it?" you joke, smirking over your shoulder at him when he turns to look at you coyly. You're tempted to ask, 'Did Agent Lisbon pass your music test?' but decide against it, and instead muse, "Well, lucky for you, I have great taste – in all things."

Marcus glances over at you, and smirks, remarking in a cool hum, "It would seem so."

The cook-off becomes more of a banter session while you both work on your dishes, maneuvering around each other and trying to keep your attention on your individual courses in order not to spoil the surprise of the grand reveals.

"—You were in a band?!"

"Yep. Back in the day—"

"Oh! Let me guess…you played rhythm guitar—"

"Nope! I played bass, and sang vocals. Well, backup vocals, mostly—"

"So you can totally play the bass riff in 'Roundabout', right?"

"Most definitely. Although, don't ask me to sing—"

"I wasn't. I was going to demand that you sing—"

"Quit trying to distract me. I'm doing delicate work here, wildcat—"

"You've literally not started anything on the stove—"

"My dishes are fairly quick, though, so I'm being chivalrous and giving you the advantage…for now," Marcus roguishly quips while seamlessly uncorking a bottle of wine, pouring a serving into a nice glass before handing it to you with easy charm.

You giggle despite yourself before sipping the wine.

Before long, you have enough of your meals in progress that you offer to change the record while Marcus starts marinating and whisking things in the kitchen.

"Oh, you do have my favorite album!" you exclaim convivially, causing Marcus to grin as he seasons his main entrée's protein. "Ok, I'm putting it on, and you better be able to guess—"

"Ah, I will, dandelion. Go on," he lobs humorously over his shoulder as he starts to cook.

The aromatic cornucopia of cooking fills the apartment with so many interwoven scents that it's difficult for either of you to decipher what the other's dishes are, and all his pots and pans have opaque lids, or are in the oven covered with tinfoil.

Marcus is contemplating taking a little peek at one of the simmering pans you have on the back burner when he hears the record start playing.

The instrumental piano bars sound prescient through the speakers, but Marcus knows instantly what album it is.

"That's 'Imagine' by John Lennon, off of the 'Imagine' album," he declares as he gets the griddle hot on the available burner, smiling broadly before asking, "This is really your favorite album?"

"Yes! I love John Lennon—"

"I'm more of a Paul McCartney guy."

And so begins the next round of banter between you.

Soon enough, though, you're both plating your dishes and hiding them on the opposite ends of the kitchen's countertops before Marcus sets the table and brings over the bottle of wine to top off both your glasses.

"—Alright, ladies first," Marcus declares as he sits on one end of the square table.

You are more than happy to go first, believing there's no way he can top any of your three dishes.

"Well, M. First, I present a bruschetta with both heirloom and cherry tomatoes," you place the dish before him, and Marcus marvels at how delicate yet rich all the ingredients look on the toasted crostini-style breads.

"Next, is a black bean and mushroom risotto," is your lilting announcement as you return and place the piping dish down, smiling as he leans forward to catch the curling aroma wafting up from the center of the risotto.

"And finally, herb roasted chicken breast with garlic confit mashed potatoes," is your confident declaration as you place the dish down.

"Wow," is all Marcus can muster as he eyes the gourmet-looking spread you were able to whip up. Begrudgingly impressed, he scrapes his palm along his bearded cheek as he marvels, "This…this is good—"

"You can't say so until you've tried it," you snicker as you sit across from him. "Well? Time to show yours, Mr. Confident."

Marcus's lips quirk at the moniker, and the dark gleam of cocky amusement warms his eyes before he stands from his seat.

"Ok, close your eyes. I'm gonna carry all three out at the same time."

You do as you're asked, smiling goofily at the mental image of him in a ruffled apron effortlessly flouncing around a kitchen with all the dishes balanced in his arms.

"Ta-da!"

You open your eyes, and stare dubiously at the three courses he's placed before you before shooting a snarky stare up at him.

"Oh my god. You literally went the Denny's route?!"

"Hah, Denny's got nothing on any of my dishes! Here is my special vanilla-cinnamon French toast with homemade sausage patties and pure maple syrup. Texas-toast grilled cheese with Monterrey jack and cheddar cheese – with a creamy tomato soup with freshly-picked basil sprinkled on top for dipping. And last, but not least, cheese burgers with lettuce, onion, and tomato, and hand-cut steak fries, with my own mix of salt, pepper and dry-rub buffalo seasoning sprinkled on 'em," Marcus grandly presents and gestures to every dish before giving you a boyish little smile.

Diplomatically, you stand to arrange all the dishes to be within reaching distance for you both before you pat the chair nearest you, indicating he should sit there rather than across from you.

"Ok, cowboy. Let's dig in while it's all still hot!"

You both try each other's dishes, and are blown away by how delicious they are. Then, you eat from your own courses, and trade compliments. Soon enough, the bottle of wine is dry and you're both full – unable to eat another bite. So you help Marcus pack what's left and store it away while continuing to rate which of you won out in the cookoff.

"—How about this: We call it a tie, and we'll surf through the channels until we find a movie we both want to watch?" Marcus proposes as he uncorks the new bottle of wine while you take your boots off and set them aside by the front door.

"No! C'mon, no participation trophy draw," you challenge with a goofy scoff before rounding his couch to meet him halfway to take the offered glass of wine.

"Ok, then you tell me, who medaled in each course?" he derides as he puts the bottle onto the kitchen island and joins you on the sofa with his own topped off glass.

"Hmm, let's see…I think scrumptious breakfast always trumps its challenger, so my bruschetta is out," you rationalize out loud and cross your legs as you lean back into the comfy cushion. At his proud grunt, you quickly caveat, "But! While I really liked your burger, I think my herb roasted chicken was slightly better."

"Alright, so then the tie-breaker is the second course round," he remarks, and at your hum in agreement, he honestly rumbles, "I really liked your risotto."

"And I really liked your grilled cheese and tomato soup. So I think we're stuck with one win each," is your faux huff, but the smirk pulling you lips is impish when he squints dubiously at you. "What? Do you disagree with my assessments?"

"I don't," he drawls, picking up the remote with his free hand before offering it to you. "Start surfin', wildcat."

You do, and end up surprising him by stopping on the TCM channel and looking over at him when the movie description lists Gold Diggers of 1933 as the film that was about to begin.

"This is a good one. Up for watching it—?"

"You like old movies?"

"Well, yes. There are few good ones. I think I've must've seen Casablanca in six different languages at this point," you retort with genuine delight and shrug when he balks at you.

"Really? Casablanca?" he asks, truly charmed when you smile sheepishly for the first time. "No, I'm not teasing. I just don't think I've ever met anyone other than my grandmother who liked that movie too—"

"Well, I moved around a lot, and no matter where you're at in the world, classic cinema will be playing on some channel or at a theater. Watching old movies overseas – when they dub over the English, or at least list the subtitles beneath? It's a great way to learn the language," is your thoughtful rationale as you shift to comfortably sit in a way that you're angled towards him. "They're filled with old-fashion charm, glitz and glamour – even when they're dark and tragic stories...but this one is a silly romp of a musical, if you're into that kind of thing."

He knew your history from the intel reports he'd been given after you'd been detained. Clearing his throat, he set his wine glass aside and got comfortable on his end of the sofa, making the split decision not to broach the topic further.

"I've only seen parts of this one, so I'm good with watching it," is Marcus's easygoing remark, glancing over at you with a smile as he assures, "Go on. Stretch out and take a load off. If you get chilly, help yourself to the throw blanket."

You don't have to be told twice.

Soon enough, you're both engrossed in the film. You sit with your legs tucked underneath you, the blanket over your lap, and your arm folded over the back cushion while Marcus lounges with his sock-clad feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table. Every so often, one of you points out something, or joke around during the short commercial breaks.

"—I find it real telling how you spent so much time raggin' on my low-key evening plans," he chuckles now after he's finished his latest glass of wine. When you feign incomprehension, he rolls his eyes and rumbles, "You're just as big of a relaxed homebody as me—"

You snort, conspiratorially leaning towards him, a bit uninhibited now that the wine is cruising through your bloodstream, and confide in a flirty murmur, "What can I say, Marcus. I just enjoy hassling you."

A flicker of thrill flares in his apex at your words and the beguiling smile you give him. The alcohol's started flushing his cheeks, but the blush that creeps up his neck is definitely not from all the imbibing.

"I kind of picked up on that…eventually," he finds himself replying, lopsided smirk infinitely endearing to you. He was just about to say something else, when the commercial break ended and the movie returned on screen.

Before long, that film ends, and you're both in such a mellow state that you end up watching the next movie that runs right after it.

You talk during the breaks for that film too, and are charmed to learn more about each other.

"—So your mom liked art?"

"Yeah. She loved watercolors. Every so often, she'd take me to the museum when they had a new exhibit. Growing up, she wanted to be a painter…"

He tells you about how he'd grown up of humble means. His father had died when he was still very young, so his grandparents – a retired police deputy and first-grade teacher – helped raise him while his widowed mother held down two jobs. It explained a lot about him – his timelessly endearing charm, the chivalrous way he comported himself, and his love for classic films.

"…My grandmother loved Gone with the Wind the most. My granddad would watch old Jimmy Stewart Westerns pretty exclusively, though," he finishes remarking with a faraway smile on his features.

You can't help smirk as you lilt, "A real Bandolero! fan, then?"

Marcus snickers after draining the last of his wine. "Yep. Although The Man from Laramie was his favorite."

You both enjoy the rest of the movie once it resumes, but at some point, all the food and wine catch up with you both, and the movie on the TV becomes the perfect ambient-inducer for slumber to occur.

You don't know how, but when you eventually wake early the next morning, you find that in your sleep, you'd stretched out length-wise on the couch – and had slept snuggled between Marcus and the back cushions, with your head resting on his shoulder and your arm around his waist, while his was folded around your back.

Besides the sobering shock of it, your senses are flooded with the appealing whiff of his faint cologne, and the intermingled scents of his soap and natural musk. His body against yours felt good, and the alluring urge to nuzzle into his neck has arousal tingling down into your core before you're able to come to your senses and jolt up.

Marcus wakes groggily at the shift of the cushions as you amble up and shimmy away from the spot next to him you'd just vacated. The TV is still on, playing Father of the Bride, and it isn't until you're tossing the throw away from your legs that he snaps fully into awareness.

"Mmph, shit—sorry. I didn't mean to doze off like that," is his gruff mutter, baritone rough from disuse as he yawns and stretches.

You're too busy trying to hide your mortification as you bolt up from the sofa and round it to grab your purse before heading for your boots. "Um, yeah. It's morning, so, I'm just gonna let myself out—"

He sits up and frowns as he scratches at his mussed hair, realizing indeed, it's before dawn.

"Hey, you don't have to rush out. I can give you a ride to your place – I'll make us coffee, and whip up some breakfast before we go," Marcus offers warmly, not realizing you've already got one boot pulled on and are fussing to get the other on.

"No, that's alright. I'll catch a cab," you're telling him as you stand, looping your purse over your shoulder, crossbody, before self-consciously brushing your hands over your hair and finally sparing a glance his way as you remark, "I don't wanna impose any more than I have already—"

Marcus springs up from the couch, internally swearing at the morning wood he's sporting, while already assuring, "C'mon, you're not imposing at all—"

Bemused, he's just turned after covertly adjusting himself in his jeans to see you already at the door.

"See you at work, Pike."

You're out the door before he's even able to articulate a response.

If you were both honest, there had been a not-so-subtle buildup occurring between you.

However, after cookoff-gate, things had swerved into a direction neither of you seemed equipped to maneuver.

Your guard was all the way back up with him. So much so, you weren't even verbally sparring with him at the office anymore.

Marcus handled it the only way he knew how: Focus exclusively on work, and leave no question that his intentions were recalibrated back onto what he assumed you expected. That you wanted nothing but a professional rapport, and to rebuff anything else.

Even after that theory was tested with the club incident soon after the distance between you began – a torrid event that had left him pining for something more, Marcus was left more confused than before when you instead became even more distant.

You were on the precipice of uncertainty for the first time since you'd been ensnared into the task force.

So much so, that you were planning on making the antiquities sting your last.

None of this was because you didn't feel anything for Marcus. Quite the contrary. Your attraction was magnetic, and you hadn't realized how much you'd longed to be safe with someone the way you did when you were with him. It was too dangerous to give into it. That's why you intended to keep your walls up and to suppress all your feelings on the matter in order to concentrate of your impending exit strategy.

But then, things are never that simple.

Marcus is livid when he gets off the elevator and storms at a stalking pace down the corridor several days before the undercover operation is targeted to begin. Everyone takes notice, but the uncharacteristic glower on his rugged features is so intimidating that no one dares check in with him.

He makes it to your office, abruptly enters, and slams the door after himself before stomping to where you're sat behind your desk.

"What the hell possessed you to go around my back and contract an informant without my authorization?!" he shouts forcefully as he looms over you while you stare up at him and frown.

"Nothing. He's been part of the plan since the beginning—"

"Part of the plan that you haven't disclosed to me. And had you told me about the fence you recruited from within the group we're trying to take down, I would've never allowed it!" is Marcus's furious harangue, hands going to his hips to prevent him from gesticulating angrily at you. "You went to the U.S. Attorney and secured an immunity deal with him without my consent—!"

"There was no feasible way to infiltrate this organization without someone on the inside willing to vouch for me, and who can also co-sign that you're The Jackal. He's one of the very few people in the world who has actually seen him and knows his demeanor. And, he's got the motivation to not screw us. He wants out of the life, and knows we're his only chance of making it out alive," you rationalize as you stand and round your desk to point at your transparent board. "See? He's given me key coordinates, and after this morning's intel session with him, I have even more crucial info—"

Marcus grabs your elbow to steer you around to face him and his unwavering scowl. "You are not an agent, Savedra. All you are is a resource – an asset to this team, with no standing to orchestrate these kinds of things behind my back—"

"Listen, Pike. I'm the last person you have to remind of how short my leash is here. I've never forgotten that, least of all that you're the one holding the other end of it. Your task force is a joke, mostly. If you're going to be meek about how you go after these syndicates, then you might as well close shop and go back to Dallas," you snap and shrug your arm out of his hold, staring at him fiercely as you add, "Now, be mad all you want, but if you pull the plug on things now, you're going to derail weeks of work, and set your team back months. I, for one, would like to make all the effort count."

Clenching his jaw, Marcus exhales through his nose and pins you in his dark glare as he grounds out, "Fine. But this is the last time you pull a stunt like this. Understood?"

You nod curtly before turning away to recalibrate your poise as you sigh out.

"Now that we got that out of the way, I set up a session with him so he can detail to you what you need to channel when you're undercover."

Said session does nothing to assuage Marcus, but at least he gets the needed context of what this middle-aged criminal knows, and is briefed on key intel no one has on The Jackal.

The initial meet a few days later with the traffickers goes according to plan.

You convince them of your expertise as a collector of privately-acquired relics, and they buy your explanation of needing the help of a network in order to transport the large, archaic limestone Greek statue of the sphinx you sought to move overseas to a wealthy buyer. The fence, Elio, steers the crew to The Jackal being the appropriate track, and as planned, arranges the fake meet between the traffickers, you, and The Jackal himself.

Marcus didn't need a lot of motivation to channel a reticent, stony man quick to intimidation. His intense demeanor was exactly what everyone in the room expected, thanks to The Jackal's reputation preceding him. However, Elio had divulged one thing that no one outside of this kind of black-market syndicate knew about the head of the Mediterranean art theft ring.

"—Before I give my blessing to this transaction, I'd like to get to know who I'm doing business with."

You'd turned to Marcus and expertly portrayed cautious intrigue. It really wasn't hard, with how dapper he looked in his dark black suit, sans a tie and with a matching open-collared dress shirt underneath the tailored blazer. His hair was swept back, curling in shaggy whisps at his nape and behind his ears. And while his beard wasn't as thick and full as Elio had mentioned The Jackal's being, you thought he looked roguishly handsome, nevertheless.

"And I would be obliged to do whatever necessary to make our business nothing but successful, Sciacallo," you tell him, using the Italian moniker The Jackal favors when doing business.

As planned, Marcus leads you out of the impromptu gathering at the hangout the traffickers use and escorts you to the private quarters upstairs. However, unlike you'd planned up until five minutes before you'd entered the hideout for the meet, you and Marcus weren't dropping your covers once the door to the room closes.

You can't. Not with Elio mentioning that they had installed hidden cameras throughout the hideout, and he couldn't guarantee that the security goons monitoring the feeds wouldn't leave any camera or audio device on in the private quarters.

Marcus had been fuming when you'd faked leaning in to flirt with The Jackal, and whispered about the cameras in the room upstairs. His eyes had hardened and his jaw clenched, but he feigned like he was annoyed by someone talking too loudly close to you both.

So, having not planned this part, you were anxious and exhilarated.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Marcus gave the room a cursory stare before turning to you and murmuring, "See? Much better. We can hear ourselves talk. Perhaps you'll repeat what you said downstairs?"

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you approach him sultrily and caress your hand over the lapel of his suit. "I said, I'm eager to partner with you, handsome," you purr, eyes inviting as you glance up at him through the fringe of your lashes.

"That's what I thought," Marcus husks before trailing his hand up your arm to graze along your shoulder before snaking across your collarbone and up to clasp the slender column of your neck and wrap his thick, dexterous fingers around your throat lightly. He can feel your pulse racing, so he backs you up slowly into the nearest wall before cradling your jaw with a possessive caress of his hand as he rumbles, "I like eager and beautiful women."

Your body reacts, arching into him as you tilt your head back and stare alluringly at him before he leans down and kisses you with voracious zeal.

You dimly wonder if it's truly improvised undercover work when you've wanted Marcus to kiss you like this for weeks – maybe even longer, if you were being honest with yourself.

Marcus is wound tight in his chest with worry, but the way you loop your arms around him and hum into his mouth when he deepens the kiss gives him some relief that maybe this isn't a complete clusterfuck. The thought that they could be watching you both, though, kept him on edge – focused on not getting carried away in how phenomenal having you like this was and instead hyperaware of staying on task.

Mercifully, before things got carried away, a clueless underling walked in on you both, which gave Marcus the perfect opportunity to showcase the infamous fury The Jackal was known for.

He was off of you and slamming the guy up against the doorframe in an instant, yoking him up and contumely cursing him out before the dude could stammer an apology and the girl he had brought up with him ran off to avoid any wrath herself.

Fracas smoothened over by the underling's leader, who profusely apologized to The Jackal, things went back on track as planned, and you were able to leave the hideout with a guarantee that your antiquity could be smuggled overseas and sold to your contact.

The final meeting for the sting operation, however, did not go as planned.

You'd made it all the way up to the handoff at the warehouse when the boss of the trafficking syndicate suddenly tried to change the terms of the deal, by trying to make you reveal the name of your buyer overseas. There you were, surrounded by underlings and enforcers who were packing the crate housing the artifact with the contraband supplied by The Jackal, when you had to smoothly refuse.

The burly man had approached you swiftly, making a veiled threat you'd already composed a rebuttal for when all hell broke loose. You don't even know how it happened, but one second the tactical team rushed in and the guy pulled out a knife while he was lunging to grab your elbow. In a blink, though, you're yanked away and the knife swung wide and slashed at one of the stacked bundles near the crate.

You'd given up on trying to regain your bearings with how your eyes and sinuses were burning, vision watering and stinging as you blindly let Marcus haul you out of the sting's warehouse – having barreled into danger to extract you. The unidentified powder was part of the narcotic contraband to be stored in the crate with the artifact, but the contents of the torn bundle went airborne and caked over you before he was able to whisk you out of the fray and to a safehouse.

Even in the hyper rushed aftermath, his ears were still ringing.

Marcus had yanked you away from being attacked or taken hostage, but not before the powder exploded out like a confetti-cannon over you while shots started ringing out in the warehouse.

The pink haze had the consistency of dry cement as it fluttered down, and even he wasn't spared the hit of it flitting against the side of his face in the chaos.

The fallout was technically his fault, but the main target of the sting had threatened you, so he'd rushed in with backup. The ensuing pandemonium of the raid and the frenzy of pink powder haze and bullets flying had made it a frenzied operation for him.

He'd acted first and thought second, which was not the norm for him. But the threat? It had propelled him to determinedly bust in to extract you, cover being blown be damned. As far as he was concerned, it was unimportant now and of little consequence to him.

Well, now, while he hissed and scrubbed the chemical residue from his face as he locked the door and engaged the security system, he did let his anger swirl up in him all over again.

He hears you coughing in the bathroom, and no matter how exasperating you've been, something fierce coils in his chest at the distressing sound of you dry heaving and gasping to catch your breath.

Tucking his service weapon into the holster underneath his leather jacket, Marcus finds his way down into the narrow hall where the bathroom is, squinting the entire way as he absently wipes at his heated features in attempt to get the strange powder removed.

He knocks on the door before grousing lowly, "Hey, you ok?"

You croak some sort of scoff before running the faucet again and trying to get the cakey residue out from your nostrils so you can breathe without wheezing. Once you've splashed water over your face, you mumble, "I think so."

The door cracks ajar before Marcus pokes his head in to survey you. "What?"

"I said, I think so," you snap, cupping your hands under the faucet and splashing water messily over your flushed features.

"Damn…here, come sit and let me have a look at you," you hear him grumble as his footsteps approach you from behind.

He cups your elbow and firmly tugs you away from the sink to steer you towards the bathtub's ledge, yanking a hand towel from a nearby rack as he sits you down so he can try helping you scrub the remnants of the bubblegum-pink powder off your face.

You sneeze, which causes an itchy sensation in the back of your throat that sends you into another coughing fit, so Marcus hurriedly gets the glass you'd left on the sink vanity and refills it with cool water before placing it in your hands and helping guide it to your lips.

"Small sips. Take it slow," he murmurs in a firm baritone, ignoring his own discomfort to tend to you.

"Mmph," you grunt before taking a breath and shaking your head. "What the hell—what is this stuff?!"

"I'm not sure—"

"What if it's some kind of toxin?!" you exclaim as you try to stare at him without having your eyes water from the menthol-like burn.

"It's not. Remember the narcotic contraband was loaned to us by DEA. There's no way they'd let something toxic be used for a sting—"

"Then why is this stuff making me feel like I just got hit with powdered speed?!" you gripe as you snatch the towel from his grip so you can scrub your face more.

Marcus feels feverish and antsy himself, so he goes to the sink and runs the tap to splash his own features with cool water. "Probably just an irritant from the pink dye—"

"Ugh, I'm covered in this crap," you grouse as you begin to scrub the damp cloth down your neck and decolletage, ignoring how your slinky black dress is hanging in a racy, askew manner at your bustline from the strap drooping off of your shoulder.

Marcus catches himself staring at your cleavage before he hoarsely clears his throat and turns away. "I'll go see if there's anything you can change into," he croaks as he rushes out of the bathroom, heading for the spartan bedroom at the end of the hall and into the armoire across from the bed.

It's then while he's muttering crossly to himself, that he realizes his phone is vibrating in his jacket's pocket. Swearing, he retrieves it and answers, "Pike."

"Jeez, man! I've been calling yah nonstop," the DEA partner, Agent Jarvis, who helped coordinate things with the narcotic contraband for the sting, is barking in his ear. "Where are you?!"

"At a safehouse—"

"I was told your asset got a face-full of one of the powder bricks when shit went south—"

"She did. I caught some too, in the melee of trying to extract her—"

"…Shit. Ok, so, we have a problem," Agent Jarvis warns, before seriously instructing, "Listen to me very carefully, Pike. You and your asset were exposed to Pheral. If you haven't already, you're going to start feeling some effects from it—"

"Whoa, what the hell are you talking about? Pheral? What even is that?"

"So, it's a designer drug out of Amsterdam that's becoming big in the affluent, socialite drug scenes at clubs all around the world. It's a synthetic chemical composite of human pheromones, but it's potent and has the same effects as doing ketamine and acid. However, it's a disinhibitor; it hits the system and can cause coronary distress—"

Marcus is listening in horror while the man instructs him to remove any tainted clothes and rinse the residue off as soon as possible, all as he feels the effects of the drug start to palpitate in his chest. His pulse had been racing and he'd chalked it up to the adrenaline of extracting you from the botched sting, but now he's realizing that it's an elevated sensation pounding in his veins and zinging south, making him feverishly aroused.

"—How do you stop it?! Is there an antidote?"

"Lab hasn't been able to come up with one yet. It's absorbed through mucus membranes, so it hits the bloodstream quick. Get as much fluids in her to clear it out as quick as possible, but mostly, just keep her from hurting herself, Pike. She's going to be jonesing for physical gratification like a hellcat in heat. It's supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac—a heightened state of euphoria, but only when done in dab-like doses. If she was doused bad…I don't know. Users get so desperate from the effects when they overdo it that they lose sense of their pain thresholds—"

"I gotta go."

Marcus ends the call quickly before discarding the phone and then pulls the holster with his gun from the back of his waistband to be plopped onto the dresser in order to sprint down the hall to check on you.

He hears you whimpering just before he burst through the bathroom door.

"M-Marcus."

You're in a state of amplified arousal that is bordering on hyperventilating distress. Sweat has broken out along your hairline, and your bare skin is dewy from the overheated racing of your pulse. The ache of desire has you squirming in discomfort, feeling hypersensitive and raw-nerved as you stare wildly up at him from where you're curled into the corner of the floor by the tub.

He rushes to your side to cradle you against him as he hurriedly turns the shower's faucet handle to start spraying cold water into the tub. He says your name firmly before explaining in a hoarse rasp, "—I gotta get this stuff off of you and you're gonna have to drink more water for me."

You sob and grip onto his shoulders, trembling as you whine, "What's happening?!"

"It's the drug," is all he says as he hastily sheds his leather jacket in order to ease his own overheated discomfort, grabbing the glass to fill it to the brim with water before chugging half of it and refilling it in order to kneel down and insistently press it to your lips so you can guzzle as much as you can. When you drink your fill and push the glass away, he blindly sets it down on the back of the commode's tank lid before he rasps, "Now, c'mon, dandelion. I gotta get you under the cold water—"

"Come in with me?" you plead as he lifts you to stand on shaky knees. "You got it all over you too, Marcus," is your watery whisper as you caress his face and swipe at the pink smudge on his cheekbone.

The contact to his skin makes Marcus shudder, and against his control, arousal throbs riotously into his apex and pulses in his loins.

Rock-hard now, he huffs raggedly as he insists, "I gotta take care of you first, so let me get this off of you."

You're feeling like liquid fire is thrumming under your skin and your pulse is at your center, blood pumping from the silken clutch in your pelvis rather than from the organ in your chest. The usual tingle of arousal is instead a rapacious, searing heat at your core – making you quiver and drip with desire while Marcus rushes to gently remove the slinky black cocktail dress off your torso.

Your blush feels like you've been sitting under the Saharan sun, and the brush of Marcus's touch over your ignited body has you shivering and biting back a whimper as he strips you to your black cotton and lace thong before lifting you into the tub and under the cold spray of the showerhead.

The yelp you let out when the water beats down on your bare skin has him scrambling to grab you as you writhe to be in his embrace. "N-No, the water will help—"

"It feels like needles!" you cry and cling to him, quivering as you grip on to him desperately and chatter, "You feel good," before nuzzling his neck and giving yourself over to the urge that's become an incandescent force inside your body.

Your bare breasts press against him, nipples studded and tingling for gratification while your pussy clenches at how good his skin tastes when you suckle a kiss into his neck.

Marcus can't keep a lid on his own baser urges any longer at your distress melting away the more you touch him.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he gravels out and kisses your burning cheek, and at your breathy mewl, he kisses your mouth. The water on your body soaks into his shirt and jeans as you clamber to wrap your legs and arms around him with intoxicated urgency.

When he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, he has to soothe you when you whine for him.

"Can't—I can't just…don't want to lose control—"

You kiss him possessively and slink down his front while simultaneously yanking on his clothes he now desperately tries to peel off of himself.

Feeling his feverish skin press against yours after he shoves his clothes down and rushes to sit on the edge of the tub to kick the remainder off while simultaneously yanking you down – settling you to straddle onto his lap, you moan at having the length of his cock nestle against your damp cloth-covered crotch. You can feel your folds drench with arousal, making you ache to be split by him to the hilt – to be filled by his throbbing erection.

"No antidote—can't lose control. D-Don't want to hurt you," is all he's managed to string together as he gropes you against him and grazes wet, open-mouth kisses along your neck and jaw. Your clit throbs when he grips your waist and starts edging you onto his cock.

"You won't! W-Won't hurt me," you groan and encircle your arms around his shoulders before whining, "Please, please, Marcus—"

He shakes his senses loose of the horny haze to press, "Listen to me, wildcat. We need to wash this shit off. It'll be quick—we'll do it quick, and once it's off I'll do whatever you need—"

"Need you. Want you," you exhale in a frenzied state, staring with blown-out pupils at him as you start to pleasure yourself by rubbing your aching pussy along his cock. The friction of your soaked panties along his velvety, pulsing erection has Marcus buzzing from the electric pleasure sparking across his nerve endings.

"You'll have me, dandelion. C'mon, be a g-good girl for me," he husks and stands, holding you in his arms as you cling to him and whimper.

Once sure you won't bolt, he gets in under the shower spray with you.

The water doesn't feel as horrid against your skin as it had the first time, so you snap out of the hedonistic daze once Marcus has stood under the frigid spray for a few minutes and clumsily scrubbed the pink residue from your shoulders and back for you.

You hurriedly unlatch yourself from him to stand on quaking legs in order to wash the pink powder remnants quickly off your skin and hair, then help Marcus get it off his beard and neck while he lets the water spray directly into his face in hopes to get the maddening sensation to cease.

Now that the water going down the drain is no longer tinged in pink, you and Marcus maneuver so the spray can run down his back while you sway on your feet and try to regain your wits. Instead, you both end up standing in the cold cascade, staring into each other's flushed features.

It feels like a fever dream – seeing his naked body like this, and your pussy clenches around nothing when you caress your palms down his abs and watch his ruddy, pulsing erection twitch at your sensual touch.

He murmurs your name when you lean forward to kiss along his heated skin after nuzzling your face into his pecs, chasing his delectable scent.

You're dialed into this primordial attraction, so you kneel at his feet from how your mouth waters to have his cock stuffed in it – to have the weight of it on your tongue before he fills your pussy with it the way you're convinced he needs to in order to stop this feeling from consuming you like a leaf flung onto a blazing fire.

Marcus shakily cups your jaw as he rasps your name again, and at the skittish unease of his tone, you stare up at him and snake your other hand between your thighs to touch yourself while you mewl for permission to do what you hunger for. The sight of you has him trembling, and his thumb grazes over the corner of your mouth, attempting to tow you back up to him, but then you lick it and make a needy sound that sends a jolt of insatiable arousal to his cock.

"T-This'll make you feel better?" Is his hoarse whisper, cold cascading water raining onto his back completely forgotten.

"Yes, hot stuff. I want you in my mouth—"

He groans, muscles flexing in anticipation. "Wanna give you what you need, baby—"

You gratefully hum and finally put him in your mouth, savoring his salty pre-cum and the velvety smooth thick of him you suck lustfully on.

His hand buries in the back of your wet hair, a raspy moan tumbling from his lips as he grapples to stay balanced with the other planting against the tiled wall.

You're enthralled by his reaction, sucking him off while gripping the base of his cock and pumping him in your fist every time you let his thick cock slip from the warm purse of your mouth so you can catch your breath. All while you rut against the palm heel of your other hand to try and ease the ache of arousal pulsing beseechingly for gratification.

It's when you grind too hard and whimper like it hurts that finally snaps Marcus to focus on you and not the exquisite pleasure that you're giving him.

Your senses sway as Marcus manhandles you off your knees and picks you up to be carried out of the cold shower.

Latching your arms and legs around him with a yelp, you wail, "M-Marcus, wha—?"

"No hurting yourself," he grumbles heatedly as he hurriedly stalks as best as he can, in the state he's in, to the bedroom with you. "M'gonna make you feel good so you don't hurt yourself by accident—"

You hiccup, "Hurt?! What's h-happening to us, Marcus?"

He makes it into the room and puts you on the bed. You're both still drenched from the shower, and he eyes you intensely as he peels your soaked panties off of you whilst trying to soberly explain, "The pink powder? It's a designer drug. The way you're feeling—that we're both f-feeling is because of it. You got dosed with way too much of it—"

You rear up onto your splayed hands and gape at him once he's tossed your drenched thong aside. "C-Can't they give us something to counteract it—?" you begin, but he shakes his head vigorously and sends water droplets to halo about before a shudder makes him wring his hands across his overly-heated features.

He's still rock-hard, and completely naked in front of you now, and the insatiable force in you is suddenly dismissing your panic to instead fixate on him.

"Marcus?"

"Hmmph?"

"Are we going to die?"

"N-No! Jeez—no, of course not," he begins to assure as he drops his hands from his face and rushes to convince you, but ends up avidly staring as you provocatively spread your legs to show him how needy you are for him, keeping your gaze fixed on his blown-out pupils. He watches you sit up and beckon for him to come to you while you shimmy backwards onto the bed.

"Ok then. Take your socks off and get over here, now."

Marcus looks down and realizes that indeed, he still has his socks on. They're sopping wet from the shower, and explain why he had such a difficult time getting traction over the tile and floorboards as he carried you from the bathroom to the bed.

Yanking them off with as much dignity as he can muster, with how worked up and ravenous he is, Marcus tosses them and clambers onto the bed after you. You admire the way his broad, muscularly toned physique looks under the bedroom's track lighting, thrill tangling excitedly in your core at how thick and hard his ramrod cock is as it bobs from his prowling towards you.

Once he's in reach, you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a rapacious kiss, wanting to have his weight on top of you finally.

His hands are warm and assertive as he pulls you into him while his tongue plunders your mouth, and yours encouragingly grope down to grab his ass when you mewl and roll your hips into his.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, as if compelled to keep his wits about him while he stammers, "W-We don't have to do this. I-I can just—"

You roll your positions so that he's on his back with you straddling him now.

"You said I could have you. I want you, Marcus," you husk silkily as you brace your palms over his broad chest and undulated your hips to grind yourself against his ramrod cock. He groans and grips your thighs, so you lean down to kiss him before you purr against his panting lips, "Now let me have you, handsome."

Marcus feels like you've hit the payload that is his stockpiled arousal he's been trying to keep buried deep in his gut, unleashing a feral desire he's never allowed himself to experience.

You gasp in surprise when he sits up and lifts you by your waist so he can nudge his cock between your soaked folds in order to notch the smooth tip at your dimpled entrance before plunging you onto him to the hilt.

The moan that falls from your lips comes out almost like an overawed wail at how amazing he feels inside you, making you arch into him and cling to his shoulders as he starts fucking up into you with bruising, ruinously precise thrusts that have him stroking nerve-melting pleasure to flare inside you.

"Oh my god!" you cry out when Marcus starts using one hand clutching the small of your back to slam you over and over onto his cock while the other squeezes one breast before pinching your nipple while he suckles the other into his mouth.

He barely registers the sting of your nails pinching into his upper back when you whimper his name after a particularly nippy suckle onto your pebbled flesh, and he doesn't realize how overcome you are with pleasure until you start begging in a frantic tone he's never heard you use.

"Marcus, I—I can't—oh Marcus! Please—"

His hand abandons your breast to instead grip the back your neck and anchor you to him as he nuzzles your cheek and soothingly coos, "Tell me, gorgeous girl."

You feel overwhelmed. The heat of it singed across your face. It has you sobbing against his jaw, "I want more – w-want you to use me. Please, Marcus. I need you—"

There's something primordial that you're both dialed into, and at your words, Marcus just knows what he needs to give you.

Pivoting up on the bed with you, he tosses you onto the mattress before manhandling you onto your hands and knees so he can possessively yank your hips to be positioned just right for him to spear his cock back into your molten pussy from behind.

"Fuck," Marcus grits between clenched jaw at how your walls clamp greedily onto his shaft while you let out a sound akin to a hearty cry of triumph. When he crowds you and starts to pound into you insatiably, he moans at how you rock back to meet his thrusts.

You feel like an animal in heat. Like all there is right now is his cock inside you and his body enveloping around you and his taste and his scent and his sweat and it all has your head spinning in the best way while you interlace your fingers in his and crane your neck out so his face can fit perfectly in the crook as he suckles on your dewy skin.

For Marcus, it's like something was turned on inside him – an undiscovered feeling of belonging and power and accomplishment was cresting free, and the more he reveled in you, the hotter and brighter it was burning in his chest.

It was so liberating that he let his feelings escape the hive-like place in his heart where he kept them trapped away.

"You make me feel things I've never felt before," is growled into your jaw, and you clench around his cock like a silken vise while you moan and arch into him.

"Marcus—"

"M'gonna protect you. Was scared—scared I'd lose you—"

You whimper, "Oh, Marcus—"

"Tell me what you want, wildcat," he gravels in a rough timbre that rakes exhilarated desire through you.

"Fuck me, Marcus. Want you to fuck me until this feeling stops—until I'm yours. M-Make me yours—"

All inhibitions are gone from him now.

Marcus fucks you with abandon, railing you with such ferocity that you're turned into an alight, moaning mess as bliss tears you asunder with a deliriously scorching orgasm that has you bowing down into the bed while Marcus pounds through your fluttering cunt flooding his apex with your climax.

His hands grip your hips as he pivots back onto his haunches and prolongs your ecstasy, eyes glazed with his lust for you and watching you continue to mindlessly rock back to meet his thrusts.

He's throbbing for release, but this heightened state of arousal caused by the drug has an insatiable, prolonging effect – extending his libido's hold-out like a refractory period.

When you dissolve into the bed face-first with an exhausted mewl, Marcus pulls out and marvels at how much slick coats his cock and drips down his apex.

The scent of sex permeates the once sanitized-smelling air that came from the filtered vent system. The room feels humid from how elevated your body temperatures are, blood pressure feeling like it's sky-high as your pulses race. He knows that's dangerous, and in the syrupy miasma of his sex-dazed mind, he remembers the instructions he was given.

You are a blitzed-out heap of tingling nerve endings. So much so, you barely absorb when Marcus rumbles, "Gonna get more water. Be right back, dandelion," as he rolls you onto your back and pets the damp hair sticking to your warm skin away from your face.

"Stay," you mumble and take his hand, kissing the inside of his palm.

He grunts a reassuring sound before kissing your forehead and promising, "I'll be right back."

You vacantly nod and roll on your side with a tired sigh.

Marcus strings together enough control of his fine motor skills to rush out of the bedroom and go for the closest source of water. He enters the bathroom and finds the shower spray still on – having not realized he'd completely forgotten to turn it off. After doing so now, he grabs the discarded glass and refills it in the sink. He guzzles several glass-fills down, feeling more clearheaded the more he rehydrates. His body is running hot, tremors of arousal like muscle spasms in his apex that leave a tingling throb in his loins and have him idly palming and stroking his erection – gauging the muted sensation compared to normal – as he chugs the last of the water before he tops the glass off to take back to you.

When he enters the bedroom, he finds you still on the bed, but you're now restlessly trying to get yourself off – hand between your thighs and panting harshly as you grind against it.

He goes to your side and places the glass down on the night table before wrangling you into his arms.

"No, you'll hurt yourself doing that," he protests while you whine and squirm in his embrace. "I'll take care of you, baby. Just settle down enough to drink some water—"

"I don't want water. I want you," you complain heatedly, slinging your arms around his neck to anchor him down into bed with you.

He picks you up to maneuver you both on the disheveled covers, attempting to appease you before pressing, "I know. I want you too, wildcat. But you need to get fluids—"

"Marcus, you need to keep fucking me until you give me those," is your raunchy counter, smiling when he gapes at you before you start kissing along his cheek and suckle on his earlobe. He groans and ruts up against you, so you purr, "Please, I need you inside me. All of you—"

"Alright, then sit on my cock, naughty girl," he husks bawdily and clasps his hand to the back of your nape to tow you back so he can stare intensely into your dazzling eyes as you squirm in excitement. "You can use me – ride me as hard as you want. But first, you have to drink the water for me."

You look sinfully delicious as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your brows to obediently nod while already reaching between your bodies to guide his erection to be aligned with your plunging undulation over his lap.

Marcus groans hoarsely and guides you to remain still – flush over where you're both now joined – before hurriedly reaching for the glass and offering it to you.

Compliantly, you drink, and realize how parched you are, so you end up chugging the water until you gasp in relief and uncaringly glide the glass back onto the night table before burying your hand into the back of his damp hair and pull him into a hungry kiss.

Your tongue flicks and twirls against his as you start to fuck yourself onto his cock, mewling heatedly from the effort while Marcus fondles his hands possessively over the globes of your ass before squeezing them when he bucks up into you.

After you reach bliss riding him, shouting his name and staring at him in euphoric satisfaction, Marcus rolls you onto your back so he can dominate you into the bed, spinning you up into delirium all over again as he snaps his hips into a devastating angle that has him colliding dead-center with your nested pleasure clustered deep inside your fluttering sheath.

Time is lost to you both as you couple like animals during mating season.

He can't count how many times he makes you come, nor keep track of all the positions he takes you in, and you're so far flung in the throes of insatiable need that you don't realize until he's just got you off after fucking you with your legs propped up against his shoulders, that he hasn't orgasmed once.

While he slows his barreling thrusts into you once you've melted breathlessly under him, Marcus kisses along the crook of your neck and relishes how you quiver from the aftershocks of your climax. He's just about to shift back and pull out when you clench your floor muscles suddenly around him.

"Oh fuck, mmph," he moans gruffly before maneuvering your legs off of his shoulders and hooking the backs of your knees at his forearms so he can rear back and haul you with him as he says your name warningly and growls, "—You keep doing that and I'm going to lose control."

Your pussy aches, every muscle is sore and protesting, but still the insatiable heat persists, so you stare sultrily at him under heavy lids and coo, "I want you to lose control, you dope. Want you to fuck me until you come, and then keep fucking me until we both can't move or think anymore—"

He swears gruffly, but you feel his cock throb inside you, clearly betraying how enticed he is.

"It's not like I've been holding back. The drug takes the edge off and changes our pleasure and pain thresholds; affects sensation. I don't think I could come even if I tried," Marcus admits lowly as he wrings his hand over his heated features, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, M."

"Hmm?"

"You're gorgeous when you're all flustered and naked and hard," is your silky murmur, smile cheeky when he pauses swiping the sweat off his brow to stare at you heatedly. Your smile sobers meekly as you admit in a mumble, "And, you're so sexy. Even when you're being maddening and all I want to do is wring your neck and run away…"

Marcus feels that incandescent pressure in the back of his sternum – the one that makes him feel like his ribs ache but feel full at the same time.

Overawed, he sits back on his heels and pulls out of you with a hiss before leaning over you to kiss a worshipful path up from your navel to your jaw. After he presses a kiss to your cheek, he nuzzles your ear before murmuring, "Don't run away. Stay with me, dandelion."

You feel stripped raw and soothed over at the same time by his words, and before you can stop it, your heart wrings in your chest as you confess, "I want to. I've wanted to for a while, b-but I can't help feel this way—"

He props up to gaze wondrously at you. "Feel what way?"

"Ugh!" you groan and cover your eyes with your forearm, too jelly-jointed to do much else to keep your frazzled guard up. "You know, M—"

"No, I don't," he firmly huffs and stretches out onto his side next to you in order to pull your forearm away so you have to look at him.

"…It doesn't matter. This is a mistake – a fluke accident and the weirdo horny mating drug doesn't change that reality—"

"What reality?"

"This!" you shout and weakly gesture between you and him. "Whatever this has become is a mess. I am a fool to feel this way, knowing how reckless you think I've been already and how badly you want to be done with the hassle—"

"…You're serious," Marcus deadpans, derailing your ramble, and when you focus on him, he scoffs and shakes his head, as if astounded, before rumbling in a honeyed baritone, "You don't even know, do you?"

You frown, confused.

Marcus sidles close, dark brown eyes softening as he exhales sardonically before caressing your chin between forefinger and thumb so you can't turn your face as he looks at you purposefully.

"I feel the same way," he tells you, smirking softly before professing, "I love you."

You can feel his body heat and see the unwavering truth in his handsome face, and your flustered mind is processing that this is real while you're carnally supercharged already for him.

"That's the drug talking—"

"No, it's not—"

"Marcus—"

"If you don't feel that way, it's fine—"

"That…that's not it. I'm saying we can't trust what we're feeling right now. We're literally in heat—"

"I fell in love with you before getting hit in the face with pink dust, wildcat—"

"Attraction is not the same as love, Marcus—"

"Oh trust me, I've learned that the hard way plenty already," is his deriding huff as he tucks his chin and smiles self-deprecatingly.

You pout and cup his bearded cheek, caressing it lovingly before mumbling, "You're too good for me. Literally – I don't think I can take how sweet and considerate and…and wonderful you are—"

He says your name huffily before caressing his touch along your side reassuringly, crooning, "—Don't be like that. A sexy little smartass like you can't be contrary all the time."

"Oh yeah? You're seriously not dying to unload me, after everything?" you mutter as you brush your lips along his bearded jaw and card your fingers through his hair. "It isn't just the libido drug making you talk crazy?"

"All the drug is making me do is stay rock-hard and be bold about saying how I feel," he says honestly, and smirks when you hum interestedly before palming his thick erection. When you trace your touch along the underside of the shaft, he husks throatily, "You've clearly grown on me, dandelion. P-Pressed all my buttons, made sport out of challenging me daily, and I hated it all…until I started liking it."

You feel your heart summersault in excitement at that, so you nuzzle his cheek after you carve your hips around his to nestle his throbbing hard-on against your warm, wet pussy, lightly grinding on it as you whisper, "Liking is not the same as lov—"

"Tell me how you feel."

You pause and stare into his eyes. Pressed this close together, you can see how brown his irises are, and how free of judgment they are twinkling soulfully at you.

"I—I care…care more than I ever have, and I feel things that I haven't felt—that I haven't felt in a long time. I just…" you trail off, huffing at yourself before admitting, "The way I feel about you is something I don't know how to manage."

Marcus keeps your hips rocking against him, all the while you flustered to the truth.

"That kind of sounds like the same thing I'm telling you I feel about you, stubborn girl," is his amused rumble. You can't help snort and bashfully curl into him. He doesn't let you hide your face in his neck, though. "C'mon, look at me."

You do, shivering when he cups your jaw and pins you into place with his passionate stare.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, feeling like you've just jumped off a cliff with no idea what's beyond the precipice.

But the look Marcus gives you – the way his handsome features brighten with delighted surprise, it makes something twinge warm and hopeful in your chest. You kiss him before girlishly scoffing, then stammering, "W-What're we going to do?"

"Right now?" Marcus sits up and caresses his hand down your body to touch where your warmth is flush up against his twitching member. You mewl and melt a little when he teasingly grazes his lips over yours before purring, "Right now, we're gonna keep fucking like rabbits until this damn drug is out of our systems."

You giggle enticingly before timidly snickering, "I'm exhausted, cowboy. I don't think I can manage doing anything but this right now," as you undulate against him for emphasis.

Smirking, Marcus hums, affectionately squeezing your thigh as he croons, "I got an idea."

He assertively rolls you over onto your opposite side and spoons up behind you while possessively fondling your curves. You mewl at the feeling of his warm body up against you from behind while his cock starts rutting against your pulsing womanhood.

Marcus lets you acclimate and simply revel in the feeling of being in his covetous embrace while you rock back against him lustfully. When he starts pressing his throbbing arousal into your pussy from behind, you moan an ecstatic little sound before whimpering, "More, Marcus. Please."

With a deft thrust, he gives you more, and more, as he cups your pussy and grinds his fingertips over the hood of your clit while grazing his teeth down your neck to claim it with a rough kiss at the base.

You reach your arm backwards to sling around his neck so you can keep his mouth on you while you both set a ravenous rhythm, bucking backwards onto him while he fucks forward into you.

The hand that cradles the curve of your waist tightens when you cry his name and desperately loop both your arms backwards to hold onto him as you're lost to the euphoric ecstasy of reaching bliss like this.

Marcus aches when you sob a gratified cry, and he feels pride crackle in his chest when your hands grip the hair at the base of his nape so you have leverage to pivot in his grip in order to kiss him passionately.

His cock pulses inside you when you break the kiss to lick at his bottom lip before you susurrate, "I want you to fill me with your cum, Marcus."

Incredibly turned on by the prospect, Marcus bucks into you with a gruff groan before gravelling tensely, "Now that's the drug talking—"

"No, it isn't," you contradict and look at him with sultry heat blazing in your eyes as you purr, "What's a girl gotta do to get you off, Pikey boy."

You feel him strain enticingly against your fluttering walls at the pet name, which has you shivering in delight just as Marcus growls, "Keep telling me what you want. Please."

That has you divulging things. Some seductive things, like, 'Want you to be all mine, cowboy,' and some salacious, authoritative orders, like, 'Fuck me like you want me, Marcus. I want you. I'll let everyone know you're mine, but only if you make me yours.'

The more you tell him what you want, the more worked up into searing arousal Marcus gets as he buries his moans into the back of your neck whilst he fucks you faster and harder – hands clutching you to him as your pitch gets more alight from your own pleasure cresting incandescently through you.

He's feral with need by the time he's got you on your stomach with your ass up for him to plunder his cock deep into your fluttering cunt. You're blitzed out – lasciviously keyed into the wild throes of carnal elation of being ravished by him. Sweat and slick and the heat of your flesh pressed together is making both your senses flare with rapturous yearning – panting breaths wild as you both are finally at the precipice of savage release together.

At his thrusts picking up frenzied pace that has your warm flesh colliding rhythmically over your hearty sounds of pleasure, you press the button he didn't know he had in him.

"Please, m-make me yours, sweet boy—"

The exhilarating, searing pleasure that snaps loose from Marcus at your airy mewl has him barreling ferociously into you while moaning in guttural, incredulous bliss just as you cry out and orgasm with him.

He buries his cock deep and clings over you as he shudders through the bursts of his climax that fill your rippling sheath while you exhale a rapturous, sated sound and melt under him, toes curled and arms draped around his as they clutch you to him. You feel made whole as the warm bloom of his spend filling you diffuses through you, and Marcus feels like lightning struck him and the electric buzz still scintillates through his sinew.

Reduced to trembling, breathless heaps tangled against each other, you and Marcus lay on the sullied sheets for a while. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, and he can feel your pulse against the hand pressed between the bed and your womb. Neither of you can think beyond the content reassurance that the other is still there, warm and safe.

Feeling returned to yourself a disorienting amount of time later, you shift clumsily under him to squirm around and face him. Marcus heavily rolls off of you and grunts from the effort, but groggily rubs at his forehead to get the matted hair off his skin.

You tiredly rest your hand on his tacky chest, caressing it along his broad pectorals soothingly.

"…You ok?"

"…Yeah…can't move."

"Same…you feel ok?"

Marcus snorts exhaustedly before lulling his head to stare with hooded eyes at you. "M'feelin' like I fucked a marathon. You?"

You snicker girlishly. "I'm feeling like the marathon you fucked."

His laugh is raspy, features dewy and relaxed from sweat and all the over-exertion. Your hand reaches up to trace his bearded jaw, affectionately caressing along it until he hums and closes his eyes contently.

"Do you still feel in heat?"

"It's more of an aroused little tickle now versus the raging inferno of insatiable mania of before," you answer as you continue to caress his handsome features. "You?"

With a cleansing exhale, Marcus rumbles thickly, "About the same. I'm gonna need a few before I can go again, though—"

"Oh my god. I just said I'm not in nymphomaniac-mode anymore, you dope—"

You catch his sly smirk when he cracks an eye open to goadingly peer over at you. "You're cute when you're all worked up, gorgeous—"

With a scoff, you silkily mutter, "You're so lucky I'm too wrecked to slap you around, hot stuff—"

"C'mon, wildcat. Wouldn't you rather just have your way with me instead?"

You laugh, as if intrigued, before sidling up to him and giving him an alluring look, purring, "Is that what you want, sweet boy?"

Marcus feels arousal skitter down into his loins, zinging pulsing want into his cock before he can even try to not react to the titillating pet name that was much of his undoing.

"Yes. That's what I want, wildcat," he husks, too tired to be timid about it.

Appeased, you slink up against him and loop your arm around his midriff. "Good," you lilt around a yawn before murmuring, "That's what I want too, sweet boy. After we conk out for a bit."

His chuckle is like rich honey to your senses, and the warm tingle that tickles down into your womb when he nuzzles a kiss to the top of your mussed hair has you shivering with delight.

"Sounds like a plan, dandelion."

_____________________________

Thanks for reading! Please consider leaving a comment and sharing your feedback. I would be eternally grateful.

Taglist:

@redsilentwolf28 | @just-here-for-the-moment | @mandosmistress | @sarahjkl82-blog | @knittingqueen13 | @mamacitapascal | @hylasposts | @hnt-escape | @eri16 | @gracie7209 | @casssiopeia | @athalien | @qwertymx | @rosiefridayrogersunday | @pascalesque | @maknimuk1 | @kirsteng42 | @greeneyedblondie44 | @littlemisspascal | @southotheborder | @rosegxoxo | @in-for-a-pennyx | @dolly-on-the-dotted-line | @harriedandharassed | @deadhumourist | @trickstersp8 | @pedropascalsx​ | @flowersandpotplantsandsunshine | @angstylittlepascal | @mrsparknuts

[carpentergirl]

Raising Flags

Tara Carpenter and Amber Freeman are the newest stars on Woodboro High’s Girl’s Soccer team... When Tara gets hurt, all bets are off

Word Count: 2249

Amber Freeman and Tara Carpenter were a force to be reckoned with on the soccer field. The duo just clicked together so well that not even the best defensive players could stop those two from scoring.

The two girls quickly realized their unreal talent after joining Woodsboro’s Girls’ Soccer team their freshman year and before they knew it they had quickly been moved to the varsity team with the upperclassmen. Their chemistry on the field was electric, the way they so easily played off each was like watching a famous artist paint a masterpiece.

Their friends were always their biggest cheerleaders, literally and figuratively. Chad, Mindy, and Wes were always in the stands with cringy signs and face paint. Eager to cheer on the young team members. The entire first season the crew did not miss a game, the tradition followed into Chad’s football season (even if he spent 90% of it on the bench). They quickly added Liv, a cheerleader to their friend group after she recognized Tara at their summer job and complemented their supportiveness for the not-so-football player.

But now they were sophomores heading into their second season on the varsity soccer team. It was a very important game for the duo and well the whole school. They were of course playing their rivals in the name of school spirit.

Tara and Amber were superstitious when they had big games coming up. It started with a sleepover that Mindy always crashed of course followed by Chad and Liv and eventually Wes. They’d get ready for school together and Amber always ensured that Tara took her medication for her Asthma as she didn’t want the younger girl to literally kill herself on the field. They always had pepperoni pizza for lunch and drank yellow Gatorade before heading to practice.

“So ladies, are we gonna rock it tonight?” Mindy asked as they prepared their backpacks. Each girl wore their royal blue jerseys and Mindy of course wore Tara’s gold away jersey that she had proudly stolen from the girl’s closet Carpenter 03 across her back. Amber would describe it as a serious case of FOMO but Tara loved it.

“That's always the plan Ms. Carpenter.” Tara teased the girl. Eying her own jersey on her best friend’s back and chuckling.

“You don’t wear my jerseys” Chad whined from the other side of the table.

“You’re lucky they even let you wear a jersey.” Mindy snapped back. “Plus you gave Liv your jersey remember.” Chad stood up a little stung from his sister’s comment.

“At least he gave it to someone, you had to steal yours” Amber rolled her eyes.

Mindy loved when the little green monster jumped out of Amber it was almost always directed towards Wes but sometimes she could summon it, like when Tara would allow Mindy to rest her head on her shoulder during movie nights or when she would like in this instance steal some of Tara’s clothes. Mindy liked that side of Amber- she was more relatable when she was snarky. Plus she knew that she had secretly wanted to have been the one who was wearing the extra Carpenter jersey, but how could she when she was wearing her own? Why let the opportunity go to waste?

Mindy was hyper-aware of everyone’s dynamics, she loved to use it to her advantage. She knew Amber has had a crush on Tara since last year. The little green monster first appeared when Wes shared the news of him and Tara beginning a relationship last summer. Amber was less than ecstatic, often making the boy’s life as close to a living hell as possible. So when word that they had broken up earlier this summer got out Mindy knew Amber would waste no time schmoozing her way close to Tara. Now the two were inseparable. Mindy was just waiting for indisputable evidence to bring to her best friend’s attention so that the two can live happily ever after.

…

“9 and 14 switch!” Coach Fox called out to Amber on the field. She threw her hands up rushing over to the bench.  The game was going great, they were winning 3-1. She didn’t understand why she had been benched or why she would separate her from Tara, but with a stern look from her coach, she just sat down, saving her energy for the later part of the game. She sent a daggering look to Liv across the field in her cheerleading uniform just for the heck of it, she needed someone to feel her wrath and clearly, it was not the field nor her coach.

The rest of the group was in the audience cheering the girls on and absolutely being enamored in the sea of blue. Once again they broke into the face paint. Mindy had each girls’ number painted on either cheek and Chad had alternating eye black in the school’s colors. Wes of course opted out but was wearing a homemade shirt that read I’m with #3 that he had made last season but never stopped wearing it when he and the player broke up.

Tara broke through the neutral zone. The small girl took the ball and dribbled her way past a crowd of orange jerseys. The crowd was on their feet. Tara was about to seal the deal of the game and give her team a 3-point lead and a nearly deadly choke hold. The crowd was roaring. She wound up her leg for a kick and just as her foot was about to make contact with the ball she felt forceful hands meet her chest knocking the air out of her. The crowd fell silent as Tara hit the ground backward, her head bouncing upon contact with the ground, and the opposing teammate landed on top of her.

It felt like she was watching it in slow motion Mindy took off out of the stands trying to get to her friend running faster than she ever had before in her life and the rest followed her.

Amber was on her feet the second she saw the orange jersey zone in on Tara and rushed off the bench the second she had made contact with the smaller girl and to the scene the similar slow-motion effect taking over her vision, She grabbed the player who was on off of Tara by the collar of their jersey ripping them to her feet and pushing her back causing the player to stumble. She was seeing red, a rage fired within her and then before she could even register what was happening Amber delivered a punch square in the face that didn’t go unanswered by a teammate.  Eventually, a brawl between both teams broke out before any ref or coach could intervene. Amber at the heart of it threw punches at anyone who tried to get between her and the dick who hit Tara.

Mindy was the first one to Tara’s side; she ran straight through the field and to her motionless friend.

“Tar” She huffed gently, placing her hands on the girl’s shoulder, scared she would hurt her more. She had her back to the brawl trying to protect Tara from the fights behind them.

Whistles were blowing, the crowd was yelling for the refs to make a call on the play, and Chad tried to navigate through the yelling teams to find the one who had thrown the first punch. Removing her from the situation before she got herself into any more trouble, he grabbed Amber holding her arms as she tried to break free from him.

“You want to make a cheap shot then you better be prepared to take one!” Amber yelled at the girl who had tackled Tara. She flailed in the large boy's arms until he basically threw her to the side placing himself in between her and the fight.

“Stop Amber!” He grabbed her shoulders forcing her to plant her feet. “Tara is hurt, you need to stop” He bargained with her and the anger in her eyes faded into a soft one he was unfamiliar with. She stopped fighting against him and dropped her arms. The severity of what happened drew her back to reality. Tara was hurt.

She rushed back towards Tara who was still lying motionless on the field. Wes held her head still as Mindy tried to wake the girl up.

“Tara!” Amber cried falling to her knees next to her. She brushed the loose strands of hair away from the girl's face.

“Come on T, please wake up.” She smoothed the girl's hair. Mindy noticed the tears in the girl’s eyes that threatened to fall, the way it looked like her world was crumbling around her this was definitely indisputable evidence she thought to herself.

“Tara baby please.” Amber whispered. “Please” Amber wiped a small train of blood from Tara’s nose, clearly from impact with the other girl's elbow when they fell. She was disturbingly still. It was honestly terrifying. Moments later the girl's eyes scrunched and she shifted slowly. Amber and Mindy looked at each other as Mindy moved Wes’ hand from the girl. He mumbled something about head injuries in his “mall cop know it all” fashion and Amber pushed him back further making him lose balance and fall on his ass.

Tara’s eyes shot open and quickly closed just as quickly with a groan. She tried opening them again as she tried to sit up. Amber and Mindy quickly pushed her back down, placing a gentle hand on either side of the girl.

“No Tar you need to lie down” Mindy said.

“What happened?’ Tara groaned as she rubbed her temples and kept her eyes shut, the stadium lights burning them.

“Tara, you took a pretty bad hit during the game, we’re waiting for the ambulance.” Liv spoke up, putting her phone back in her pocket. Amber gave the girl a soft thankful look, one that Liv had never even imagined receiving from her.

“No no, the game. I’ve gotta get to the game.'' Tara shook her head sitting up again, a wave of dizziness taking over. This time Amber grabbed her, pulling her into her lap.

“Tara, you're at the game, you got hurt, everything is going to be okay.” She tried to soothe the girl. Mindy gave her a concerned glance.

Tara didn’t remember. Not even something they said a few moments ago.

Tara couldn’t understand what Amver was saying. All she could hear was static ringing and muffled voices. She heard high-pitched whistles that made her head hurt more, oh yeah- her head hurt, how did that happen? Tara didn’t know what was going on. She could barely see anything with these blinding lights and all she knew was she needed to get to the game. She began to panic.

Amber noticed the unevenness of her chest rising and falling as her breathing became labored and hoarse.

“She’s having an asthma attack.” She met Mindy’s eyes, praying she had the girl’s inhaler as she usually would during a game being neither of the girls could keep it and play. Mindy nodded frantically, patting her pockets.

“MINDY NOW.” She yelled startling everyone around her including Tara. Mindy found the inhaler in her hoodie pocket under her jacket and fumbled trying to hand it to Amber.

“Okay baby girl, let’s breathe.” She said Bringing the inhaler to the girl’s lips, Tara’s hands shakily meeting Amber’s.

“Deep breaths, you’re okay.” Amber rubbed her back trying to relax the girl.

“What do we have?” Was the last thing Tara heard before being ushered to the paramedics and into the back of an ambulance.

…

The next time Tara remembered waking up she was home. In the comfort of her own bed. She sat up to look around, instantly regretting it with the dizziness that consumed her. Once she was able to focus she found she had collected quite the crowd in her room. Mandy, Chad, Liv, and Wes all asleep scattered around the floor of her room.

Her heart sank when she didn’t immediately see Amber. She couldn’t remember exactly what happened but she was sure Amber would’ve been here if everyone else was. She went to get out of bed swinging her legs to the edge of her bed.

“Absolutely not.” She heard that voice. The voice she melted to. To be honest it startled her but she automatically relaxed as she heard it again. “You’re staying in bed.”

Amber sat up in the chair that had been moved from her desk to the side of her bed. Tara turned to her. She could see she had been crying tears trails down her cheeks, and she noticed a bruise forming under her eye.

“Amber what happened.” She harshly whispered trying to get to the taller girl who was on the opposite side of the bed. She slowly reached out to examine the injury before her hand was caught by a bruised one.

“Amber.” Tara whispered softly this time.

“What happened?” She took her hand into her own.

Amber got up from the chair and sat on the bed next to Tara. She thought about her words carefully. She laid back gently pulling Tara into her side and stroking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Honestly Amber couldn’t even remember what happened. It was like she blacked out on all the details but she knew one thing: “Let’s just say we’re both benched for a month.”

[dross-the-fish]

Adam vs Erik

Some time ago an Anon asked if I could write out the scene where Erik attacked Adam. I finally took the time to get the first draft out. Sorry it took so long but here it is!

....

From a secluded alcove Erik watched the Frankenstein creature move around the armory with astonishing speed and agility. This “Adam” as they called him, was a hulking brute. The make of him was crude and whoever had put him together had been no artist. Of that Erik was quite certain. He watched as Adam’s shirt snagged and tore on the corner of the shield he was securing to a wall mount.

Adam hissed a low curse as he examined the fresh rip on his sleeve. He had very little good clothing, given that everything he owned had to be custom tailored to fit him and he tried his best to be careful taking care of his shirts and trousers. Difficult to do when he was frequently tasked with hard labor. With a grumble and a sigh, he removed the shirt and placed it carefully on a table to prevent further damage while he worked.

At the sight of Adam’s bared back Erik grimaced. It was a mess of scorched, toughened, tissue. Long fingers of Lichtenberg figure scars wrapped themselves down the length of Adam’s spine and wove between the jut of exposed vertebrae, bony white points contrasting against the mottled brown red tissue of his flesh. Muscles twitched and ribs expanded as Adam sucked in a lung full of air and exhaled with a wince. Reaching behind him, he gave his back a careful rub, as though it pained him. Erik made a mental note. It seemed this handmade Goliath had a vulnerable point. That was reassuring, perhaps he was mortal after all…

Erik didn’t entirely know how to feel about Adam. Though Adam had shown no overt animosity thus far Erik had recognized a potential for rage. He’d seen how quickly the creature could turn from civil to savage when provoked and in an ordinary man that was dangerous enough, but a creature from beyond the grave? It was a threat unlike any he’d ever encountered and it raised questions that he wanted answered.

Why had something like Adam even been created? What purpose was there in the reanimation of the dead? Erik was not a man who enjoyed being left out of the loop. He’d had the run of the Palais De Garnier for decades and there were no secrets there he hadn’t uncovered. Secrets belonged to Erik, he collected and kept them hidden away until they could serve him. Secrets were his shield and his sword and as he stood in the grand armory of Talbot manor it did not sit well with him that his supply was completely empty. Especially in regard to Adam.

He had asked Dr. Watson for more details of Adam’s story but the doctor had declined and insisted that it was up to Adam what he wanted to reveal about his past. Erik had yet to work up the nerve to ask Adam anything, much less request that he divulged potentially painful secrets, so he had contented himself with quietly shadowing the large man, trying to glean what he could through detached observation. The Phantom of the Opera had quite the talent for lurking unseen and he was confident that Adam had remained unaware of his presence.

Emboldened when Adam became distracted with sorting weapons on a rack, Erik ventured closer, keeping himself pressed against the wall and using suits of armor or furniture for cover. It was when he was no more than a few feet away, crouched behind a trophy case, he saw Adam tense.

“Who’s there? Is it you Hyde? Have you come skulking like some low creature intent to amuse yourself at my expense?” Adam swiveled and scanned the room, yellow eyes darting back and forth. Split black lips revealed ivory teeth clenched in a snarl.

“No, I think not, for Hyde is not so subtle as to remain unseen," he growled, "For certain it must be Erik. Will you reveal yourself and grant me the boon of being peaceable that we may afford an end to this unwarranted enmity between us?" he tilted his head, ears straining to listen for a reply. There was none. A flare of temper blossomed in Adam's chest.

"No? That is a shame, though it is no matter. I will but search and presently, I believe, I shall find you, thus I shall put an end to this intolerable creeping with my own hands.”

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck raised at the violence in Adam’s voice. He pressed himself closer to the wall as Adam began to search the room, holding his breath and willing his heart to stop thrumming in his narrow chest.

Quiet. quiet. Silent.

The creature moved closer. The air thickened. Skeletal hands groped inside a fine jacket for a length of rope. Not to use, no, not yet, simply a mere precaution. Erik bent, poised with the tension of a coiled spring.

Heavy footfalls closing in. Erik knew he was cornered. Any second now Adam would peer around the trophy case and spot him. His impulses screamed: strike first! Strike now! While you have the upper hand!

As Adam’s thick shadow blotted out the lamplight and stretched over the edge of the case the lasso shot out and tightened around his neck. Adam cried out in surprise, lurching back as the noose tightened. Erik leaned back, throwing all of his weight into pulling the cord. Adam roared and seized the rope in his hand, yanking Erik off of his feet and dangling him in the air. The noose slackened enough that Adam managed to rip it from around his neck and throw it violently to the side.

Erik had already let go of his end and was hurrying towards the door, intent on escape. Adam lunged after him with terrifying speed. Just as his outstretched hand was about to clutch for Erik’s jacket the Phantom turned and threw a handful of flashing powder. There was a loud crack, the hiss of smoke and a flash so bright that Adam reeled back, momentarily blinded and deafened. That moment of borrowed time was all Erik needed to disappear, darting into the hallway and making an acrobatic leaping down the staircase.

Coughing and shaking Adam blinked as his vision returned to him. He could feel the sensitive skin around his eyes stinging from the lingering burn. If Erik thought he was going to escape he was sorely mistaken. Adam vowed to find him by the end of the night if he had to tear the whole manor apart looking….