#now he’s too important and has more plot than what was intended

[wroteclassicaly]

Steve Harrington deserves someone that will love him unconditionally and not conveniently, nor as a secondary option. He deserves someone who will love him for his flaws and through his faults.

[puckinghischier]

Mornings

quinn hughes x fem!reader

WARNING - SMUT! minors DNI. 18+. unprotected sex, fingering, p in v, basically smut with no plot

summary - quinn wakes up with a need to go slow n steady

notes - i have officially launched into writing for quinn and there’s no turning back now. i hope this is at least decent bc when it comes to writing smut, i feel like i’m always being too repetitive and not descriptive enough, so don’t yell at me if it’s bad 🫣. anyways, i hope you enjoy, and as always, happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request - soft morning sex with quinn

[2.3k]

Quinn has always been a morning person. He loves the feeling of being up before the sun, feeling like he has the world to himself. He loves being able to sneak out for a quick run, getting back in time to cook breakfast and make your coffee before you wake up. Sometimes he even loves just sitting beside of you as you sleep, reading or going over plays that he knows they’ll be working on in practice that day.

This morning? This morning he wants none of that. This morning he woke up to the sun peeking through the curtains of your shared room, way later than he intended, with one thing on his mind.

Forget a run, forget breakfast, forget hockey. All Quinn wanted this morning was you.

Last night the two of you attended a party hosted by the team at the rink. A fundraiser for some charity he can’t even remember at the moment.

What he can remember is the way you looked in your dress last night. From the second you walked out of your large walk-in closet yesterday, he wanted nothing more than to see the dress draped across the floor, but a few too many old fashions throughout the night caused an instant crash as soon as his head hit his pillow when the two of you got home last night.

His body very obviously didn’t forget how he felt last night, though. Which is very apparent right now.

Your body is slotted perfectly into his, his arms entrapping you and holding you as close to his body as he can. Even though you’re facing away from him, he can tell you’re not awake yet, your breaths steady and even. The observation made him think about having you just like that, slow and steady.

Readjusting his position, trying give a little relief to his aching dick, he hears your sharp inhale.

��Quinn, I haven’t even opened my eyes yet and you’re already horny and ready to go,” you grumble out, still half asleep.

Quinn lets out a low chuckle. “What can I say, baby? Can’t stop thinking about how good you looked last night.”

He brings his face down to give a light kiss to the back of your neck, bringing an arm up to move your sleep tousled hair over your shoulder.

You sigh at the feeling of his warm lips on your skin as they move away from your neck and down to your newly exposed shoulder.

Involuntarily, you scoot back to press your ass into him, causing a groan to ring out around you two.

“Don’t tease me now, baby, s’not nice,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Who says I’m teasing? Maybe I saw something I liked last night too,” you turn your body around to face him, hooking a leg over his hips, bringing your core closer to his.

His eyes lock onto yours, searching for any hint that you’re teasing him.

When he sees nothing but desire in your eyes, he closes the space between your lips, capturing yours in a searing kiss.

He grinds against you, tangling his hands in your hair. When he tries to deepen the kiss, you pull back in protest.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth, let me go at least brush them before we do this,” you try to untangle yourself from his body, but his grip on you tightens, preventing you from moving further away.

“Not important,” he tells you, bringing you back in for another kiss.

This kiss was much slower than the first, the two of you simply savoring each other.

“Wanna take m’time with you,” Quinn mumbles against your lips, removing his hand from your hair to slip the strap of your silk tank top off of your shoulder.

Your response was a content sigh, feeling his hand slip under your tank top to fondle your breast.

“Just take it off, Q” you whisper, wanting the fabric gone.

He breaks the kiss long enough to remove your clothing, pressing his bare skin against your own.

You shift your position, laying your back flat on the bed and pulling him to hover over you.

Quinn lifts his head up, admiring your body, nothing but love in his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that? Don’t know how I ever got so lucky,” he speak softly, bringing a hand up to caress your stomach.

His words still make you blush, even after all this time. You move to bring your hands up to hide your flushed face.

“Nuh uh, no hiding that pretty face. Wanna see it always. Never wanna look at anything else,” he tells you, grabbing both of your hands in his large one, bringing them up to rest above your head. “Keep them there f’me, yeah?”

He trails the same hand down your body for a second time, this time letting it travel all the way down to the waistband of your shorts.

You gasp as he slides his hand under the waistband, his long fingers making contact with your clit.

“Especially wanna see your face when I’m doing this,” he slides his fingers down further, feeling the wetness coat his fingers. “God you’re soaking, baby. Guess I’m not the only one who woke up feeling needy.”

You inhale sharply, your mouth forming an ‘o’ when he slips a finger inside of you, pumping it in and out lazily.

“Can’t help it. You looked incredible in your suit last night. Even had a dream about it,” you gasped out, itching to thread your fingers through his hair, but keeping them above your head like he asked.

Quinn lets out a groan when he feels you clench around his fingers, bringing his thumb up to rub slow circles on your clit.

He notices your hands twitching as you squirm, deciding he wants to feel your hands on him.

“You can move your hands, pretty girl. Since you’re behaving so good,” he tells you as he adds another finger.

The second the words leave his mouth your hands are in his hair, tangling and twisting the strands around your fingers.

The strokes of his fingers are slow and steady, the pace driving you wild.

“Q, I need you. Need more,” you beg him.

“Uh-uh, told you I wanted to take my time with you. Need you to come nice and slow from my fingers before I give you anything else,” he picks up the pace just slightly.

You whine in protest, wanting to feel him.

Quinn circles your clit faster, but keeps the slow pace of his fingers. The contrast of the two paces causes the familiar knot to form deep in your stomach.

You remove one of your hands from Quinn’s hair to toy with your nipple, the added stimulation inching you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“There we go, get yourself there pretty girl,” Quinn rasps out, enjoying the sight of you underneath him.

His words aid in your impending release, always loving how vocal he is during sex.

He feels you clench around his fingers again, knowing you’re close to exploding.

“C’mon, just let go for me, baby. Show me how much you enjoy my fingers,” is all Quinn has to say before you’re seeing stars.

Your orgasm doesn’t match the slow motion of his fingers, your legs shaking as he rides you through the aftershocks.

Quinn removes his fingers from you, fully sitting up on his knees and bringing them up to his mouth and sucking them clean. The sight makes you fear another orgasm without even being touched.

As you lay there and recover for a few seconds, all you can think about is how badly you want to feel his dick inside of you.

“Please, Q, need to feel you inside of me,” you whine out, causing him to chuckle at your desperation.

“Well, who am I to deny a pretty girl what she wants?” he responds, lowering himself down to press a light kiss to your lips, moving a strand of hair out of your face.

You bring both hands up to rest on his neck, pulling him down to deepen the kiss, trying to show him just how badly you want him.

He meets your kiss with just as much enthusiasm, moving his hands to remove your shorts and underwear altogether.

You kick the pieces of clothing off of your feet, removing your hands from his neck to help him remove his own.

Once you’re both completely bare, you reach a hand down between the two of you, wrapping your hand around his hard dick, giving it a few strokes.

Quinn’s hips involuntarily buck forward, driving his cock further into your closed fist.

“Slow down, pretty girl. Told you I wanted to take my time with you. Won’t last if you keep touching me like this,” he grunts out, trying to keep some form of self-control.

He removes your hand from himself, replacing it with his own. He nudges your legs apart, bringing a finger to your entrance once again, collecting the arousal still dripping from you and spreading it around the tip of his dick, closing his eyes and shuddering at the feeling of your wetness on him.

“Remember, baby, slow and steady wins the race,” Quinn tells you as he guides himself into you inch by inch.

You cry out at the feeling, still sensitive from your first orgasm only minutes ago.

“Shit, you’re so tight. Always so tight,” Quinn hisses out, teeth clenched.

“Oh my god, Q, you feel so good. Needed this, needed you,” you whine, feeling every ridge and vein as he sets the torturous pace.

He brings his arms up to rest on either side of your head, going full missionary this morning.

Quinn pulls out completely each time before pushing back in, reminding himself with every stroke that he’s supposed to be going slow and savoring you.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this. Swear I’d stay here forever. Spend every second of every day between your legs like this. With my dick, my fingers, my mouth,” he tells you, earning a moan from you when you feel him twitch inside of you.

The slow, languid pace of his thrusts allows him to feel you in a way he’s usually too impatient for. He finds the soft, spongy spot deep inside of you, earning a moan that almost causes him to lose his composure.

“God, baby, can’t be making those noises like that. Gonna make me lose it,” he tells you, bringing a hand down to toy with your clit once again.

“Can’t help it. Feels too good. Need you to move faster,” you plead, loving the slowness but aching for relief.

He lowers his head, placing hot, open mouth kisses to your neck, keeping his current rhythm.

“Can’t. Enjoying this too much,” he mumbles against your damp skin.

Despite his words, you can feel him lose himself a bit, his thrusts getting just a little faster and sloppier.

All of a sudden he pulls out of you completely, removing his body from over yours. Up until this moment your eyes had been closed, but they snap open at the loss of contact.

Quinn sees your wide eyes and can practically see the whine of protest on your tongue, but he quickly brings himself to lay beside of you, pulling your body back into his.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl, just switching positions for a second,” he explains, lining himself up to your entrance once again, thrusting into you from behind as you lay on your side, opening yourself up to him with a leg slung over his own.

He keeps his same, slow strokes, but the new angle causes him to hit a place you’ve never known to exist until this moment.

“Swear I can feel you in my stomach, Q. Don’t stop. I’m so close,” you tell him, already feeling the coil tighten for the second time this morning.

The clench of your walls around his dick from this angle causes his balls to tighten, his own orgasm quickly approaching.

“Need you to let go before I can, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over me, think you can get there again?” he kisses the back of your neck.

Meeting his thrusts, you reach behind you to grab his hand and bring it over to stimulate your clit, needing some relief on the throbbing bundle of nerves.

Quinn presses his fingers down on your clit, hard, causing the bubble to burst inside of you, coming harder than you even had the first time.

“Oh my god, Q, I-“ you get cut off by your own moans, unable to prevent your body from shaking, his fingers still moving on your clit, intensifying the release even further.

The clench of your spent pussy nearly prevents him from pulling his dick out of you to thrust back in, causing such a pleasurable feeling it trigger his own orgasm, hitting him harder than he think he’s ever come before.

His body goes rigid, freezing inside of you with a groan. As you start to come down from your own orgasm, the feeling of his release inside of you brings a new wave of pleasure, knowing you’re the only person that gets to experience this from him.

He stays lodged inside of you long after you’ve both come down from your highs, wanting to stay as close to you as he can possibly be.

You let your fingers stroke the arm that’s slung over your frame, his large hand resting against your stomach.

After a few more minutes he finally slides himself out of you, turning your body to face him, assuming your earlier positions.

He stares at you, admiring the post sex glow on your face with the sun shining through the curtains behind you.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him, wrapping a piece of his hair around your finger, playing with the small curls around his ears.

“How much I love mornings,” he gives you the cheesy line, causing you to laugh so hard you shake the entire bed, causing a large grin to break out on his face, looking forward to spending every morning for the rest of his life with you.

[seokgyuu]

growing up with heeseung, jay and sunghoon you never once imagined them being anything more to you than your childhood best friends - and to some extent you're correct: they remain your gross boy best friends up until college, when suddenly things start to feel different. with all of them.

✧ heeseung x fem!reader, jay x fem!reader, sunghoon x fem!reader ✧

✧ childhood friends to lovers, fake dating trope, college setting, story begins in childhood and leads us through all the important phases ✧

✧ this work contains: intended lowercase, poor tries at comedy, simp!hee, simp!hoon & simp!jay as well as very oblivious reader, jake as the first ever boyfriend, hanni, chaewon and beomgyu have a cameo ✧

✧ warnings! mentions of bullying, smut (MDNI), more to be added if needed. ✧

hi! for my very first enha fic I have decided to open a taglist! You can join it by sending me an ask, so that I can keep track.

taglist: open

current word count: 4k

estimated word count: 15-20k

posting date: tba

taglist: @kgneptun, @deobitifull, @lovelickies, @tinie03, @moon4moony, @sousydive, @jebetwo, @haechology, @wooziswife, @havetaeminforbreakfast, @vannabanana1995, @nctislifue , @wiley199, @lovgfrd, @heegyuwrld, @caravm, @adoredbyjay, @notevenheretbh1

teaser

the principal's office could really use an interior designer, you think. or just a whole renovation at this point. the ceiling is showing signs of leakage, there is paint peeling off the walls behind the desk. and the desk itself, jeez, principal higgs should have gotten rid of it ages ago, you keep telling him!

“how many visits will that be for the week?” he doesn’t even look up from whatever he was writing as he says this. you shift on your seat and look to your left where jay is tapping his fingers on the armrest of the uncomfortable chair and heeseung next to him is just staring at the principal’s receding hairline. meanwhile sunghoon to your right is silently plotting your death.

since none of the boys speak up, you clear your throat.

“the fourth, sir,” you say with a smile you think is charming but it actually isn’t. principal higgs sighs and puts his pen down as well as his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“thank you, miss y/l/n,” he replies, “and how many more times are you planning to sit in these horribly uncomfortable chairs this week?”

“none, sir,” you continue, the smile still playing on your lips. the older man behind the desk closes his eyes for a second.

“you say that every time and yet here we are again. so, what did you do this time? did you accidentally fall and hit mr. park in the face again?” he looks at jay, who rolls his eyes at the reminder, “well, he doesn’t look like he got a black eye. so, what is it?” 

when even you don’t respond, avoiding the principals eyes as he opens them again and the boys are all hopeless cases anyways, mr. higgs takes a deep breath and puts his glasses back on. 

“fine. let’s see,” he pulls on the stack of papers he has gotten from his secretary and looks at it with his lips pursed. all four of you shift on your seats now.

“alright then. mr. lee, as it seems you… put several worms in mr. sim’s locker?” higgs eyebrow pierces up and heeseung coughs. 

“and mr. park, jay, you… sabotaged mr. sim’s chair so that he fell on to his backside and then told him to “go suck it”?” jay snorts, still tapping against the armchair and not looking at the principal. higgs takes a deep breath.

“mr. park, sunghoon,… you held out your leg for mr. sim to fall over… almost twenty-three times in one day.” 

sunghoon has to concentrate not to look too proud of himself.

“and finally, miss y/l/n. you yelled at mr. sim in front of your whole class, saying, and i quote “you’re a stupid asshat anyways, i hope you trip and break your butt, you ugly little worm”.” 

you smile innocently. 

“you also kicked him in the shins, as a grand ending gesture, as mrs. james was kind enough to write down for me.” 

he puts the notebook down and looks at the four of you.

“come on you guys, i know you like to play harmless pranks on teachers. like to make one joke too many in class. but this? if mr. sim’s parents hear about this, and they will, there could be consequences that even i can’t hold back.”

[shadowshrike]

Interfering with Halsin's Portal

It's pretty well known that there are a few situations you can get in where Halsin is well and truly angry rather than disappointed or worried, but I don't think a lot of folks know one of those situations is if you mess with his portal to the Shadowfell. It's a heartwrenching bit of acting. It's also fundamental to the plot of my in-progress fic Girdled Roots, so I figured I might share it with the other Halsin-lovers out there who have never seen it.

EDIT: Please be aware this is datamined dialog and may not be visible in game. It appears to be intended to trigger if the player attempts to enter the portal, which I don't believe is possible in the final game, or at least I couldn't find a way in the most recent version. Sharing this is simply to enjoy the incredible acting and get some plot bunnies moving, not to make any commentary about the game's canon.

Halsin's Initial Reaction

Halsin: No! Stop! Halsin: It's gone... that was our one chance. You've doomed this place to darkness! Halsin: I warned you - told you this was my burden to carry. Why didn't you listen?

The pure rage and despair is visceral. Prior to this, Halsin mentions this portal has been a century in the making, but he's so calm and measured (even upon success) that it is easy to dismiss just how much agony has plagued him as he hoped to make things right. This chance is everything to him. It has guided his every action for a century. It is a hundred years of work, prayer, and guilt to rectify the horrific fate of both land and people that came to nothing because a stranger he trusted refused to listen to him.

The portal breaking is the only time we hear Halsin speak the truth of its importance to him without a hint of emotional regulation. He is wild with pain. This man who is always thoughtful and slow to anger in the face of horror with the wisdom of age and suffering to guide him has become too overwhelmed to show any kindness.

Player response

The player is given several different ways to respond, and Halsin's reaction varies a surprising amount depending on how understandable their reason is. In most cases, he states that he needs to be alone afterward.

Option 1: I'm sorry - I acted on instinct. Halsin: Words won't repair what's been done to this land. Nothing will... I need to be alone.

You can hear the ache in Halsin's voice, but he's somewhat understanding of this response. He projects more sadness than unchecked rage. The player has admitted to making a mistake, and Halsin isn't the type of person who hold onto vengeance when an apology has been made, but he's not naive or people-pleasing enough to say "it's okay" or offer comfort either. The safest thing for everyone is for him to step away to grieve when there is nothing more to be done.

Option 2: I did all the work here - I couldn't just let you take the glory. Halsin: Glory?! There's no glory here. Now there's nothing here - only shadows and the total absence of hope. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Pure fury radiates from Halsin's response if the player focuses on the idea of being some grand hero rather than actually caring for the outcome. What the player did was an unforgiveable act, dooming everything that Halsin holds dear, and you have the audacity to complain about not getting glory from it. Again, he steps away, but this feels more like he's doing it because he believes you're worthless to reason with rather than because he needs a moment.

Option 3: I saved your grove - I figured it'd be best if I handled this as well. Halsin: We were this close to healing these lands. Now your arrogance has torn open the wounds once more. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Halsin is still frustrated with this response and unmistakably angry, but it's significantly toned down from the idea of wanting to go through the portal for glory. More like he thinks you're a self-important idiot than a truly terrible person.

Specialized player responses

There are also three special responses you can give if you have a particular class or diety.

Druid: I thought my powers were equal to yours. Halsin: It wasn't just power this needed - it was wisdom, understanding. I suffered along with this place for years trying to understand the curse... and it seems I will continue to do so. Halsin:  There is nothing more to be said... I need to be alone.

Interestingly, he responds much more intensely to a druid than some of the other player choices. It might be in part because he feels like a druid should know better. He lectures the player like an Archdruid would initiates in his Grove, alternating between angry and explanatory, trying to get the player to understand why they were wrong and the sheer magnitude of their error. He ultimately ends in a much more resigned place here rather than personally resentful. Like a father-figure being forced through further life trials because of a child's foolish indiscretion. Frustrating, but inevitable.

Selunite: I trusted in Selûne to guide me through the shadows. Halsin: My friend - I wish you had trusted in me.

This is probably Halsin's most simple response with the least vitriol. He fully understands this answer, even if he's disappointed by it. The fact he calls the player 'friend' suggests a certain tired acceptance of this being a natural behavior for a Selunite trying to do good. We don't see this calm in other responses where Halsin was surprised by the player's choice.

Sharran: The Shadowfell is no place for non-believers - I couldn't allow you to soil it. Halsin: I should never have trusted an ally of the Dark Lady.

If you've ever taken Halsin along with Shadowheart in Act 2, then you know he is absolutely scathing toward her and her faith. He likely isn't as angry if a Sharran breaks the portal because it is utterly predictable. It merely confirms a truth he already knew and talked himself out of. That Sharrans cannot be fully trusted in matters of their goddess, even if one was good enough to rescue his people from the goblins.

[neetily]

Kinktober 2024 — Vampire Sebastian

— ✧ pairing: Sebastian / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 8,180 — ✧ warnings: vampire, blood, blood kink, blood drinking, dubcon, biting, marking, pulling out, light angst, wounds, ambiguous/open ending — ✧ synopsis: the only thing he loves more than you is the sweet taste of blood. which is a shame, really, considering that's all you're made of.

— ✧ A/N: um. yeah. im not too sure how i feel about this one. i wrote it in a sickness induced haze, maybe you can tell. please enjoy regardless !! the plot changed a million times while writing lol.

— ✧ kinktober masterlist

Life with you was good. Enough? It was sweet, more than accommodating to his unnatural existence in the most comforting of ways— like a picture perfect snapshot of normality. You do your best to offer him something he knows is ultimately unattainable; because it goes against his very being, against everything he’s come to know and learn. And perhaps worst of all: against mother nature.

It’s not your fault. Far from it, actually. He’s been the way he currently is for… God, he’s forgotten how long for now. But a really long time is the point he’s trying to make to himself, perpetually stuck in the mid way point in his life all thanks to a misguided late night trip down the mines in the hopes of gathering some more of that precious stone he oh so adores, and coming face to face with a swarm full of bats. Harmless creatures the majority of the time, he’s came to understand through various late night study sessions since the incident. But nonetheless, Lady Luck was never on his side, and thus comes the misfortune of his existence.

Try all you like to help him lead and live a normal life; whatever the fuck that means, he’s forgotten all about the time before now… Your well meaning words and actions do very little to help. What did he like to do in the time before? Was it the same things he likes to do now? A couple hundred lonely years by yourself—because of course, he must outlive those he loves—makes you rather forgetful, doesn’t it? Like a corruption, more bat teeth and bat wings than blood at this point, but who’s counting? Certainly not him after that first initial damnation, and certainly not you, not with the way you hum so sweetly in the kitchen without a care in the world; a daily ritual, perhaps one of his most favoured times of day ever.

Dinner time.

Not because he has to eat— far from it, actually. Unless you’re offering up your own neck, that is… Which he swore off upon first meeting you. Far too enamoured with your scent for it to be considered normal by any means, he’s disallowed himself even a single entertaining thought about sinking his sharp fangs into that soft, supple neck of yours. Which is why he has to shake is head to ride those evil desires as he absently watches you, an attempt to banish the wicked ways of his existence to instead focus solely on how lovely you sound when lost in your own world. Busy hands make for empty minds… or something, he can’t quite remember phrases like how he used to. The intent is there, however, to remain thankful for your hard work; as opposed to hungry for more.

On one hand, he doesn’t think he’d ever get enough of you. Lovesick little grin tugging at his lips as he adores you from the kitchen table— though his mind might have forgotten important details, his hands still yet remember the teachings of his mother. Hand carved wood lovingly built just for you, resting under his boney elbow as he props his head up in his palm to dote on you in private. Out of all the people he’s met since falling victim to the bite of… well, you get it, you are by far his most favourite. Does he mean the most tolerable? Perhaps, at times. But most of all, you are the kindest. One of the only ones to truly understand him, to allow him to exist without fear or judgement, which is hard to come by nowadays. Certainly when it comes to dating, of which he hadn’t intended on doing so, least of all with you. But he learnt quick enough that there are plenty of things he didn’t expect when it comes to you.

Like how he finds himself enjoying humming along with you. Soft and quiet, low enough so that he has a chance to hear your dominating tune over his own rather lacking one. But it’s enjoyable nonetheless to share the same happiness together, even if you’re left relatively in the dark of his stalking presence behind as you continue preparing the best meal of the day. The muscle memory of his throat thrums to life every time he catches even a mere glimpse of your heavenly voice— it contrasts well with his own darker presence, don’t you think? He also, for one, enjoys the daily passing of each lengthy day with you. Or was it night? He lost track of time the minute he realised he no longer needed rest… but what matters is that he takes comfort in the normality of each day, so long as it’s spent with you. You, you, you, it’s always about you, and how much he loves you, simply fucking adores you. He’d worship the ground you walk on, so long as you promise to provide him normality. Empty, boring, mundane life. It’s all he’s ever wanted since turning into a blood sucker—stupid decision by the way, do not recommend it—but it’s funny, considering that he at least remembers wanting for anything but normalcy in his daily life before turning cold.

There’s just so much comfort to be had in the simplicity of it all. For how complicated his life has become, just your mere presence by his side seems to calm it all down, put it all into perspective, and reminds him that there is good yet in the world. Mostly in the form of you, slaving away in the kitchen over a meal you know he can’t taste or enjoy to the fullest extent, and yet the charade alone has his dead heart metaphorically skipping a beat. The utter dedication to normal you exhibit is a testament to how much you love him, he thinks. And he can only do his best to return the favour, being mindful to thank the pleasant weather of the day for offering him a nice temperature to his cold skin, and time herself for allowing him to spend it with you. Each day is a blessing, because of you. And he’d never take it for granted, not when you take extra care for his own apparent benefit.

Even if deep down, in the pit of his empty stomach, screaming to gorge on some livestock later tonight when you’re fast asleep, he knows that this comfort he is so thankful for is not to be his. Never has been, and it never will be. Little do you know, of course.

It shows up in ways he could never have guessed to begin with, which is all too unfair, in his royal opinion. Never mind the fact that he’s scorned to a life of very little—especially in the way of relationships, like life itself precariously holds a consistent knife to his throat in an attempt to keep him only close enough to all he holds dear. He at least expects that, y’know? But as he saunters up to you, feather light in his steps so as to avoid interrupting your mundane song, careful not to startle you too much, it seems as though life has different plans in store for him. In that, of course, his plan of doting upon you in secrecy backfires, all because he tries too hard to be that which he is not.

Normal.

A terrible word, he suddenly switches thoughts. Gross in its misconduct, like fire in his upset stomach to leave him wincing in pain. A cuddle—that’s all he wanted. All he ever asked life for. Just a plain old back hug for the love of his life, a sincere attempt to showcase just how thankful he is of your efforts, and how he ever expected things to go his way is beyond him; he used up a lifetime of luck when it came to winning your affections. And yet still, your reaction is normal, he could feel you jumping in his arms with fright the moment he locked them around you, nuzzling unbeknownst against your nape for a brief second or two until it hits him. The loud clatter of a knife, a telling gasp crawled up your throat. And that fucking smell. Like water and oil, it doesn’t matter how hard you fucking try to provide him with a simple life, the burning ache coursing through his veins is quick to remind him of just how much he hates that ugly word normal.

For a normal man would not be frothing at the mouth, champing at the bit for a single. Fucking. Taste. Just a sniff, even, please God, anything for a proper fucking whiff of that sweet scent— he’d fucking kill for that, y’know? Light and mouthwateringly enticing. Perfect fucking—

“Gosh! You gave me such a fright, Seb,” you laugh, airy and convincing. As if you weren’t in the paws of some predator right now. Oh how he hates the thought, wants to reassure you so badly that he doesn’t mean to cause you any harm. But his broken body just begs for him to remain frozen in place. Lock you in tight against his chest; if he had a working heart, he’s sure it’d be racing by now. How quick the dominoes fall into place, right? “Let me— Lemme clean up, okay?”

Inevitably, he knows he has to let go. Not only for your own obvious sake, so that you don’t end up with two puncture wounds in that soft looking neck of yours, but for his own sake too. To prove to himself that he’s in control, that he doesn’t have to give in to his animalistic tendencies, and that normality can be for him, too. But nonetheless, he squeezes you a little tighter before letting go.

“Sorry,” tumbles from his bitten lips— if he bites himself, perhaps it’ll stave off the cravings. “I— I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No I know!” you smile at up at him, gently, like a mother would. And completely unknowing of his internal struggle, he’s sure. He’s only went and tried his best to hide is inner animal from you every chance he gets, and maybe he’s just stupid, but he’s almost certain that you assume he’s in control at all times.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth, really. A mere loose thread away from snapping upon you at all times… it’s a fucking wonder that he’s lasted this long, to be honest with you.

All he does is yearn. Fists tight and balled by his sides, like some sort of petulant child denied dessert at the end of a meal. Physically fucking craving for you, even as he’s standing directly behind you with another sorry spilling from his blood bitten lips. Sorry, I want you too much. Sorry, for scaring you into a gash. Sorry, because I want nothing more than to force that cut finger deep down my greedy maw and lap you all empty.

Sorry, he really can’t compose himself. Not when it comes to you, how precious and fragile you are— it’s beyond tempting to his taste buds, especially when he accidentally catches sight of the red that now stains your finger all pretty for him; because of him. Whether intentional or not, it was his fault that you got cut tonight, and though he plays the role of the concerned boyfriend well enough to properly convince you of his apologies, deep down, he’s more eager for you. He only looked up due to your hushed hiss as the cold tap water kissed your open wound far more gentler than his tongue would, and he couldn’t help but to wet his lips at the sight.

Thirsty. He’s suddenly really, really fucking thirsty. Lying to himself by thinking that it must be the water that’s triggered his natural instincts— idiot. Of fucking course not… Rather, he’s hungry, as he so often is when around you, funnily enough.

“I— Really, I only wanted to—” he stutters out, mind a mess before the drops of red that stain the sink with his absolution, muddled thoughts barricading his lips shut just in case he fumbles out the wrong word. It’s difficult to focus on his thoughts with that smell invading his sense…

And as if to rub salt into his proverbial wound, you oh so gently and lovingly attempt to calm him down. Shield him from the truth that after all this time spent loving, caring, and looking after him: he’s still just a monster at heart. How fucking awful. So fucking predictable, huh?

“It’s okay, Seb. It’s just a tiny little cut, nothing to cry over.”

Yet still, you hiss and wince at the sting his abundant love offers you, his gaze settled on the way you clean the sore spot up while he remains frozen in place behind you. On one hand, he’s sure that it must just look like he’s scared, worried that you’ll hate him for what he’s done tonight— which is to say, he must appear worried over loving you far too much. Enough to cause harm, apparently. And on the other hand, he can already feel his tummy turn with the plague of his existence, how if he were to move even a single fucking inch towards you, he’s liable to jump your bones and suck you dry. Because that’s all his existence boils down to, really. A mess of gnashing teeth and furrowed brows, fuck, he can still smell that sickly sweet scent. Overwhelming his nostrils as you traverse around the kitchen, looking for a bandaid by yourself in the absence of his help.

He is helping, though. Whether you realise it or not, his refusal to move is help in its own right.

It’s been some time since he’s felt his heart flutter as much, his lashes batting at the way you struggle to find an appropriate dressing for your unfortunate wound, misplaced the band aids again? Just his luck, he thinks. Sucking air in through his teeth in a harsh manner, as if to communicate the gravity of his situation with you without need for words.

“I should go—” his words are sudden, but his tone is low and quiet, mumbled under his breath, for he fears that if he were to open his jaw too wide, you wouldn’t survive the resulting affection. “Really, I should— fuck,” so strong now, that smell. So good. “I have to go—” he scrambles, rushing the words out from his choked up throat in an effort to avoid the inevitable, forgetting that Lady Luck has never been on his side, not in the least right now.

“I’m sure there’s, um… Fuck, yknow, the things—” he can’t focus on his words or his thoughts, not with how his lips part with greedy exhales, struggling to find the correct string of vocalisations he needs to communicate just how entierly fucked he is right now. But regardless, he takes a shaky step backwards. Away from you and the awful, scary situation he now finds himself in. He’s done well to avoid your precious red for God knows how long, it’s a shame he must encounter it now, when he’s busy trying to adore you. Even worse that he can’t get his thoughts in order, internally fighting with himself over leave, now, and wait, she’s vulnerable. Always so fucking vulnerable, y’know that? Almost as if you were asking for it—

He loathes the thought as soon as it enters his spinning mind, tightly squeezing his eyes shut to match the constriction in his chest, be still my beating heart. Oh how he yearns though… To care for you, to find the bandaid you’re so carelessly currently search for, and to so lovingly place it upon his mistake. To grab you by the waist and recklessly throw you on the ground, to immediately attach his pearly white fangs to your supple neck and to bite down so hard that you forget your own name.

“They’re somewhere.” He settles on, hoping that you understand inherently what he’s talking about, gesturing to the kitchen with flailing hands that he has to fight not to reach out and grab, countering the selfish thought with another step backwards. Find the band aids quick, my love. “Sorry I— I can’t help y’look for ‘em.” His words turn slurred, slugging in his movements to escape your rather minor cut.

Anyone else would think he was afraid of blood. But, thankfully, you understand the truth.

So much so that he can hardly stand to greet the soft pitying look you adopt at his frantic actions, gentle eyes watching carefully as he holds a hand up to his nose, an attempt to cover the intruding scent— but you know all too well by now that that never works, don’t you? Like the time he had taken you out to that fancy restaurant, do you remember? Or had intended to, anyway… If not for the unfortunate mortal who had somehow tripped right outside the building, right into a nosebleed, as if life itself was reminding him: you are not normal. The fucking stench, God… still, to this day, he’s so sorry for having to head home. For ruining your night simply due to his natural blood lust. For being the way that he is, and for impeding your sense of normalcy so often as he does.

But your voice comes out whisper light when regarding him with utter affection, and it only makes his mind dizzier with desire, clouding his judgement when you pout prettily at him with “Oh, Sebby… I’m sorry…”

Disgusting. It’s absolutely fucking vile how he has the urge to snuff that meek little voice out for good, frustration balled up in his chest to leave him positively gasping for air before you. For he is but a slave to the bat that had bit him all those years ago, and here he stumbles back upon your sweet voice, intent on hiding in some other sort of cave and out of your sight for a couple days at least— but beneath it all, under the layers of blood and lust and teeth and claws, he is just a man. And a man has no hope in hell of escaping your outstretched hand; though thankfully, it’s the unsullied one. He hasn’t the chance to decline your gentle gesture, as much as it goes against his very nature to accept such undue kindness, though every fibre of his dead being just begs for him to decline, walk away while you still have the chance, while you’re still of mind to do so, he simply can do nothing other than accept your fingers intertwining with his own, in turn prompting him into shuffling closer towards the face of his doom. How long can one man rest on the precipice of utter damnation, without taking that leap? Surely, given the smile you send his way, the universe is communicating with him: too damn long, in your case. He had it coming, or something, fuck— he can’t focus on his thoughts now that he’s a step or two nearer to his downfall. The love of his life; you are the source of his pleasant agony.

And he wants for nothing more than to remind you of such facts. As much as that man within him cries for a break, fucking pleads to remain in control, your most human actions of connection are what brings the monster out of him. Unfortunate, really. Because he loves you, y’know?

He also loves just how strong your scent gets as he gets closer to the source, letting his nose rub lightly against your cheek— an action so barely there that he’s unsure if you even feel it, but the light giggle you let out in response lets him know that he can’t hide from you. Not now, look, do you see how hard it is for him to be around you? How utterly devoted he is to you, enough to ignore his humanity in favour of giving in to you; his selfish desire.

“Is it bad?” You ask him, and he can hear the cringe in your voice. Heavy with sorries, dripping in the metallic tang that hits his nostrils as he inhales along the shell of your ear, humming mild vibrations against your soft skin. He loves you so much, loves that you’re able to communicate with him on such a level that you needn’t express yourself wholly for him to understand your intentions. Didn’t you know? Only a vampire could love you forever, as deep as your blood is red.

Wordlessly, he nods against your neck, huffing and puffing away at the throb of blood just barely hidden beneath the surface. It is bad right now. All of this. You, for offering yourself up to him on a silver platter— you fucking know what you’re doing to him, how could you not? Him, for giving in to his selfish pleasures and accepting your bad behaviour, as opposed to his normal indignation. The situation, because for as much as he assumes you know that what you’re doing is dangerous, he’s not so sure you understand the gravity of just how awful it is; he’s been good at hiding his truest nature from you thus far. It’s all just so bad, isn’t it? Bad, bad, so fucking bad that it hurts to hold back for you, toying with his teeth as he runs his tongue along them, testing just how pointed they are just in case. It’s bad that he’s so close to you right now, because he loves you. Because he loves you too much to say stop, no— not like this, anything but this—

“A taste.” You reason with him, bringing up that bloodied finger dangerously close to his face, oh— he wants to eat it whole. Wants to swallow you up right where you stand, turn you as corrupted as he is… He wants to— “Just a little, one lick won’t hurt no one, right?”

How can he say no to that? How can he, ever, deny his true nature? What reasonable man would ever think of denying you, defying the love of his life the pleasure of his tongue upon that open wound? What kind of a man would pass up the opportunity of the hunt, would choose not to take aim and fire on an innocent creature when his stomach has been rumbling for days on end and he can’t think straight from the sheer magnitude of the hunger pangs in his chest?

And yet still, he hangs on. Tries to, at least. Letting out a muffled: “Shouldn’t.” Against your heated skin, only for you to hum back with “It’s okay. Just a tease.”

At the end of the day, he’s no man. He’s unsure if he ever was to begin with, in truth. For a man might manage to put down the rifle in favour of searching elsewhere to satiate his cravings, leave the poor innocence alone. He, on the other hand, jumps at the opportunity you unfairly present him. Lifts his heavy head with cloudy vision and immediately shoves your tainted finger into his wanting mouth. Lips wrapped tight around the digit as soon as possible, being mindful of his fangs for the meantime as he focuses solely on finally, god, fucking finally, tasting your sweet, sweet nectar. The thing that attracted him to you in the first place. One suck later and…

Euphoria. Strikingly beautiful on the tip of his tongue, God, how hard he has to try not to bite down.

It’s difficult to describe just how much he enjoys this. You. Your taste. The most perfect ambrosia, trickling against his tongue much too slowly for his liking, but he has enough wherewithal not to complain too much when his gaze flutters to stare at your own wicked smirk, his eyes briefly rolling to the back of his head in pure hedonistic enjoyment for the red that soon stains his tongue with sin. You’re sweet. Too sweet, unfairly so, as if made exactly to his personal tastes— meaning that you were worth the wait. The thrill of the hunt culminating in the way his tongue snakes and slithers around your cut, doing his best to suck as much of you out as possible, just to turn his cheeks all warm for once, fuck. He swallows down your warmth quickly, as if starved, because he’s never quite tasted something just as good as you before.

Even when he sapped a few unfortunate souls empty.

Human blood is always the best to consume, he thinks. Full bodied and flavourful, distinct from each other enough to have his preferences. Until now, he wouldn’t be so picky. Emptying any blood bag he could get his grubby little hands on simply because it was better than cattle, even if it was bad, y’know? But after lapping your wound all better, he realises: he can’t go back now. Pandoras box, opened and blushing before him, the way you knowingly smile at his open maw and heavy breaths should be warning enough, and yet still he awaits your instruction. Because he loves you. Because he’s no better than a man.

“Good?” You ask him, as if it’s even a fucking question.

“Uh-huh” he answers anyway, finger still popped inside of his tightly closed lips, as if warning you that if you were to pull back, he’d do nothing but chase after you again. Like some sort of stalker, or predator. Seeking the comfort of your hot flesh against his flat tongue for eternity, just to have your blood drip erotically down his throat.

Because it is inherently erotic. Sharing fluids always is, no? A twitch in his pants coming to life all of a sudden at the realisation, though he hopes you don’t notice it as of yet. The blood he consumed from your simple cut finger travels down, dripping all the way past his heaving lungs, squirming around in his tummy to fill it up with butterflies, and still yet travels south all the way down to his cock, causing a harsh throb to pump him all hard. Like some fucking pervert, leering at the way you simply watch him become less than human. Less than beast at this point, given how he eye fucks you with your red rendering him fucking useless. A dumb mess of a man from just a few droplets; one can only fight against natural instincts for so long before he feels the press of his fangs on his own back.

It’s a shame that you’re so pretty when you sigh, too. A thick bead of precum dripping from his tip in response, popping off your finger only to hum a moan in appreciation of all that is you. Or is he objectifying you now? He can’t quite tell, not with his mind so muddled and cock swiftly growing harder by the second. What makes it worse is how nice it is to feel the pang of pain in his chest when he realises just how kind you’re trying to be right now, withdrawing your finger to wipe it gently on a fresh kitchen towel. You think you’ve done good, right?

You think you’re doing so good when you encourage him further into the depths of depravity with a loving “You can keep going for a second, if you want?”, craning your neck to the side as you busy yourself with removing his saliva from your fingertip. It hurts to know that you’re just trying your best, doing what you think will comfort him, despite the danger.

It hurts to know that he’s getting off on it, too. Finding great sadistic pleasure while teetering on that edge you simply beg for him to jump from.

And who is he to deny his lover? But a fool, of course.

Maybe if you hadn’t offered him your finger, or you hadn’t gotten a fright and dropped the knife, or if he hadn’t spent the afternoon adoring you, maybe then he’d be able to restrain himself. Hold himself back like he should, like what a good partner would do. But alas, the sight of your throbbing neck, thick with life and pulsing with blood, is far too good an opportunity for him to pass up in the state that he’s found himself in tonight. A single drop from you could last him a lifetime, he’s sure.

But he’s intrinsically selfish. And not thinking straight, not since he inhaled the first whiff of your metallic scent. It’s all been downhill since then, hasn’t it? God only knows how long he’s been holding on to restraint for when it comes to you… maybe letting go will make him feel a little better, somewhat less guilty.

You’re just all too tempting, y’know that? Evident from the way he simply saunters closer to you like moth to a flame, till his heavy cock presses insistently against your clothed cunt, and you’re made to feel exactly just how much he adores you. This is enough communication, right? The slight gasp you let out upon the illicit contact, the staggering you do when he doesn’t stop walking towards you, intentionally pinning you against the counter directly behind your shivering back as a means to pin you in place. He needn’t use words when you can see his intentions, clear as day: he wishes to feast upon you. Plain and simple, a forbidden fruit he’s eager to swallow more of—

“Just a little, okay?” you remind him, and it takes him a second or two to nod yes at you, because he’s too busy placing his palms on the edge of the counter top, effectively caging you in against the hard wood and… his own hard wood. No escape, because you’ve got him hooked now. And he’d do anything just to taste you again. Anything, including things that he’d rather not think of, or that he’s scared of.

Thank god you’re the one that offered first.

“Promise,” he does his best to reassure you, but with a slow roll of his hips against your own, he can feel how guilt constricts his throat dry. Liar, he tells himself. There’s no way he’d ever manage life with only a little of you. “Will stop when you say, promise—” he babbles on, saying only that which he needs to in an effort to attach his lips to you neck faster; he’s not even fully aware of what he’s doing, let alone saying. But it works, his weak assurances have you tilting your head to the side for him, and he doesn’t miss the way your lashes flutter shut to the feeling of his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin as he crowds closer to you.

When his pointed fangs hover over your thin flesh, he can feel his body warm up in response. Naturally, normally. Something this normal could never be so heinous, never as bad as he thinks, right? It’s normal for you to tremble against him when he lets you feel the slow drag of his teeth against your goose-bumped skin, and it’s normal for him to choke on next to nothing when he feels you shift your hips around a little; are you getting comfortable? Or just trying to rile him up some more, huh? Dirty little girl, so fucking filthy, aren’t you? Body begging for his bite— God, his cock is so hard now thanks to someone, that he feels as though he could cum on the spot.

So he bites. Distracting himself with such a simple action, really. Though dripping with desire, it’s so ordinary and normal that he can almost convince himself that it’s not bad. There’s no harm in it, right? No, how could there be, when you pained gasp soon turns into a low high-strung whine, body tensed under his own relaxed frame as he fervently places two puncture wounds on your delicate neck and drives his fangs deep. Deeper than the knife wound, that’s for sure. He, too, tense up a little with the commitment. Though not from pain, rather… an excessive need to restrain. To be slow and methodical with his movements, muscles taut before you as he all too slowly drags his teeth out from your yummy neck to lick them all clean again.

Oh. You’re fucking in for it tonight, aren’t you?

The snap is almost immediate, a rush of dopamine coursing through his system upon salivating over that fresh blood of yours, swallowing it down rashly and thickly, as if he’s just had his first taste of water in years. A growl soon follows, crawled up his throat like a prayer, only to be spat out against your matching cuts before he attaches his lips around them devoutly, and lets his tongue lay flat out against the trickling blood— let none go to waste. A single taste is all it takes, and he’s fucking ruined already. Like putty in your hands, except he’s sure to let you know who’s really in control by lapping at your dripping wound, and suckling on it just a little, just like you asked, to taste some more of that sweet nectar.

He knows he’s being too greedy when you mutter a mumbled “C-Careful, Seb…”, but he simply doesn’t have the power within him to care any longer. Too clouded by the taste of you blood, the smell of your life. He couldn't stop even if he wanted to— and he��certainly doesn’t want to, distracting your pitiful cries for a break with another roll forward of his hips, cock pressed right against that hidden cunt, fuuuck. You taste and feel so good when you start to squirm on him. Like he’s actively swallowing all of your worries and fears, all that useless hesitation with every hump and lick he offers you.

“Always.” He whispers against your skin, because he’s not above lying at the moment t if it meant that he got to keep eating you and eating you and holy fuck he feels so dizzy— but in a good way. Like when you’re tipsy, and you’re only somewhat aware of your actions. Allowing his body to go through the natural motions as opposed to remaining in control because it’s easier that way. And it seems you appreciate it too, especially when it leads to him cupping your cheek with one hand, the other coming down to rest easily on the small of your back while he slurps and drools all over your neck. A reassuring hold to some. Utter possessiveness to him.

And he’d love to stay here. Attached sucking at your neck forever, his eyes rolling to the back of his head in pure unadulterated bliss at just how good you taste, cock leaking all over himself at the feeling of your body pressing snugly against his own, how you grow limper by the second in his arms due to the blood loss— but then he remembers something important.

“Here,” he regrettably unlatches from your neck, just briefly. Enough to get his words out. “Lemme put it in,” he doesn’t wait for your reply before hurriedly unbuttoning his bottoms with one hand, just barely hearing your muffled moans of disapproval in response, and he can’t help but to smile lovingly at the way you try to paw him off of you. You fucking asked for this.

“Promise it’ll feel good, even better.”

Though, whether his words of reassurance actually calm your grabby hands down or not is of no importance to him. Because deep down, he knows that he’s telling the truth, letting his underwear fall with his pants the moment they’re slack enough to, and his fist immediately grabs onto the base of his cock with a quiet satisfied sigh blowing across your cheek. You deserve to feel as good as he does right now, even if you’re unable to agree to his actions. Don’t worry, he’ll look after you. All the mortals he’s sucked thus far have expressed just how much nicer it feels when he’s buried balls deep inside of them during the act, too. And he wants for nothing less than to spoil his baby, especially when you taste better than anything he’s ever has before— shit, he has to latch onto your neck again just to keep himself composed as he drags your bottoms down too, leaving you bare and exposed in your cosy kitchen.

But you can feel it too, right? How warm it all is, how his tongue and lips suck you into a hazy daze with a nice heat spreading throughout your body. How about that times ten, huh? Sounds good, right?

The scent of your blood fills his nostrils with another greedy inhale against your neck, followed by the smell of your sex now that he’s exposed your lower half, dripping with desire for him— “See,” he half laughs between gulps of your delicious red, you’re no different from those he’s drained before. They always get wet. “Already feels so good, don’t it?” he mumbles, going back to sucking your neck with hums of appreciation while his cock bobs and twitches against your slit, dribbling precum all over your mound for you to shiver against.

All it takes is a little readjusting, tipping his hips back, bending his knees a little. Such small movements, just so feel so much better when his tip catches on your hole and he audibly gasps against your wounds.

You, too, gasp at the contact. A short moment shared in utter disbelief over how dizzying and exciting this whole situation is, his hips stalling for a moment or two simply to enjoy finally getting what he’s always wanted. Your blood on his lips to turn them all sticky and tacky, and his cock tipping into your cunt to leave you sighing and huffing with bliss. He might be sucking you into a state of stupor, but your body sure is awake enough to communicate pleasure with him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs to continue giving in to his selfish desires.

It helps that your being so pliant and submissive right now too, no doubt due to the amount of blood you’ve lost from his greedy gulps and sinful swallows. A light pink mix of blood and drool drips from your neck, around to your collarbone for him to gawk it. The sight of which, inevitably, prompts his hips into jutting forward, his cock swiftly stretching your little cunt out to accommodate the sudden girth. And it’s fucking hot how you can’t even muster up the energy to complain, really. A slight moan escaping your puffy lips, a subtle furrow of your brows. Whereas he on the other hand, is a downright fucking mess. Salivating all over you, eyes unfocused and glazed over as he gorges on your neck, mouth just swimming in your blood, tongue pointed to dip in and out of your open puncture marks like some sort of crazed animal. Almost making out with your holes, really, with how sloppy and messy he is with his bloody sucks. Gross, right?

And as soon as his cock is in, he’s pulling it back out again. Keeping you pinned against the counter, helping hold you up with both hands finding home on your ass to teasingly squeeze at the fat of it. You taste like you’re pent up right about now, and he loves you all too much to stop. Sucking. Completely smitten with the way you drown him in sweet sticky red, getting him high on the tangy taste while he gets drunk on your meek moans and whimpers— perhaps his pace is too fast to start with, yeah? It’s hardly his fault that he can’t slow down or hold himself back; if only you didn’t taste so good, y’know? If only the blood that stains his teeth a new shade didn’t have his cock throbbing harder than before, the tight squeeze of your insides pairs well with the sweet squelch of your hole, struggling to take his cock, are you? Or maybe it’s just that the amount of blood loss you’ve suffered is making you a little woozy, turned you just a bit too numb to his touch in an effort to hold on to life, maybe?

Though some part of him, deeply hidden and buried in his repeatedly slamming cock, recognises that he’s harming you right now… didn’t you tempt him in the first place? It’s not his fault, right? “C’mon, babe—” he huffs against your neck, unlatching so as to take a proper good look at how fucking dumb you appear right now; rolled back eyes and parting lips, the perfect picture of pleasure, yeah?

It couldn’t be anything more sinister, surely. Not when your cunt chokes his cock so perfectly, dripping slick down to his balls every time they slap back against you as a reminder of how much you’re enjoying this. Feels fucking good, licking his lips in part to concentrate on how warm and wet your little hole is while he picks up the pace to bring your attention back to him, but also to clean himself up from your blood. It swirls pleasantly in his system with his harsh fucks— he doesn’t mean to be so brutal with his affection, but isn’t that your fault for falling in love with a beast such as him? He’s only acting according to his nature, after all.

“C’mon, show me that— fuck, that— pretty fuckin’ face.” His praise comes out almost as a sneer, snarling with his teeth bared as instincts beg him to dominate, to show you who’s boss right now; though, in actuality, it’s you. It’s always been you who he’s beholden to, who he can’t stop thinking about, loving on, lusting after. He might be barely in control right now, but he’s only acting out because he wants you. Terribly so, enough to keep pumping his fat cock in and out of you at such an unfair pace that he has to stabilise you, unable to clearly see your surely pretty face regardless of his attempts because he’s fucking you so fast. His hips just don’t let up, driven to continue from the tight ball of lust your blood pools in his tummy, your squishy insides suck him off so well— almost as well as he’s drained your neck, right? But you do look pretty, absolutely. Hair a mess, tits bouncing before him, a soft necklace of saliva blood decorating your chest with his snap thrusts. It’s disgusting how easy it is for him to lose himself in you, in the soft walls of your cunt, stroking himself off so well with your hole.

In his lust induced drinking spree of your blood, he bets half of it still yet clings to his lips in a show of love for you. And, concerningly, his cock throbs all the harder when you whisper his name. Like feathers on fresh snow, he’s more so filling in the blanks of your mouthed words, but nonetheless fat beads of precum spill out inside of your cunt at how fucked dumb you are right now. You’re so cute.

He promised you it’d feel good, and look at you. Can’t even speak from the sheer pleasure rolling through you, right?

More than anything, he’d like to gulp around your neck some more. Engulf every inch of you with his teeth, leave his mark all over your body like laying claim to his territory. But you’re barely holding your head up at this point, and as he grows close to orgasm himself, so too does clarity come. Just a little, fuzzy at the edges of his blood red darkened mind, enough to give him the idea to plant his thumb between his pelvis and your own to rub sloppy circles around your clit like how he should have done earlier.

But oh, look. There’s a little blood down there, too. From his thumb no doubt, mixing perfectly with the slick your hole gushes out around his fat cock, rocking you up and down his erection desperately so that he can focus more on getting you off than himself.

He’s had his fun, hasn’t he?

“I—” … what? He hadn’t meant to speak just now, chewing on his bottom lip in utter confusion while your insides tighten and, indeed, convulse around his cock. Promising to milk him empty as soon as possible, a choked moan escaping your puffy lips for him to feast on. And as he nears that edge himself, falling forward into you so as to be as close as possible while burying his cock balls deep in your too tight little cunt, a wave of understanding washes over him and he reflexively pulls out.

Still, his hand just as naturally gravitates to his cock as he pumps it fully, a fast up and down stroke that he can barely catch up to, gasping before you with a furrow in his brows. He’s so fucking close, licking his lips a final time to remove the stain of red upon them, and the lingering taste of your blood is all he needs to finally finish upon your front.

Thick, white ropes of salty seed splatter across your wrinkled clothing, dripping down in fat globs to your bare and exposed cunt. So soft and sore she looks, now that he’s had his way with her. And if he’s being honest with himself, he thinks you look stunning painted in white, and he’s never felt so fucking good before.

He felt so unnaturally good. Not normal not by any stretch of the imagination… Which therein lies the main issue.

His grip on you tightens as soon as he’s calmed down enough to realise what he’s just done, a cracked sob urgently crawling up his throat in the face of his actions. How—

“I’m so fucking sorry.” Ah, there it is. What he was trying to say earlier, suddenly rolling like water—or blood—off his tongue in such a pivotal moment. Pain sears through him at the absent look you offer him back, and his gaze finally clears enough to allow him the sight of just how deep his fangs have burrowed. Hidden amongst your open flesh is plenty more sorries, just as much that spill from his gasping throat, though he immediately knows that it’ll never be enough. Not with how tight his chest burns, how his tummy flips with utter sickness at how pale and frail you appear in his arms, no less better looking as he gently lowers you to the ground and he matches you by kneeling at your side.

“I didn’t mean to— I mean, I didn’t want to do all that, y’know? I just— fuck, that’s why I wanted to leave, didn’t wanna hurt you at all, I—” he could mutter about how much he didn’t want to do anything all night long if he could, but the warm smile you adorn when listening to his panic stricken rambles cuts him short. Prompts him into idly chewing on his bottom lip, being sure to hide his fangs from your view as if communicating, again, I’m sorry.

“Seb—” you rasp, and his eyes widen to the sound of your voice. Soft and light, though through the most heinous means possible. Because he hurt you. It hurts, instantly, to hear it. But he doesn’t shy away from his consequences, doing his best to regard you with genuine affection in spite of the tears that well at his lashline.

“It’s okay.” You cough, sputtering blood from under him with reckless abandon. “Was my fault,” you continue, and he instinctively shakes his head out of fear.

No, no, not your fault. Never your fault, it should have been me who walked away from you!

“Really, it’s okay. You were right, it—” felt good? He doesn’t want to hear another word of your dwindling life wasted on his immature actions, shutting you up with a hand held over your lips, and a harsh shh falling from his own. He takes a quick look over your frame, calculating just how near death you really are— though, you’ll always be under on that edge when in close proximity to him apparently, he chastises himself with. But all it takes is that second of taking inventory for him to lift you back up, bridal style in his shaking arms, as he strides out of the kitchen with you in tow.

Not once has he ever tried to care for a mortal after feeding, so he’s not entierly sure what he’s supposed to do in a situation like this. All he knows is that the doctors office isn’t too far away from your big farmhouse, and he’d do anything to at least try and save you.

Lest he joins you, once and for all, with another sorry locked and loaded behind his stained red teeth.

[joelalorian]

Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, could be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly realized why that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin

[greeenchrysanthemums]

I’d love to hear anything you’ve got about Pearl from your gg rivals au! Super interesting concept, I’ve been loving the asks you’ve answered so far

Oh, yes! I've been dying to talk about Pearl. She is extremely important to the plot, as well as a favorite of mine.

GG Pearl is a mercenary of sorts. She does whatever you ask of her for the right price, including murder if it is within her skill range. However, most of her jobs include acting as a bodyguard, helping repair buildings, spying for information, things to that affect. It is rare that she has to take a life, but not unheard of.

She never had much of a family growing up, having lost them to war and disease before the memory of their faces could even form properly in her mind. The only lifelong companion she ever had was her dog, Tilly. It was her and Tilly against the world for the longest time.

She is one of very few people who knew Grian when he was a kid. They clicked immediately and were as thick as thieves before he abruptly disappeared when they were barely teenagers, and she was left alone all over again. She only met him again once the resistance was in full swing. It was how she learned he was even still alive, the descriptions of him were too similar to be a coincidence.

She wanted nothing more than to be bitter at him for leaving her without an explanation, to blow up at him and make him feel as hurt as she had been all those years ago, but the second he offered her a place in the resistance, she caved and agreed. She just didn't want to be alone anymore.

She occasionally skips town for the odd job or another, so she isn't always around. She comes and goes as she pleases and has no real position in the resistance. She just helps where she can. She can't help but feel like an outsider because of it.

Now, you see, Pearl is very curious and nosey by nature. She can't help getting herself involved in things that do not concern her. So, naturally, she had to go see what the deal was with her friends so called "rival".

And how did she do this? By breaking into the castle, of course. Well, not all the way in. She planted herself right on the wall of the training grounds and waited. Gem tried to attack her at first, but Pearl said she just wanted to watch and that made her hesitate. Gem was skeptical and warry, but somehow Pearl's innocent smile was enough to make her let her stay. And so, stay and watch Pearl did.

Her little break-in only served to make her more curious, though, so Pearl showed up every day at the same time to watch Gem train. It became part of both of their routines. Soon, they began to talk during these afternoons together and formed a quick friendship. Pearl never told Gem much about herself, only the odd story from her travels/childhood, and Gem never pried.

Pearl never intended to befriend Gem, it just sort of happened. Now she is stuck between two worlds, unsure of what to do. She loves Gem, thinks of her as her best friend, but she's loyal to Grian on grounds of their history together. She tries to tell herself that it's just curiosity that keeps her going back to that stone wall, but it's a flimsy lie at best.

Grian thinks she only goes to Gem to get information. Impulse and Scott think she is just a girl from town who Gem befriended (though Scott has the sinking feeling he's seen her before...).

Pearl isn't sure how long she can keep up either of the facades she has built up: an uncaring informant, and a harmless town girl. Neither of them are who Pearl is, but she's afraid that letting either one go would result in her losing either Grian or Gem. She couldn't handle either of those, no matter how much she tries to tell herself she could.

[seshathawk]

I’d like to address something from season four that I haven’t seen anyone else address yet, though some people have spoken critically of the plots surrounding it.

A quick caveat: this is based off of my own experiences, and is not by any means an attempt to excuse, forgive, or erase any of the many mistakes that season four made. (This is going to be about parenting, for anyone who would like to avoid said topic.)

Hi. I’m the mother to a 4.5 year old child. When I met my husband, we were both working jobs, although he made more than me. I quit my job eventually for reasons that don’t need to be detailed here, and three years later had a baby and ended up being a stay-at-home mom to our child. At the height of the pandemic, I felt this was lucky; we wouldn’t have to scramble to find child care or anything like that.

Two years later, I was absolutely miserable and a completely different person.

Parenthood changes a person. A lot. Like, a lot. You have to sacrifice things, things that used to be important to you, again and again, in order to support your children, and you do it because you love them so much and you want them to succeed.

But something else happens, specifically to women who become parents. Some women intend to go back to work and never do. In some families, it’s cheaper for mom to provide childcare than it is to pay for daycare. Somehow, women end up being the managers of the household and primary caregiver for any/all children, all day, every day. This isn’t to say that these women don’t love their children. But, rather, that women end up carrying the burden of the invisible load for their entire household, including their husbands.

And this also isn’t to say that those husbands aren’t loving, or that they don’t take care of their kids too, or that these women don’t love their husbands. But it’s a huge burden.

Some examples of the invisible load: meal planning, grocery shopping, packing bags for outings or school, managing the family (kids) schedule, arranging for childcare, managing communication with childcare or school, making all appointments for kids or entire family, planning parties, making holiday (Christmas/Easter/4th of July/take your pick) magic, finding activities for kids to do, packing lunches, restocking things like toiletries or pantry staples, cleaning up clutter or getting family/kids to do same, putting away laundry, doing laundry, and…the list goes on. The list is eternal. There is no end to the invisible load.

And when you’re managing all of this and your husband does things like not know if you have a pantry staple at home, isn’t sure where your child’s clean underwear is, or forgets to do something very simple such as grab extra milk, it’s really easy to feel frustrated and resentful.

This is never explicitly stated in The Umbrella Academy, that this is how Lila feels. But it was pretty obvious to me. Her random statements like, “Why are you doing the cake now?” and “I told you to do the pinata two hours ago!” and “This isn’t about you!” felt true to me. Like, OH MY GOD, I do this every day, HOW ARE YOU DOING THIS SO WRONG. And, also, Diego casually says, “Hey, let’s just up and leave just like the old days, the kids will be fine with your family,” without appearing to have ANY IDEA about what goes into planning for kids to stay with relatives for what has to have been at least two days. (Sidebar: I’m not sure if the writers thought that bit through but I definitely read into it that Diego thinks it’ll be easy to slip away while Lila understands the intense logistics of this suggestion.)

So, when Lila said, regarding book club/undercover operations that she just needed something just for herself, I felt that, SO hard. Because you know what happens when you’re a mom? You’re doing the invisible labor and the emotional labor for (in Lila’s case) a family of five. When you finally have some time to yourself, it’s maybe an hour, and your choices are to try to do something relaxing by yourself, spend time with your husband (who you might resent a little), or do something for the house/family. Getting to escape and do something fun, just for you? That’s SO magical.

I do wish we’d seen more of their domestic life together, because I think that could have said a lot about their relationship. But I didn’t think for one second that Lila was unhappy because Diego is never present and never stops complaining, although I’m sure that’s part of it. I saw instantly that she was unhappy because her personhood has been crushed under the weight of motherhood and wifehood and that she was struggling. And that all she wanted—all any of us in similar situations want—is for her husband to understand that and step up, in a way that husbands really don’t understand, because patriarchy.

Does it mean she’d cheat on Diego? Does it mean she’d cheat on him with his brother? Not necessarily. Does it mean she might look for companionship or friendship elsewhere, outside of her family life? Does it mean she might be happy, for a while, living a more adventurous or quiet life, away from the demands of her family? Maybe! Would have been great if the show had explored that a little instead of turning her into part of a love triangle.

But I thought that Lila, burdened with motherhood in a way that Diego cannot ever truly know (because patriarchy), felt true to me and was one of the highlights of season four to me.

[thewertsearch]

Oh, please tell me we're getting a SBaHJ-styled recap.

Uh... no. That's not a question I'd thought to ask.

Based on what Karkat said about the Fourth Wall, I've been assuming that the Hussie character was going to stay non-canonical - and for good reason, too.

The author interludes only work because they're clearly not part of the story. If Hussie turns into a real character, then the nonsense above will bleed into the comic, and we'll just be watching Looney Tunes. Now, I like Looney Tunes, but Looney Tunes couldn't pull off a Descend or a Make Her Pay. It doesn't have the right tone.

In short: a Homestuck where Hussie starts interfering with canonical events is a Homestuck without dramatic stakes. How can it have stakes when the author's in the room, reminding us that this is all fake, actually?

The fact that this is being brought up at all is making me a little worried...

When the time comes, I will interact directly with the events of this narrative. But this moment will be responsibly confined to a passive intervention. [...] My window of influence, end to end, will be exactly ONE YARD.

...and hearing the explicit statement 'I will interact directly with the events of this narrative' is doing nothing to reassure me.

Maybe I'm not giving Hussie enough credit. He is the one who wrote Karkat's Fourth Wall misgivings, so he's clearly aware of the thin ice he's standing on here. So far, Homestuck's meta shenanigans haven't interfered with the plot, and I'm just going to hope that this state of affairs continues.

I don't know what's up with this 'yard', either - but since it's coming directly from Hussie, I'd be a fool to take it too seriously. Hopefully, it's just some extended joke, and doesn't actually represent Hussie jumping into the story.

Please.

So that’s the Tumor. It certainly appears organic, and the tendrils extending from its edges make it look like it's slowly spreading throughout Skaia. Maybe it just keeps growing forever, until it collapses into a star-destroying black hole.

There's also a clear yin-yang theming, which could represent multiple dichotomies - but since we're on the Battlefield, I think it's symbolic of the struggle between Prospit and Derse. This struggle has been 'corrupted' by Jack's interference, and can no longer conclude the way it's supposed to.

The walls also bear the sigils of the Players, which makes me wonder what this chamber was originally for. It's located at the exact center of the session, which seems like it'd be important.

I doubt it's solely intended to house the Tumor. Rose isn't sure whether theirs is unique, but both of her hypotheses imply that it wouldn't exist in a non-doomed session.

Ten hours, eh? That’s significantly more time than I was expecting, especially since the Veil’s timeline is down to less than three.

[jackoshadows]

A tale of two marriages.

The vast difference in how Jon Snow deals with the marriages of Arya and Sansa Stark has already been mentioned. However, I noticed there are also other differences in the overall narrative as well.

First, two Kings - Robb Stark and Stannis Baratheon - refer to and use Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion to affirm that Sansa will never get Winterfell while positing that Jon Snow should be Lord of Winterfell.

“Young, and a king,” he said. “A king must have an heir.  If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. By law Sansa is next in line of succession, so Winterfell and the north  would pass to her.” His mouth tightened. “To her, and her lord husband. Tyrion Lannister. I cannot allow that. I will not allow that. That dwarf must never have the north.” - Robb Stark, ASoS

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa."

"Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father's seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow." - Stannis Baratheon, ADwD

In contrast, two Kings - Mance Rayder and Stannis Baratheon - are trying to save Arya Stark from her marriage to Ramsay Bolton for Jon Snow.

He glanced at the letter again. I will save your sister if I can. A surprisingly tender sentiment from Stannis - Jon, ADwD

Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

It’s interesting that Stannis has this ‘tender sentiment’ while vowing that Sansa will never get Winterfell considering that Arya too is married to his enemy Ramsay Bolton. Maybe he intends for Ramsay Bolton to be dead soon which would free Arya to make other alliances. Or maybe he hates the Lannisters more than the Boltons.

Additionally there is no other mention of the Sansa/Tyrion marriage in the Northern context, no Northern houses or lords who bring it up, no secret plotting that revolves around this marriage. In contrast Arya’s marriage to Ramsay is mentioned in the four corners of the North, from the Wall to Winterfell, from Deepwood Motte to White Harbor and is a driving force for many of the characters’ actions and plotting. It’s more important in terms of ‘The North Remembers’ and Northern uprising against the Lannisters in King’s Landing, the Freys and the Boltons considering it revolves around Lady Arya Stark present in Winterfell.

This is why - as GRRM has pointed out in interviews - Arya’s marriage to Ramsay is a necessary and important book plot.

Unintentionally. A little change in a long narrative can have big changes further on. You know, when we remove Jeyne Poole from season one, then you don’t have Jeyne Poole to be the fake Arya, as happens in the book. So what do you do then? The butterfly effect has done that.

It’s not Jeyne Poole’s marriage to Ramsay Bolton that is driving all these mini subplots in the North.Yes, it’s sad that no one would care if Ramsay married Jeyne just like no one cared that Jeyne got send off to the brothels while Sansa was a high value hostage of the Lannisters. Just like no one cared about Jeyne’s story in the books until the show replaced her with Sansa and suddenly there were discussions about rape in the series.

GRRM: I was trying to set up Jeyne for her future role as the false Arya.   The real Arya has escaped and is presumed dead.  But this girl has been in Littlefinger's control for years, and he's been training her.  She knows Winterfell, has the proper northern accent, and can pose as Arya. Who the hell knows what a little girl you met two years ago looks like?  When your a lord visiting Winterfell, are you going to pay attention to the little kids running around?  So she can pull off the impersonation.  Not having Jeyne, they used Sansa for that.  Is that better or worse?  You can make your decision there.  Oddly, I never got pushback for that in the book because nobody cared about Jeyne Poole that much.  They care about Sansa.

In the books, it’s Arya marriage that has two kings trying to save her, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch breaking sworn oaths, the Mountain clans and Northern houses marching with Stannis for the Ned’s precious little girl. They all think that’s Arya Stark in Winterfell. Arya may not be physically there, but it’s the marriage of Arya Stark in Winterfell in front of the Heart Tree, being given away by kin, Theon Greyjoy, that’s being used to hold the North and lend legitimacy to Ramsay Bolton as Lord of Winterfell.

[extasiswings]

Also idk if it’s a timing and scheduling thing or they just didn’t have the room for it but I find it odd that Eddie has been with Marisol for how long now? And we’ve had no significant scenes with them two at all. Like Tommy showed up swept Buck off his feet and smooched his ass in like an ep or 2. But like we’ve seen crickets from Eddie and Marisol. the story has to be that they’re gonna eventually break up because truly and honestly what has there been that would even have us remotely root for them lol. And she’s definitely showing up next episode but I sincerely doubt that they’ll be able to get people on that train. Which brings me back to the point that we are not supposed to think that they last because genuinely why would they

Yeah, not to put too fine a point on it, but regardless of how compressed a timeframe they're working with, if they wanted us to care then they would be trying to make us care, and they just aren't. If her coming back in 7x05 was intended to be anything other than the beginning of the end for them (and if this was intended to actually be a relationship instead of a plot device for Eddie's development), they would have made at least a bare minimum of effort to reintroduce her and their relationship. They could have given her more than a one line drive-by appearance in 7x01, but they didn't. And that's not because they didn't have the time, no, it's just that they made a choice to dedicate a solid 1/3 of the episode instead to Buck/Eddie/Christopher and Shannon, which basically tells the audience "this woman doesn't matter, but these relationships over here, those are the ones that are important." Eddie mentions that Marisol watched Chris twice while he was out with Tommy, but similarly, Buck finds that entirely nonthreatening - Chris spending time with Tommy and thinking he's cool though? That sent Buck into a whole spiral. Also similarly, Eddie's relationship with Tommy has had more screentime and development than his relationship with Marisol. And yes, that's partly because it was key to Buck's bisexuality arc, but still - it's signaling what they care about and what the audience is supposed to care about. And right now, Eddie's new friendship with Tommy - shown through both screentime and discussions of their shared interests - is substantially more believable than his relationship with Marisol who we don't know anything about as a person let alone anything about their relationship. Which...considering the title of 7x05 is "You Don't Know Me," I have an inkling we're going to find out that Eddie knows about as much about his own girlfriend of several months as the audience does. A whole lot of nothing meaningful. And if it seems at all like Eddie's just going through the motions or has doubts? There's no coming back from that when the audience doesn't care about her in the first place. So, yeah, even if it takes a few more episodes, they're donezo.

[accidentwithapen]

Hiii!!! GIGS in Space AU Once Again on my mind so heres a quick plot rundown allll put in one post

If you read through this all i love you <3

If not, have this grian doodle anyways

So Grian, Scar, Impulse, and Skizz are all prisoners in this like,,, dystopian space society. All are imprisoned for different reasons:

- Grian is a vandalist, doing graffiti and setting minor explosions around different government/company sites. When arrested and asked why he does what he does, he claims "it's about the principal"

- Impulse worked as a mechanic for a major company, but an incident resulting in a death and 3 injuries gets wrongfully pinned on him. He still believes that all circumstances surrounding his arrest are just one big misunderstanding. The company, however, doesnt care.

- Skizz is a hacker, and good at it too. He logs into the system of the same company Impulse worked for, and subsequently gets caught red-handed.

- Nobody knows why Scar is arrested. There are many rumors spread around the prison wing that he and Grian are in that Scar is Secretly A Mob Boss for the Con Corp. family. But surely someone so clumsy and silly cant possibly be so powerful, right? thats what Grian thinks, anyways.

So these doofuses have two options.

1. they can serve their sentence rotting in a shitty space prison with Nothing To Do and being forced into manual labor

2. they can get out slightly earlier after enough time spent doing Community Service

They go for the second one, which Happens to be gathering extraterrestrial data for Impulse's old Company (i need a name for it dear god its ridiculous at this point). So after all independently choosing the community service option, they get grouped into a squad of the four of them and get sent out to different semi-abandoned planets to hunt monsters/ghosts/aliens and collect data. What they eventually figure out is that the reason they are given so much freedom with their community service is that they are not intended to survive. They devise an escape plan and on their third mission together, they successfully escape together.

Its important to note that Scar and Grian came from the same cell block, so Grian decides to tell Skizz and Impulse about the mob boss rumors (as a prank, of course), and warns them that Scar Doesn't Like Swearing. basically scaring everyone into facing these cosmic horrors with a PG attitude

So the GIGS escape with a real shitty spacecraft and are on the run from the government (theres no way they're gonna succeed like this) up until they get captured. but not by the government.

They get captured by morally gray, filthy rich, weapons manufacturer Doc. (or his hitman at least, one Geminitay)

Doc explains to the GIGS that he has paid all of their bail fees, and now they must work off their debt to him. as delivery boys.

Doc enlists Gem to look after the GIGS during their deliveries. Gem Does Not Like This but shes not gonna say no to her boss.

Basically the rest of it is a silly stupid sci fi sitcom about funny found family doing goofy delivery missions and learning more about each other along the way.

Oh, and remember those rumors about Scar? Theyre all true. And there are Consequences for his absence in the family....

Heres some extra little character notes:

- While Impulse believes his arrest was a genuine mistake at first, during their second bout of community service, he and skizz discover how little the company actually cares about its employees and Impulse gets real mad that his entire livelihood is a lie and goes ham and wrecks some shit (good for him)

- Gem was taken in by Doc at a very young age, with life-threatening injuries. Doc used his experience with mad sciencery to fix her up with whatever he had on hand, mostly animal parts. now shes a hybrid.

- Gem sees Doc as a father figure, but has No Clue how to express that so from her perspective shes just Really Loyal to her boss and doing nothing more than paying off a life debt.

- Grian has a mycelium infection running up his arm that he keeps secret from everyone else. the first in the group to find out about it is Gem

- Scar uses mobility aids of many varieties, but mostly uses a cane with robotic leg splints on missions

Anyways thats all for now, if you wanna see some more doodles and stuff you can look around my gigs in space tag!!

[teruthecreator]

(tw for racism, pedophilia, transphobia, child impregnation mention)

yeah idk why y'all read this

i was originally going to just post this and have some tags with my reasonings, but i realized that opens me up to too much bullshit from people who may think i'm being unnecessarily mean or whatever. so i'm going to explain exactly why the screenshots above are something i hold issue with.

firstly, and i just want to get this out of the way, this post is not intended to be a hit piece against the creator. i've seen how she reacts to any mild-mannered or slightly joking criticism, so i know this post is probably going to not land well. but it isn't my intention to make her mad or anything--she's writing a piece of content for the internet, which means she is just as open to criticism as any other poster. and what i intend to go into in this post is criticism. i'm allowed to do this, as that is the nature of the internet. people are allowed to critique whatever they please, and if you don't want critique then you shouldn't post. simple as!

i am also making no attempts to posit myself as better than the creator. i'm not doing this for clout or moral superiority or any of that dumb shit. i simply want to discuss something that's been bothering me for a bit, while simultaneously warning people who haven't read this yet (who may be sensitive to the issues above) to steer clear. if things like casual racism or transphobia aren't properly tagged, then readers who are affected by such things run a risk reading this! same goes with people who are triggered by lewd content involving minors. i wanna make sure people are getting a more critical scope of this work than what has been hoisted up by others.

okay, now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'm going to get into my points.

firstly, the subtle and not-so-subtle racism throughout this fic, especially in relation to serizawa. i'm white, so there is only so much i can speak on without trampling over the words of other fans of color, but some of this feels so blatant it's odd it hasn't been noted earlier. it's important to note before i go into it that serizawa is specifically written as half-black half-japanese for this fic, in case the screenshots don't make it abundantly clear. but there are just too many moments of casual racism in this fic. i'm not talking about the plot point of serizawa being bullied as a kid for being mixed; i'm not mixed, so i can't speak on the accuracy there but it is well-known that black people face a lot of racism in japan. i'm talking about how it seems everyone else has these racist moments that aren't acknowledged by serizawa or the narration as being bad.

reigen hypothesizing over serizawa's exact ethnic background is just strange. yes he's a fairly observant guy (he has to be, with his job), but there is no canonical evidence to suggest he would immediately jump to theorizing whether serizawa is american or not. and the way it's posed in that first quote--"he has darker skin and the kind of hair texture that would likely indicate African ancestry"--is not great. that's an extremely inappropriate way to bring up someone's race. i don't think most people would stare at someone and be like "hmmm well your nose shape and hair texture would suggest you're of this race". it's racial essentialization that is only slightly covered up by the excuse of "oh he tweets in english". there are some other smaller moments of questionable wording, like calling serizawa's afro "sloppy" when it isnt (which btw there's another issue with the creator only referring to an afro as a "fro". it's a hairstyle; you're allowed to use the actual name of it). even if reigen cuts his hair in canon, he never states it's because serizawa's afro looks sloppy. (also there's something to be said about the casual racism baked into making your employee cut his natural hairstyle for a job, as that is a very real issue many black people face when wearing their natural hair or even protective styles in the workplace.)

i'm especially bothered by toichiro's very casual racist remarks. toichiro in this fic is a general bother of mine (most of which can be boiled down to "he would not fucking say that"), but the way she chooses to characterize him in relation to serizawa feels gross. calling a black man a slave should be a very obvious red flag, but also saying serizawa (again, as a black man) has a "brutal masculine appeal" is also extremely stereotypical and racist. and really there is just no need for it; toichiro's actions in canon prove how shitty of a guy he is without the need for him to be racist (along with other things i'll get to in a bit). as my girlfriend put it: he doesn't need to be a member of the fucking kkk to show he's a bad guy.

there's also, again, the very casual racist remark of calling serizawa a "dog". i don't care if that isn't the intent; when you are writing a character of color you need to be aware of your wording, even in insults (unless she intended to make tsuchiya racist, which i don't think she did).

secondly, the eugenics/child pregnancy bit. it is surreal to even have to write this, but i seriously do not understand the purpose of either of these bits in the story. they are so minor yet so jarring you can't help but wonder why they're there. once again, i do not think you need to have toichiro doing esper eugenics just to prove he is an evil guy. he has nuance, and by making him casually reference child pregnancy (like that isn't an INSANE thing to say) reduces that nuance to nothing. that's the only reason i could see why that bit was included: to make toichiro look worse. but, even still, the author is running the risk of potentially triggering victims of csa or people who don't want to see that by not properly tagging the mention of it (or, at the very least, warning readers in the intro notes). the only other explanation for it would maybe be shock factor??? but that's a pretty shitty thing to use for shock factor, if i'm honest. also the fact that the esper eugenics was referenced again in a more recent chapter just has me very disturbed and confused. there isn't a canonical explanation for why we see less espers who are women than espers who are men, but that doesn't mean we need to jump to fucking Eugenics. it's weird!

thirdly (and this is probably one of my biggest problems and the main reason i wanted to make this post), the weirdly lewd/sexual language shou uses constantly, along with referring to reigen as a pedo or a creep at several points. frankly, i think it's pretty fucking gross for someone in their near-40's to be writing a 12-year-old talking so casually about sex like that's normal. which, i'm sorry, but it's not. yes, teens know about sex and like to joke about lewd shit. but a 12-year-old is not about to make references to a grown man's virginity. 12-year-olds draw dicks on their desk bc they think it's funny. 12-year-olds say the word "buttfuck" because it has the words "butt" and "fuck" in it, and those are the two funniest words on earth to a kid that age. i literally do not understand the purpose of having shou be so lewd all the time. for one, it doesn't make sense for his character. shou is shown time and time again to be extremely mature for his age, but that maturity extends to shit like assembling a counter-terrorism unit and extending a hand to his father to allow him to try again. and even then he's still just as naive as any other kid his age! the omake where he's telling his guys to go to the "far right corner" based on ritsu’s advice proves that he still has plenty of blindspots that are indicative of his age. leaning into this raunchy, lewd version of shou is just weird. and, again, i think it is made a bit weirder given the author's age!!! not ageshaming or whatever--i'm 23 and i write fanfic, clearly i cannot judge there--but it is just extremely inappropriate in my opinion. also having shou be more versed in sextalk than serizawa is odd too and speaks to a larger issue of serizawa's infantilzation throughout this fic, but that's something i can get into in another post if people want an explanation.

also, the way she constantly calls reigen a creep and even has him being accused of being a pedophile during the twitter cancellation is extremely inappropriate when, again, there is NO CANONICAL BASIS FOR THIS! everyone just calls him a fraud and a scammer during separation arc; there is never a reference to reigen being seen as a pedophile in that arc. and, yes, while there are versions of mob psycho where reigen is very clearly written as a creep (looking very specifically at the netflix adaptation), that doesn't mean it's good. honestly, the creep mentions all just feel like really poor jokes that do not land in the slightest.

finally, the transphobia (aka WHY IS SHIMAZAKI A CHASER). i literally do not know what else to say other than: why? why is this a thing? why is he a chaser? what is the purpose of this? is it a joke? i feel like it's supposed to be, but seeing as the author is cis i don't think that's a joke she should really be making. it not only comes out of left field, but it's just kind of a weird thing to ascribe to a character for no reason. not to mention, it's uncomfortable! trans women deal with enough creepy antics from cis men in real life--why must they be accosted by this guy too? it's just weird and uncomfortable.

i wanna round out this post by saying, once again, that i'm not trying to attack anyone with this post. but i do hope people come away from this with a new perspective on this work, and maybe think twice before recommending it uncritically to someone. to the author specifically, i hope you can read my post without rage or indignance blinding you. i might be a little blunt or rude in parts, but it's only because i'm passionate and i don't mince my words when it comes to things i'm passionate about. to the readers, understand i am not judging you for reading this fic without noticing these things. your own life experiences will give you certain blindspots and there's nothing wrong with that. i have plenty of blindspots of my own! it's what makes us human.

there is more i could say, but this post is long enough. i ask that if you come to me in my inbox or in dms about this that you treat me with respect, as i will do that for you. writing something like this took a lot out of me, as i'm usually not so open about my opinion on shit like this.

have a good day :-)

[feministsouthpark]

South Park Filler Guide - Season 5

Link for Season 1  Link for Season 2 Link for Season 3 Link for Season 4

I find the existence of filler guides quite amusing, since for some shows it makes sense (like Naruto), but for others (like Pokemon) it absolutely doesn’t and they still exist. So here is an attempt to do an absolutely unnecessary one just for fun. 😅

The classifications are CANON (an episode with major storylines present), LORE (in which we get significant backstory or world building, but could be skippable)  and FILLER (completely skippable episodic storytelling, not connected to overarching story arcs)

PLS my analysis will have spoilers, if you’re a first time viewer, just scroll to the bottom and read the list and only read full text if you are familiar with the content of the show already! S5E1 Scott Tenorman Must Die is CANON

It is an important episode, it develops Eric and morphs him into a new role, kind of a villain origin story. Also, yes, this is not a mistake, this IS the intended season premiere. It aired as episode 4, but it is earlier by production code.

S5E2 It Hits The Fan is FILLER

Curse words now have an origin story. S5E3 Cripple Fight is CANON

This is how Stan, Kenny, Eric, Butters and Timmy first met Jimmy. Butters also slowly but surely emerges as a major character. S5E4 Super Best Friends is CANON

Be aware, this is very canon, despite some sites pulling it for... Being culturally inclusive? Oh no, I posted a drawing of Muhammad, hope I don't get cancelled. S5E5 Terrance and Phillip: Behind the Blow is LORE

If you for some reason really like these two, this one episode helps you get how Terrance has put on weight, since he will be seen in later episodes more plump than before.

S5E6 Cartmanland is FILLER

This is one of the episodes in which we see Kyle and Eric being universally opposed forces. But other than that it's just cementing the status quo.

S5E7 Proper Condom Use is CANON

Because of Diane and Mr. Mackey side-plot which kinda has further consequences, not really, but it's a red herring for a cause of death.

S5E8 Towelie is CANON

Only because Towelie will be back and otherwise you can't really explain him existing. S5E9 Osama Bin Laden has Farty Pants is FILLER

It was important to US citizens, but basically nonexistent in the further South Park lore. S5E10 How to Eat with Your Butt is FILLER

It's a great Eric episode that also helped Jimmy to come to the foreground, but other than that the events aren't important.

S5E11 The Entity is CANON

Because of Kyle. No, not the Broflovski kid, Kyle 2. I mean Kyle 1, the OG. He will be back.

S5E12 Here Comes the Neighborhood is FILLER

Tolkien gets an episode, the whole thing is like a Peanuts special, it's great. Overall it doesn't account to much and Tolkien will have time to shine later too.

S5E13 Kenny Dies is CANON

Obvious. One of the main characters die. I won't tell you who it is, but they for sure will stay dead, so that's a canon episode for sure.

S5E14 Butters' Very Own Episode is...

Well, what do you think? It has a different theme song, it focuses on characters that were never the focus before. It's also the most important episode in context of the next season, basically Butters gets his own pilot backdoor episode for his ascension to main cast member, while we also get to know his parents in depth. A bit of Herbert lore in this as well as Old Farmer's introduction.

SPOILER-FREE RUNDOWN

Again, CANON means you should watch it, FILLER means you can skip it, LORE is somewhere in-between, any episode with the LORE label will have an explanation that helps you decide if you should include it or not.

S5E1 Scott Tenorman Must Die is CANON S5E2 It Hits The Fan is FILLER S5E3 Cripple Fight is CANON S5E4 Super Best Friends is CANON S5E5 Terrance and Phillip: Behind the Blow is LORE* S5E6 Cartmanland is FILLER S5E7 Proper Condom Use is CANON S5E8 Towelie is CANON S5E9 Osama Bin Laden has Farty Pants is FILLER S5E10 How to Eat with Your Butt is FILLER S5E11 The Entity is CANON S5E12 Here Comes the Neighborhood is FILLER S5E13 Kenny Dies is CANON S5E14 Butters' Very Own Episode is CANON

*If you need to know about Terrance's personal health

CANON counter:

S1: 9 out of 13 S2: 3 out of 18 S3: 6 out of 18 S4: 10 out of 17 S5: 8 out of 14 Overall: 36 out of 80

[melbatron5000]

The Clues of Good Omens are trolling us

I didn't reblog this post I saw a few days ago, and now I'm regretting it. Not like, I'll be on my death bed full of thoughts of this post, but like, it made a solid point and I think it's worth repeating.

I had already been thinking about some of the stuff various Ineffable Mystery Game Players are noting, and wondering how important some of this stuff is. There are some wild little details that people are chasing down.

I think that's fascinating. I also think it's not the slightest bit important to figuring out the hidden story; and if it leads to anything, it's going to circle back to things that can be found in other, easier-to-spot Clues. That's NOT to say I don't think people should be doing it. I am; at least somewhat. It's FUN.

I DO think a lot of layers of detail and intricacies have been added to the show to trip up people looking for what's going on. Much like digging for dinosaur bones, there's nothing to be found in the top layer, interesting stuff that's probably not dinosaurs under that, and real dinosaurs under that. Look too deep, though, and you bypass the dinosaurs entirely and start finding more interesting stuff that's also not dinosaurs. If you're just digging for joy, great. Have at it. There's a ton there. If you're looking for dinos, though, you need to know how far to dig and where to stop.

The post I mentioned said, paraphrasing: "It's a TV show. Whatever's going on has to be quickly explainable to the casual viewer. Most of the TV audience isn't digging this deep or going to be able to follow some of these really crackpot theories."

This is true. This is absolutely true.

So far, all my own theories do fit inside an easy-to-explain-in-a-few-seconds model. And I intend to work to keep them that way. Are some of my Clues a little off-the-wall? Sure, but wherever I found them, they're still dinosaurs. Several of them have easier Clues than what I dug up, but they all lead back to the same place: a story that will make sense when explained quickly.

Two Crowleys? Just have to have the second one walk on screen. Secret twins have been done before on many shows. Done.

Gabriel stole records from Heaven that Aziraphale will use to take them down? A quick flashback will show us that -- we might not even need that much. "The records Gabriel stole when he left," Aziraphale says, and a bunch of the picture snaps into place for the casual viewer. Maybe not the entire thing, but enough that they can follow.

Saraqael has been working with Crowley and Aziraphale? Show the three of them talking not in code about literally anything, it becomes clear they're cooperating.

Missing scenes? Again, a short sequence showing us that something got jumped over -- and how it got jumped over -- will put that to rest. We don't have to necessarily know what got jumped over, just that something did.

Nina is Jesus 2.0? Listen to what I just said -- how quick was that? How difficult to understand?

The whole entire picture doesn't have to be drawn out in intricate detail for the casual audience to follow the gist. I think plenty of Ineffable Mystery will be left intact for us to keep mining for years and years. But the main points, the important plot points, will be quickly summed up.

I'm going to keep digging willy-nilly, because it's fun. There's a lot to find. But I'm also going to try to keep my thoughts based in the story as it would be told to someone interested in sci-fi/fantasy TV. Viewers like that tend to be brighter than the average bear, but not all of us are mystery sleuths. I'm not looking for Atlantis, I'm looking for dinosaurs. If I find Atlantis while I'm down there, cool. But I'm not going to hang that from a wire and put it on display at the Smithsonian in the paleontology wing.

Nobody would get it.

[eoieopda]

menace (pjm) — pt. iii

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 3/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Word Count: 5K Content: (General) Seokjin’s younger sister AU; fuck buddies that hate each other AU; reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV; nudity; minor injury/blood mention; (SMUT | 18+) oral sex (f); fingering (v); squirting; and — worst of all — k*ss*ng. A/N: Things are, uh, happening, so this has more plot than porn (comparatively speaking.) Also, I’m trying to cover a lot of time in a few parts, so this is the first time skip — from Valentine’s Day (February, obvi,) to Chuseok (September.) The next chapter will be a flashback because we love a villain origin story in this house 🏠

Your arrangement had three rules, and three rules only.

The first of which was easy enough to follow: no kissing. Either of you could bite, lick, or suck on the other to your heart’s content, but under no circumstances should there be kissing. It was too intimate, too romantic. Too ironic, you’d concede, that Jimin was permitted to put his mouth on anything but yours. Still, it was a line neither of you would dare to cross.

Romance had no business here.

The second rule was that staying the night was only permissible to avoid serious injury or death — or if, in the event of an Act of God, you were otherwise unable to leave.

This came into effect the very first night you went to his house, when the terms of this arrangement were settled. Somewhere between you nagging at him and him tossing you up onto his kitchen counter, the record-breaking storm outside downed a power line at the end of the driveway. And even if that broken pole hadn’t trapped your car where it sat, the flooded street would have.

Otherwise, the deal was that you’d get it in, then you'd get out.

The third rule was the most important because it was created to cover the loopholes of rule number two: no cuddling, ever.

The only thing more intimate than kissing was having someone’s naked body curled against yours while they snored into your skin. This kind of vulnerability was to be avoided at all costs. It was unforgivable — a red card that would result in immediate ejection from the game.

Until now, there had been no violations.

When bright white sunlight hit your freshly opened eyes, you were disoriented. You recognized your own bedroom, of course, but the issue wasn’t where; it was when. Given how soundly you slept, you couldn’t tell how long you’d been out. You could tell that every muscle in your body was staunchly opposed to movement of any kind — up to and including your eyelids, which were still weighed down with sleep.

Instinctively, you rubbed your eyes to see a little clearer. Instantly, you regretted doing so once you noticed the way your day-old eyeliner stained your fingers black. Motherfucker. You didn’t know much, but you knew better than to fall asleep without running through your nightly skincare routine first.

If you ever regained the ability to move, you’d go straight to the shower and get yourself sorted. After the gauntlet you'd survived the night before, you deserved to be surrounded by steam and blissful warmth. Your legs felt as though they’d been encased in cement, however, and you couldn't will them to budge. The rest of you felt heavy, too; but you soon realized it wasn’t your exhaustion weighing you down.

It was the unanticipated arm draped over the curve of your waist.

You jerked when you saw it as if it were a snake primed to bite you. You didn’t intend to flail or to throw your elbow backwards into his unsuspecting chest. You didn’t necessarily feel bad about it, either.

Jimin screamed when your sudden act of violence knocked him awake. Shooting bolt upright, his sleep-laden limbs couldn't coordinate his movements. Unceremoniously and tied in a knot of sheets, he rolled off the edge of your bed to the floor. From your rug, he rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder and huffed, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Initially, your glare focused intently on his face, which had sheet marks pressed into his cheek. Then, you noticed that the stark-naked man sprawled out below you was standing at attention. He gasped when the same realization dawned on him, and his hands flew down to cover himself to the best of his ability. His attempts were laughably futile — even if his hands weren’t so slight, there was too much to hide.

For a moment, your stony expression cracked and you snorted. Immediately, you checked yourself before he got the inaccurate impression that you found his clumsy act of modesty to be cute. With a roll of your eyes, you sighed, “Not like I haven’t seen it before, Park.”

“There’s cock, and then there’s unsuspecting morning dick,” he groaned, his voice like gravel and yet still so childish. “Some shit is not meant to be perceived in the unforgiving light of day.”

You shrugged off his embarrassment, unwilling to hear more of his dissertation on dicks and daylight.

“You know the rules,” you stated simply while you slipped out from under your duvet. Unabashedly nude, you didn’t bat an eye. Jimin didn’t even try not to stare.

You hit him with a pointed look as you grabbed your phone off your nightstand, “When I get out of the shower, you better be gone.”

No parting glance was offered as you stepped coolly around him. You didn’t say anything further to acknowledge him before shuffling out of your bedroom to the bathroom. Once inside, you shut the door behind you and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. The chilly porcelain bit at the undersides of your bare thighs, but you ignored it and waited for the water to heat up to the perfect, scalding temperature.

After an abysmally slow climb, it eventually did; you pulled the switch that brought your shower-head back from the dead. With a rattle, your poor old pipes sputtered in disapproval. Like you, they were too worn out for this level of activity. You’d been meaning to call your landlord about the issue, but you suspected he’d hit you with the usual “it’ll get fixed faster if you do it yourself.”

If you were tall enough to reach, perhaps you might’ve done so by now. Too small and too tired, you stepped under the water and let the heavy droplets pummel your skin awake.

As you ran a loofa down your arms and legs, you were distracted by the swath of marks on your skin. Everywhere you looked, there was some scratch, bruise, or love bite. You wondered if the latter was the right term to use.

The tiny galaxies of blue, purple, and yellow were fueled exclusively by a toxic blend of lust and rivalry, nothing more. Those little contusions were the result of clashing titans, conquering as many objectives on the war map as possible — love had nothing to do with it.

When you finished washing, shampooing, and conditioning, you simply stood still. The steam loosened the tension held tight throughout your body and permitted your foggy mind to wander. You wished it hadn’t because you couldn’t seem to control the direction it took, where it led you and to whom.

There was something different about last night, and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to spend all night in the throes of absolute depravity. In fact, that’s how you’d spent most nights over the past year. You were both ruthless competitors, both incapable of letting the other have the last word. This was obvious in any of your conversations; but it was most applicable to whatever this was.

You both needed to deliver the TKO, to cause the orgasm so earth-shattering, the other would have to bend the knee. The two of you dealt in power moves and that was the ultimate — but last night didn’t feel like a title fight. So, then, what was it?

Once the heat of the water started to make you unsteady on your feet, you determined it was time to get out. You didn’t want to, however; it was always such a feat to leave a cozy bed to then stumble naked into a cold bathroom. When that dreaded commute was over, it was even harder to leave the warm shroud of steam you’d exchanged it for.

With a put-upon grumble, you grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it tightly around your middle. For good measure, you used a second to sop up the excess water from your hair before spreading a thin layer of moisturizer over your heat-flushed face. You should’ve stayed put, cherished that cocoon a little longer, but you didn’t.

The second you opened your bathroom door, you regretted it. The comparatively frigid air hit you hard enough to force a gasp as you turned and headed for your kitchen. You made a beeline for your refrigerator, pausing only to glance at the monthly calendar pinned to the front of it with a bottle-opening magnet. When you saw the date, your face fell and took your mood with it.

You kept trying to forget the encroaching holiday and for good reason: Seokjin was spending it with his girlfriend at her family’s home in Jeonju. For the first time in your life, you were your own. The idea of spending Chuseok alone in your house made your heart twinge, but there wasn’t a thing to be done about it now. You quickly bottled that impermissible sadness back up and opened the refrigerator.

Oh.

Unsurprisingly yet still disappointingly, it was a wasteland. One half-empty carton of eggs and a lonely block of cheddar cheese seemed to mock you from their spot on an otherwise bare shelf. You’d clearly forgotten to go grocery shopping despite the numerous post-it notes you’d left to remind yourself. With the holiday, the shops would be closed for three days — scrambled eggs would have to do until the weekend.

Ain’t it fun being on your own?

You stood on tiptoe to reach the frying pan, which hung from a hook on the wall above the counter. With a bit more effort than your fatigued limbs were willing to co-sign, you stretched until your fingertips could graze it. Swatting uselessly at it, you wondered how you’d managed to get it up there in the first place. Whatever witchcraft you must’ve previously employed sure would’ve been helpful now.

“Hope you’re making enough for two.”

Your fingers missed the falling pan by a meter, and you nearly jumped out of your skin as it clattered against the countertop, then bounced off towards the floor. It was impossible to tell what scared you more: the sound of angry metal against ceramic, or the disembodied voice laughing at you from behind.

Either way, you snatched the pan off the ground and wheeled around, weapon at the ready. Jimin, who was stretched out on the sofa in your adjoining living room, raised his hands in self-defense.

“Easy does it, puppy,” He teased, “Put down the cast iron before you hurt yourself.”

You glowered at him, filled with a rage only his smug face and that undying childhood nickname could ignite in you. For two decades, people had been needling you with that comparison. Teasing you constantly, pointing out the eager, attention-starved little sister trailing after Seokjin and his older, cooler friends. Until now, Jimin hadn’t been one of them.

Unwilling to expend limited energy on that particular fight today, you smacked the pan down on the surface of the stove. Attitude locked and loaded, you fired off: “Shouldn’t you have left by now? Like, hours ago?”

Jimin shrugged, unbothered, “I was too tired to drive, even if I could walk to my car.”

Ringed fingers traipsed over the joggers clinging to his thighs. Dizzying muscles notwithstanding, you couldn't imagine they'd been put through more of a workout than yours. The indignant look you shot his way seemed not to graze him.

“That’s not an excuse. We have rules, remember?” You turned your back to him and ignited the burner. “The reason this works at all is because we don’t try to play house the morning after. You go and do whatever it is you do; and I go about my day — in peace.”

“It’s Chuseok.”

His abrupt observation stopped you in your tracks. Heaving an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “So?”

“So, my family is traveling abroad,” He quipped, like this was a sufficient explanation for his continued presence. “There is no ‘whatever it is’ to do.”

As he stretched his arms lazily above his head, a faint trail of dark hair appeared in the gap between his shirt hem and belt. Just as soon as you caught yourself staring, you quickly returned to cracking eggs over the pan. With a dry laugh, you mused, “That sounds like a you problem, not a me problem.”

You’d have been perfectly content to listen to your breakfast as it sizzled. You would’ve loved to bask in the peace and quiet of your lazy morning, but you couldn’t because Park Jimin couldn’t take a goddamn hint. Instead, he kept on prodding.

“Seokjin’s with Chaeyoung, so I know you don’t have shit to do, either.”

With your back to him, Jimin couldn’t see the way your mouth curved into an involuntary frown. He could sense it in your posture, though; your shoulders dipped ever so slightly. For once, he hadn’t been aiming for an exposed nerve — but he’d clearly managed to strike one. He was simply noting that you also had nowhere to rush off to; and no reason to kick him out into the cold just yet.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your unaffected tone tried its best to cover how affected you truly were. Jimin saw right through you and the dismissive wave of your hand. “Presently, or generally.”

From behind you, you heard movement and feared that he was on his way over to you. With a furtive glance out of the corner of your eye, you determined that he hadn’t gotten up — he’d made himself even more comfortable on your couch and kicked his feet up on your coffee table. His voice lilted across your living room to where you stood, in your kitchen. You could hear the shit-eating grin in his words, even if you couldn’t see it.

Unbeknownst to you, Jimin’s teasing was intended to distract you from whatever thought was physically heavy enough to make you slump. “If you had anywhere to be, or anyone to be with, you wouldn’t be cooking yourself a depressing breakfast at three in the afternoon.

Shit, did I really sleep through half the day?

Then, to your horror, you realized that this meant you'd been together for nearly twenty-four hours. That fact felt like a violation even if there wasn’t a purposefully codified rule to break. Maybe, you thought, there should be a fourth one to limit prolonged exposure.

How did he manage to stick like a shadow? Would he ever just give it a rest?

“It’s none of your business what I'm up to because you’re not supposed to be here,” you shot back, mimicking the sing-song tone he’d fired at you. The edge of your rubber spatula scraped along the bottom of the pan, folding and separating the eggs into pieces as they cooked. “Go eat lunch in your own house.”

Jimin’s laughter reverberated through the room. “Why would I? You didn’t make four eggs for one person.”

You froze with your eyes fixed on the uncharacteristically large pile of scrambled eggs before you. It didn’t click until he pointed it out, but you’d unwittingly doubled your usual amount. Why? Surely, you hadn’t done it on purpose. There was no reality in which you’d cook for him.

“Best pull them off before you toast ‘em, puppy.”

Again with that goddamned nickname, reminding you — for the millionth time — that you’d only ever existed within the context of your relationship to Seokjin. Not someone, just someone’s little sister. A pet no one ever seemed to want.

With a smirk, Jimin hoisted himself up off the sofa and meandered over to you too casually, far too comfortable in your space. I really have to stop letting you in here. When he closed the distance between you, he reached over your shoulder and clicked off the burner. Worse still, his hand wrapped around your forearm and guided the pan over to the unused adjacent burner.

Low voice vibrating down your spine, he chided you. “You’ll definitely lose your security deposit if you burn the place down.”

His hand was lingering on your skin, and all you could do was stare up at him, mouth parted slightly like an idiot. You’d refused to look at him much while you cooked, thinking that ignoring him would make him disappear. Unfortunately, because you weren't an infant, you were plagued with object permanence.

And there he still was — permanently.

You eyed the bean-sprout ponytail holding back the longer, upper layer of his hair. It dawned on you for the first time that there was an undercut beneath it; one you’d somehow failed to notice in all the time you’d spent with your fingers tugging at his hair. How long had that been the case?

That haphazard knot at the top was the work of unbothered, unpracticed hands. Spare pieces hung down around his face, which was upsettingly poreless and smooth even though he wasn’t the one with the religiously adhered-to skin care regimen. A fucking Renaissance painting, in living color — in your kitchen.

Park Jimin was disgustingly angelic and it infuriated you, but you couldn't stop looking at him.

“Now, now,” he tutted, derailing your train of thought as he placed his hands on your waist and rudely lifted you out of his way. He did it too easily — like you weighed nothing. Setting you down to the left of the stove, he reached for the cabinet to the upper right. “Stop eyeing me like you want to frame me and hang me above your fireplace.”

Opting to ignore his point entirely, you snatched the plate he held out to you. You hated that he knew where you kept them. “I don’t have a fireplace,” was your nonchalant reply before you used your hip to nudge him back out of your way.

His eyebrows shot up at the audacity of you dumping the entirety of the pan’s contents onto your plate. With your back turned, an impish grin tugged at your lips. You weren’t hungry enough to eat it all yourself, but he needed a reminder on whose house he was in; and what he was and wasn’t entitled to.

“Raised by wolves!” Jimin muttered with a shake of his head. His frustration didn’t stop him from following you as you grabbed a half-empty bottle of buldak sauce out of the refrigerator, though. He was still at your heels when you shuffled off to the sofa.

He took the corner opposite you and turned inward to glare at you as you nestled up against the cushioned arm with a satisfied sigh. Those burning eyes stayed fixated on you as you made a big show of cozying yourself up against the throw pillows. Never one to forgo an opportunity, you gave him something worth watching.

Opening your mouth slowly, you slid your tongue out until the tip of it grazed the bottom of the egg dangling from your fork. Without breaking eye contact, you pulled it off between your teeth. A soft moan accompanied your chewing, as if this depressing mid-afternoon breakfast was the best thing you’d ever tasted. Jimin’s eyebrow twitched as you licked your lips, still refusing to tear your gaze away from him.

Gotcha, fucker.

He’d had quite enough of your little games. Without warning, Jimin grabbed the plate and fork from your hands and dropped them onto the coffee table with a clatter. Your eyes and mouth opened wide and froze that way.

That shocked expression only intensified when he grabbed your ankles in each hand and pulled your lower half towards him. You squeaked as your back slid down the arm of the sofa. Now flat against the seat cushions with your knees hinged over his shoulders, you were left to blink up at Jimin as he smirked down at you.

“Maybe you can finish your breakfast after I’ve had mine,” Jimin purred, leaning down to erase the space between your bodies. With your legs held hostage, his hands were free to push the ends of your towel to the side, out of his way. His pupils were blown as he looked up at you from a curtain of dark eyelashes.

You may have been hungry, but he was ravenous.

Face dipping down between your legs, his hot breath lit you on fire. He fanned the flames, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the inside of each thigh before suckling on the delicate skin he found there. The wet heat of his tongue and the sting of his suction caused your eyelids to flutter. You screwed them shut completely and tilted your head back as he continued his way towards your cunt, already dripping with need.

Jimin’s arms bent up underneath you, curling over your hips and forcing you still. You felt the cool tip of his nose brush against your core as those sloppy kisses ceased; and his mouth found what it’d been seeking. With his tongue dipping between your slicked folds, you melted into his arms with a low moan.

“So focused on your own appetite… Did you ever consider mine?” He murmured between flicks of his tongue, “Selfish, really.”

Your mouth was hanging open, but for once, you couldn’t find the words to bite back at him. Instead, you did something you’d never done before: you gave up. Bottom lip pinched tight between your teeth, you let the opportunity drop without any attempt to volley it.

Though you likely assumed that this was all for your benefit — or that he was merely exercising power over you — Jimin would beg to differ. He reveled in the unholy sounds you made as he devoured you. In a rare display of vulnerability, you surrendered yourself completely in moments like this. You collapsed limp and trusting in his arms, except for the hands clinging desperately to his hair; and he could momentarily believe that you were always this open, this inviting.

Like this, you were perfect. You looked it, too, with your high cheekbones flushing a shy shade of scarlet. Even the way your chest heaved was delicate, subtle enough that it felt like a secret meant for him; gentle, though the hammering it prompted in his own chest wasn’t. Still, it felt illegal to steal these glimpses of you like this; so, he attempted to blink the indelible image of your face away and pressed his even closer to your pretty pussy.

Of all the times Jimin had you in this position, it never felt like this. No hesitation, no animosity, just indescribable and uninterrupted pleasure tingling through every nerve — from your curling toes; to the goosebumps erupting on your skin; to the coil pulling tighter, tighter, tighter in your —

“Oh, fuck.”

At his chest-deep groan, you gasped, slapped your hands over your mouth, and screwed your bleary eyes shut. If you couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see you — and you couldn’t bear to look at him. You wouldn’t. You refused to face the mess you’d made of him, or whatever horrified expression he was wearing. The hands over your mouth slid up to cover your eyes.

As he sat back on his knees, Jimin lifted his arm to wipe the remnants of you off his face and onto the back of his hand. You were dripping off his chin, down his neck, to the damp collar of his t-shirt. He was panting, albeit less so than you, but he was beaming. He’d made you cum more times than he could count, but he had never made you cum like that before — and he'd previously considered himself an expert.

He reached up and wrapped his hands around yours, surprised when you allowed him to uncover your face. Cheeks burning pink with embarrassment, you winced when confronted with the sight of your release all over him.

“I don’t — Seriously, I’ve never —” you stammered hopelessly, wanting nothing more than to disappear. If you could, you’d sink completely into the gap between the cushions, never to be seen again, but Jimin wouldn't let you. Embarrassed and near to tears, you peeped, “I’m so sor—”

He let go of your hands and placed a finger over your lips, imploring you to shut up. “That was, without a doubt,” He paused and you withered. Just let me die. “The hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

This floored you and you didn’t know why.

You stared at one another in silent awe for what felt like hours but, in reality, only amounted to a few seconds. Neither of you knew what to do now that you’d made this discovery. The air crackled like static between you, and you each waited on the other to do something.

Jimin could easily tell that no one else had gotten this kind of response from you and secretly, it made him giddy that he was the one to do it. That he was so attuned to you, he could bring you over the edge like that. Before he could talk himself out of doing so, he cupped your flushed face in his hands. Then, without thinking, he pressed his frenzied lips to yours.

For a fraction of a moment, you felt yourself slipping, turning to putty under the surprising heat of his kiss. Then, when you remembered yourself, an alarmed gasp spilled out of your throat. Your fight-or-flight reflex kicked in and you chose both.

Your flailing caused Jimin to lose his balance and fall with a yelp against the arm on his side of the sofa. Simultaneously, your scrambling sent you tumbling off the sofa altogether. Your elbow slammed into the corner of the coffee table on your way down, and you cried out upon impact.

He stared wide-eyed down at you for a split-second, taking in the sight of you clutching your elbow in your opposite hand. You were bleeding — just slightly — and your eyes were starting to swim. Reflexively, Jimin lunged forward to help you, but you recoiled as if he’d burned you.

Just as quickly, his heart swan dove into the cellar of his stomach while his brain tried to square the drastic change in the way you looked at him. The stars in your eyes were gone and all that was left hurt.

“Get out,” your tone was eerily quiet, but unquestionably firm. He blinked back at you, too shocked by your reaction to do a thing. Then, with a voice halfway between a sob and a hiss, you repeated yourself, “Get out of my house, Park!”

Jimin wanted to say something — anything — to fix that broken look on your face, but he could see how much effort you were expending to hold back tears. The more exposed and embarrassed you felt, the worse his presence would make it. So, he called it. He shot you one last, apologetic gaze before he clambered to his feet, slipped into his shoes, and disappeared out your front door.

Even after watching his retreat, you stayed where sat on your floor with your knees hugged to your chest. Your bright white towel would wind up stained, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get up and find a proper bandage. Your elbow looked much worse than it felt — but you felt much worse than you looked. Still dazed, you touched your fingertips to your lips just to find that the heat of his mouth still seemed to linger.

That motherfucker.

The two of you had rules, and in a single day, he’d broken all of them. In one fell swoop, he severed the tightrope you’d been treading along so cautiously; sent you both hurtling towards the dirt. He ruined everything — again — and you fell back into that box you were never permitted to outgrow.

Pathetic little puppy, crying all alone.

Just outside your living room window, Jimin hesitated when he reached his car. He had one hand on the door handle and his keys clutched tightly in the other. He knew he couldn’t stay, but he didn’t feel as though he could go either, so he simply froze where he stood.

Trapped in limbo between what he wanted and what he could have, just like always.

He hoped he would’ve grown out of that gnawing disappointment by now, but those teeth somehow got sharper over time — not duller. To make it all worse, this was the first time he’d seen you in pain that you hadn't specifically requested. The way you looked just then unsettled him deeply. He hated the way you crumpled, how quickly you tore yourself away from him.

It stung — bad.

So much so that Jimin didn’t notice the car driving down your street. He didn’t see its driver, either — unexpectedly in town — nearly hitting the curb upon clocking the familiar frame standing in his baby sister’s driveway.

a/n: i’m as shocked as you are that i updated this within seven days of the last part ☠️ one nap and six hours of writing later, here we fuckin’ gooooooo!

feedback in any form (reblog, reply, inbox, PM) is sincerely appreciated 💕 tysm for reading, my sweet, sweet beans!!!