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milknhonies · 4 months

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The Negatives of Shooting People

Chapter 2 || MasterList || Chapter 4

Chapter Summary: A new job creates a new problem for August who decides he needs to remind you of his power. You let Lloyd inside, and he has an offer to make.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Masturbation, Referenced Non-Con Events, Implied Illegal Weapon Arms Trading, Threats, Manipulation, Stalking Journalism.

Pairing: Kingpin!August Walker X F!reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Author Notes: in my mind and casting, Jude Driver is played by Adam Driver. Wesley Gibson is played by James McAvoy. Brandon Sullivan is played by Michael Fassbender. Katarina Vikander is played by Alicia Vikander.

Inspiring Song: "Woman." by Ke$ha.

10:23am Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

“These photos Miss Y/L/N, they’re magnificent. I haven’t seen quality this good since…well…never really…When can you start?”

You grinned, sitting across from the head editor of one of the smaller local newpapers.

You knew you had to find a job quickly…you were sick of the employment agency and their unhelpful attitude. You knew if you were going to remain safe and take down the billionaire asshole, you needed to be the best version of yourself.

It had been a three days since you first met that monster... August Walker. And he had seemingly invaded your every thought. He was there in the back and front of your mind haunting and taunting you with his smirking lips and roguishly deep voice.

The gentleman who sat in front of you had no idea. That was something you were okay with, how could anyone know? No one knew. You hadn’t called or replied to any text messages Lloyd had sent.

You made a resume portfolio of your best photos you’d taken since your first camera your dad ever bought you. Both Polaroid and electronic. You still hadn’t forgotten that August had stolen one of your father’s cameras from the day he forced you to cum on the recliner chair.

You knew you were inexperienced in journalism…but your photography was a master skill unlike any other.

Your successful interview, you put it up to a great sense of confidence, as well.

“Right now if you’ll have me,” you winked. He was an older man of an older generation. Clearly he knew and was a deep fan of Australian banter that borderlines the aesthetics of flirtation. You were a young woman and he was an older man, the math was simple. Bat your lashes, pretend to be coy and then slide in with a sarcastic remark or sexual innuendo.

He laughed and leant over his desk. You shook your new bosses hand.

He liked that very much. ‘Of course he would, he’s practically old enough to be someone’s perverted uncle.’

“Oh most definitely…” he said biting his bottom lip, he was milking the banter.

He was a handsome even for a classic perverted elder fellow. John Luther was a grey fox so the ladies might say. You were sure that from now on never to truly trust a man…so when he winked back and looked down your shirt- at your chest, you smiled wider, ‘predictable men…he is going to be easy to manipulate…’

You had to thank August one day…if he hadn’t hurt and humiliated you the way he did…you would never have felt the rage of all women and the desire to use your assets to get what you wanted in this Man’s World.

You sat back a lit and lifted your chest as you gave a big happy sigh while watching Mr Luther continuously ogle your chest.

It sent a shiver even down your spine thinking about it…entering a villainess era…a femme fatale story….a tale of revenge and justice.

“I admire a woman with confidence,” he said sucking his teeth, his right hand slide down beneath his desk out of view. You had half a mind to assume he was palming his dick in his trousers.

“So how about I assign you your first assignment? See how you go? I’ll even let you choose…”

“Choose?” you asked with a faux coyness, fluttering your lashes.

“Well, we have a very interesting story idea in regards to the Woolloongabba Doggy Day care that just moved to East Brisbane, rumour has it that the business is understaffed for the amount of dogs they keep in care. And they only use half of the required sanitization required. A spread of kennel cough and many dogs having their ears ripped off by other larger dogs belonging to rich clients the owner of the doggy day care refuses to lose business towards.”

Oh dear, you noted, that sounded tragic….it’s a good thing you never had a pet as a kid. It would hurt too much to be in that position. Hearing a pet dog had its ear ripped off by savage untrained dogs.

“...And the other case?” You sweetly chirped.

His smile fell, “There’s a certain gentleman that’s running around allegedly smuggling drugs and arm deals…” he repeated, “’Allegedly’…”

He rolled back in his chair to reach for a folder on his bookshelf, flicking through it.

Your craning neck had time to catch the outline of his prick beneath his pants. ‘Oh yes...this man is putty in my hands.’ When he swivelled back, you dashed your eyes back to his desk trinkets and smiled at him.

“A bloke named August Walker selling to or buying from an old money American philanthropist Brandon Sullivan…”

‘No fucking way’….just your luck…

You were going to fucking take it no matter what….

Luther grimaced, “It’s a big task so I won’t judge you for not taking it. I’m just hoping to catch the sons of bitches at it. It would be a huge story for media not even those wankers at seven, nine or ten news could think to report.”

You reached over his desk to steal his pen and stick note pad. You took down the name he mentioned on a sticky note- Brandon Sullivan...you made sure to memorise it well.

“How about we even make those conniving morons at sky news jealous, sir?” You smirked and watched as the rockets soared in his eyes with his white tooth grin.

He laughed hard.

He wiped his hand down his chin, “I love a girl with ambition Miss Y/L/N. I’m sure you won’t disappoint me! The dead line for photos is in a week, he’s having some soiree on next Friday or something so it’s got to be before then because you’re never gonna be able to enter those clubs, chicky. Respectfully.”

You smile and shake his hand again, “Mr Luther, I swear…I’ll give you the best goddamn shots you’ve ever seen of that criminal.”

Now your man hunt had truly commenced, you smiled to yourself. Who knew that revenge could come so easily and quickly…

Luther gave you your own cubicle to work in. A place to hang and edit your photos. A place to file your evidence. He may have mentioned that the work they did in his agency was on par with the police but by no means legally police work. So if the cops arrived, you stayed hidden and kept your fucking mouth shut....

You had a job and began researching the bastards name again on your laptop, compiling the sources from Google and the notes from Luther’s folder files.

You discovered the following about August J. Walker.

He was born in New Jersey. He was twice your age and almost as old as your father. He had a plethora of connections in businesses from alcohol distillery to Chinese restaurant vendings. Actually you were confident that a restaurant he help partnership over had a familiar logo. You tapped your lip and wondered briefly if your father ever delivered there as a truck driver.

August was a fan of European and Asian based foods and sold it at his clubs. He owned over fifteen around the world. One of his biggest in Australia was The Lions Lounge, it was on the edge of Fortitude Valley. It was for the richest social elites of the country. The price of food alone was almost your weeks rent.

On the website of his club you could see information regarding the tightship of his security. It seemed supreme so there wasn’t a chance of you going to his club without a fat purse and invitation.

A party was coming up, a celebration for the ten year anniversary of its opening. A soiree with a “The roaring 1920s.” Theme. You scoffed at the cliché.

It was exclusively invite only, it was only on the website so that those who received a invitation could reply a rsvp. And with you fresh out of luck of an invite like Luther even said, there was little to no chance of clawing your way inside.

So...that’s when you had to resort to extra creativity. You held up the sticky note and smiled.

09:07am Wednesday 14th August 2024, Robertson Brisbane.

August Walker was a man with a craving to remain in power. He had fought tooth and nail to get where he was and for now he felt incredibly comfortable…he had enough money to buy the fucking country...he had the power to make politicians kneel and kiss his shoes if he demanded it. To the police, with his legal team, he was currently untouchable.

He could literally have any woman he wanted…but he wanted you. Since that night he first saw your photo, he starved. He had given you time to mourn. Now you were alone and he righteously believed you needed him.

Yet to his surprised pleasure, he liked the fight and push you tried to dish out on him. Your guts to go to the police sent blood to his cock. He hadn’t expected it. He believed you’d roll over and cry only. He never predicted you’d immediately leave the apartment before he could wish you a good morning or afternoon after leaving you drugged up. He snooped for hours in your father’s bedroom and yours. He’d flicked through your old school reports and photos. He tried tidying your mess and clutter, washing your vomit covered duvet and even had cigarette to pass the time.

So when he received that call from the police requesting his presence, instead of anger, he felt surprise. Not many could surprise him. But you did...

He pushed away from his desk and rubbed his eyes chuckling, you were definitely a tasty little thing.

It made his dick hard when he remembered you crying beneath him. He loved to fantasise your pathetic excuses and spitfire words. He only wished you’d push the boundary more. The more you fought, the sweeter the submission.

He pulled out his ‘other’ phone. His ‘business’ phone. The phone no police would ever know or see. He swiped his thumb across the screen and groaned at the sweet nude thing he took photos of the night you’d both met. Oh how pitifully adorable you were with your desperate pleas and confusion as the pill quickly broke down into your blood stream.

He wished he had a video of it. How he teased your phone away from you. How he mocked you. Half of it he imagined you probably didn’t remember. After all it wasn’t long that you were totally out of it, limp and softly snoring.

He liked how much control he had over you. Laying the strips over your hairy body and tearing it away to be baby smooth as he liked it. How delicate you looked as he rubbed the baby oil into your skin to settle any potential irritation. Perhaps it was sick of him to prefer you like this. He sighed, licking his bottom lip, staring at the photo he took of your freshly waxed pussy.

He had done sicker things to other people. But you were someone who didn’t deserve this. That is where the guilt lied. You didn’t deserve this and August Walker fucking new it deep in his bones.

He wasn’t shy of hurting innocence but your situation was different. This was personal.

So really could he hold it against you for going to the police? No... And besides...his false alibi had been solid... especially after the rape kit evidence had been tampered with, concluding as inconclusive...

Something about the thought of making you submit but never fully breaking, constantly challenging him- turned him on so much, he found it impossible to work. He slapped his phone down and chewed the inside of his cheek while he considered calling up Natalie, one of his go to escorts. His payable whores. She was expensive but she knew how to suck him off to completion quickly and he wanted to focus on work and finalising the details of his party in two days, not on you.

As fate would have it….he wouldn’t have a choice…the phone rang on his desk.

He pressed the reviewer to his ear and turned to look out the window.

“Walker.”

“It’s Gibson.”

He smiled and leaned back in his rolling chair, “Ah Wesley, yes, how are you mate?”

“You’ve got a little problem, sir,” he heard his public relation specialist sigh, “A tail.”

“Oh?”

“I’m sending the email now,” the click clack typing of the keyboard echoed in the headset Wesley wore,” It seems the paper has started to find better journalists…”

The email notification came in quickly. The ping from his monitor forced August to spin around in his chair. He pursed his lips and scrolled to click the link.

He hovered the mouse arrow down and noticed the collection of photos taken of him in the high class restaurants talking with a old underworld buddy of his. Some of the images however were incredibly exposing. His hand was shaking Brandons in one when he made a export deal with him, another photo showed August’s fingers touching a contract, his eyes looking at a phone Brandon was holding with images of guns. This was not good at all…

“What the fuck…” his hand pressed to his lips, he mused, “The photographer was smart, he knows how to pick a decent angle, Jesus what camera took this?” He clicked another photo, “These details…you can practically see every pore on Brandon’s bloody face…”

His mouth felt dry. He knew he needed to hire Natalie’s services now, the stressed building up had him tense. His erection had vanished, now it was a matter of pain in his shoulders and back.

He scrolled further and stared at the headlines jumping out. “Playboy or Pathological Criminal.”, “Party King or King Pin.”, “Australia’s own insider terrorist.”

His eyes widened at seeing the publishing office. John Fucking Luther & Co. News.

His jaw cracked with the tightness he clenched. No. He didn’t have time for this shit.

“She, sir,” The lackey corrected, “Newest of Luther’s flock. His word usually isn’t credible but this? This is going to be hard, expensive press to erase or cover up. Other news outlets are fighting over the rites.”

She...

He picked up a pen and clicked the button. Why was it even that important.

She...

She? His eyes sharpened. He looked closer at the photos on his screen. Something about the photo style reminded him of something earlier he had seen the previous week. So many….on a wall…beside a bed…filled with a captivating woman he defiled…but surely not you? Surely not you...

“What did you say?”

“Sir the cost to-”

He shook his head and sighed into the phone, cutting of the agent, “No, no, I meant the photographer. You said ‘she’? Luther? Are you sure this is real? His lot are the worst, always blurry or grainy if they’re lucky…who the fuck is this new photographer or editor or whoever the fuck is getting these images.”

“We can only assume,” Wesley mumbled, “You’ve had this little thing on your tail for the passed few days, she tries to be sneaky we’ve noted. We didn’t expect her to release decent pictures…we followed her back to the Luther office. The angles fit the locations we have caught her in.”

His thumb pressed hard against the pen.

“Show me this bitch,” he growled under his breath.

Another email ping and a link later, your face filled the computer screen. Your eyes burned him right back…you were in a few photos. Some where you hid among a roof top, another you were hiding in a corner at the restaurant, and finally one where you were just in a park looking down at your camera probably going over the shots you’d taken.

“Want us to deal with her, sir?” he suddenly heard Wesley ask. Deal with her...Destroy her reputation...beat her up…sell her…or kill her....no…no...not his new puppy.

He blinked with bewilderment and hummed, “No...” He cleared his throat, “No, no thankyou, Wesley. I know this kid; don’t worry…” he smirked, “This is just a simple misunderstanding…bit of…play. Trust me.”

Oh how he could’ve whipped the skin from your back raw for this if you were anyone else...

“Sir, if you can’t get her to stop, if she’s going to keep doing this…” Gibson warned, “Anything more in depth- you’ll wind up in court or prison at the worst, the pigs aren’t taking the pay like they used to…”

August shook his head and sighed, “It wouldn’t be the first time Wesley. Ignore her. I’ll deal with it. She’s my responsibility.”

His public relations officer seemed to pause for a moment. As if he had something else to say but he knew better than to total talk back to August Walker.

“Alright sir, have a good evening,” August heard before he slapped the phone, hanging up.

He scooted closer to the screen and scrolled back at the photos you’d taken. He bit his lip and chuckled, shaking his head at your profiling photo, “You little-...you want to play this game? Fine, now it’s my turn.”

He began dialling up a new phone number. He held it back up to his ear and waited for the receiver to pick up.

“Jude mate, I’m gonna need you to develop some photos for me...oh yes,” he replied pinching the pen in his hand, “Red room style.”

06:19pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba, Brisbane.

“Who needs a man? Huh!” You said to yourself testing out the new bolts and chain locks you installed on the front door. They rattled and locked. They didn’t budge when you jiggled the handle and pulled. You still had three more you planned to drill in.

You wiped the sweat off your forehead and grinned proudly. This is something your dad should have taught you how to do. Thankfully with the help of a YouTube tutorial and a bit of bravery you managed to take full control and ownership of your front door.

If your new landlord wanted to charge you for damages to his door, so be it, as long as this kept you protected from him while you slept at night that was all that mattered. He’d either have to pick every complicated lock, guess or, he’d have to hire the damn firefighting crew to use a battering ram.

When you opened the door again to test it a second time, a squeak of surprised popped from your lips. You clenched your dad’s power tool tightly.

A man in a black suit and black sunglasses stood outside the door with an large yellow envelope in his hand. He held it out to you silently. He looked ominous and familiar, he wore leather gloves…your eye widened, he was August’s driver.

You glanced between him and his hands. Every second was a risk you weren’t sure you could keep taking. You hesitantly pinched the bottom of his flat package and he let go. He pulled the edge of his sunglasses down his face, looking at the plethora of door locks.

‘What was his name again? Judea, Judas?’

He said quietly, “It might be better if you open it inside...” his eyes glanced at the door again before smirking, “Nice locks...pretty crappy if you think it’s going to stop him though.”

‘Him...August Walker...’

You stood still in shock. He gracefully spun on his heel and left. Your tongue caught in your throat…what the fuck was this?

The package was as thick as your hand.

You had to know it was from August…I mean who else could it be from? Especially since you speculated it was his driver that delivered it…especially since there was a massive cursive ‘A.J.W’ on the tab of the envelope.

You held your breath and walked hurriedly backwards inside.

Your teeth caught your upper lip. You slammed the door shut and locked all the locks before going to the couch, disposing the drill on the coffee table, and tearing open the envelope.

You pinched the top wide open and hovered your eyes inside. There was a white papery page ripped out from a note book. You pulled it out and unfolded it to read his handwritten warning.

“Careful Puppy, you’re lucky my men didn’t bite when they sniffed you out, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. I think you need a break from your little hobby. So I’m going to remind you...I have copies of these. Scratch me again and I’ll bite back. Stay down or I will put you down.”

Your mouth became dry as your eyes raced over that one last line again.

‘Stay down or I will put you down.’

When you ‘put down’ an animal, it usually means death…your insides grew cold. You were confident this was a strict warning, not a threat but a promise, August walker was telling you to stop investigating or he would kill you…

Your hands shook uncontrollably. You wanted them to stop. Your body felt the reeling anxiety. You dumped the rest of the envelope over the counter. All the content spilled across the entire floor. A camera came clattering out. Your father’s camera in fact.

Inside were photos of you. A photo of you working in the editor office. A photo of you walking in the deli section at the underground Woolworths grocery store and photos of you sitting at the Queen street bus station, even the bus numbers showed up. The bus 200 via Carindale. Then at the bottom of the spread out deck of photos were the shots from the night he forced you to cum on the recliner and the night he had drugged you, naked on his bed.

Your teeth clenched hard.

You felt your eyes grow hot quickly with tears. You didn’t like how pathetic and helpless you appeared, covered in tape, and totally lost in the bliss of his sexual torture. You didn’t realise how sweaty it had made you until noticing the intense wet shimmer over your body in the photo, the hot light of the camera shone reflectively from your skin.

You closed your eyes and choked on a sob. He made his point loud and clear but it wasn’t fair. Why could he get away with all of this? You wanted to tear all the photos up one by one until they were tiny papers the size of your pinky nail.

But they sat in a piled collection on your coffee table.

Your hand cupped your mouth as you fought your wails. You clenched your teeth and stomped your foot.

You kept rereading his note. Memorising his handwriting. His Y’s had a straight tail that didn’t curve upward. It made you hate him twice as much as irrational that detail was.

August hadn’t come back since then. He had not made any personal contact since he cornered you in your father’s bedroom. It wasn’t the last time you saw him though…you saw him almost daily, but you confidently were sure he never saw you until now. You were gathering all the evidence possible to put him in the doghouse...

You pressed yourself against the wall and slid down it on your back until your bottom hit the floor.

Now what would you do? Take photos and write about abused animals instead? Always worrying about August coming into your home to take his revenge for the humiliation and defamation you brought to his name?

You settled your hands into your lap. Your heart was pounding. You could hear every awful thud.

Your phone came to life. Lloyds number ran across your screen.

‘Oh god, Lloyd. Sweet, wonderful Lloyd. Maybe he could help me.’

Hitting the green button, you picked up the phone and cleared your throat, “Hey, how are you?”

His voice was a cool balm, “I’m getting on alright. I thought I’d call and check up on you. You haven’t been very chatty over text is all. I still think you should move Y/N.”

Lloyd kept you as updated as he could. He said he interviewed August a few days ago and the excuse was laughable. August had lied about being at his club during the time he had been with you. He had staff members who could vouch for him, Lloyd suggested they’d been paid off and supposedly security footage, all which Lloyd assured must’ve been edited. It was comforting knowing out of everyone, Lloyd stayed true in his belief that you were a victim.

Another tear rolled down your face, your voice became shaky, “Yea...I think you’re right. Lloyd...things have been happening...and...can you- can you just come over please?”

You were breaking down hard and couldn’t stop the wave of anguish coming over you. The detective was compassionate and said softly, “Of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

When the phone disconnected you rubbed your face and flared your nostrils. Seeing the photos made you feel dirty, unclean. You decided a quick shower before Lloyd arrived might help you relax and calm down from the absolute panic attack creeping under your skin. You stood under the hot spray and tried to control your breathing.

And under the water your thoughts persisted to race. A particular question shot through you.

‘Why would he even send those to me?’ Your eyes shut. ‘Why’? If you were just some women, he liked to fuck and humiliate... ‘Then why didn’t he just come in and do it in person?’

It was like a pin had dropped. Your eyes flashed wide open, and you turned off the water. You scrubbed your face and got out of the shower, rushing to put your pyjamas on. You almost slipped on the tiles and hard wood.

You crashed to your knees at the coffee table and spread the photos around trying to find that one.

The one where you were sitting inside the editor building at your cubicle. It had been taken from a low angle on the street. A small laugh escaped you. If he sent you an image of you at the office he knew where you worked, and who you worked for…he had read your articles...a light laugh escaped your parting lips. Tears dripped from your eyes, not from grief or fear, oh no, it was relief. Now it made sense.

'Of course!' August had read your articles...and they- you chuckled; they frightened him!!! Yes, maybe not to the extent of full fear, but enough that he felt it fit and necessary to send these too you. He felt threatened. The articles were piling up on speculation against him now in the paper. You were walking a thin line between defamation and creative liberties in alleged speculations, but Mr Luther assured it was legal in the laws of journalism and gossip.

If August had copies of your lewd rape photos, if he published them…you didn’t care...what was the point in caring about that?

You knew humans could be animals. It didn’t matter what was seen. Anyone can masturbate to anything, even just a selfie – so an image of you cumming on the recliner chair was really nothing at the end of the day…sure you might lose your job but the confidence to get you there would be used in the future again. And it would be all worth it just to watch the cuffs slap over August’s wrist. Because even if he’d never go away, locked up for your abuse, you could at least drag him further down with as many criminal activity charges as possible.

You glanced at the note he wrote…maybe he didn’t even write this. If he really wanted you dead, you were sure you would be. This wasn’t a threat, this was a game. He was toying with you, clearly trying to scare you into stopping any investigations of his hidden underground work.

Little did he know, he had no idea that your rage and hunger for revenge was greater than your fear of him.

You pinched a photo to the light and smirked. If only a week ago, this poor defenceless girl knew how her life would change for good...her eyes the mirror of yours. You slapped it flat in the table and pinched your eyes. August was definitely no talent in taking photos.

You smiled recalling how Luther reacted to the first photo you brought him the third day of working...

02:36pm Thursday 8th August 2024, Brisbane CBD.

On the sticky note you’d written down a name Mr Luther had shared. You looked up that name, Brandon Sullivan, with deep dive searches and found very little of him…however he did have a single photo up on his Facebook, he was holding a gorgeous woman.

Once you had reversed search the woman’s face, Katarina Vikander, you could have peed with excitement. She was some Swedish ballet dancer and super model. She was Brandons girlfriend. And she was happy to share a dozen photos over all her social media platforms…and yes, Brandon clearly wasn’t a fan of his personal paparazzi, but there were hiccups in his cover ups.

Katarina had taken a selfie on a balcony; her sunglasses reflected her phone and Brandon coming out of their hotel bathroom.

Behind Katarina was a marina in the background. That area was very rich and popular and easy to find. You recognised the area only by chance. The were staying at the JW Marriot Gold Coast Resort and Spa. You could see the JW Marriot logo on a bath robe in a previous photo while she wore a creamy face mask with cucumber slices over her eyes.

Katarina seemed to have this obsession with a Americana aesthetic, her favourite artist was in her saved Instagram stories, Lana del Rey.

The caption of her post with Brandon hidden in the background under a broad brim hat said, “Sunny and happy with my love, he doesn’t like the seafood here, he wants ‘real truffles.’ **eyeroll emoji**”

You remembered how you sat back after seeing that and searched every restaurant in the area of the Gold Coast region and only one sold authentic truffle dishes…men are fickle and usually won’t try new things…he was clearly a man set in his ways if he wouldn’t let her post photos of him. or at least that was your theory and assumption about the almost non-existent Brandon Sullivan.

You went back and searched August. He had a decent amount of information, he was very private however, no named girlfriends or family. He was very business oriented….and what did you know? Two years ago on his LinkedIn profile you could see August had been at the opening of the same little truffle restaurant nearby where Katrina and Brandon were staying. You scrolled.

‘Looks like he was or still is an investor.’

It wasn’t solid evidence, and you didn’t know if August would be there to meet with them…so all it took, was a simple phone call…and the great skill of confidence with a stride of lying.

As the phone dialed, you selected a fake name. Your co-worker had a F.R.I.E.N.D.S coffee mug, and you stared at the dark drink stain…it’s dark colour making a perfect name.

When a staff member of the restaurant answered you hurriedly got through your plotted lie, “Hello? Yes, my name is…Jennifer Brown, I’m Mr August Walkers new assistant…listen his last employee was quite begrudged and threw out all the known appointments Mr Walker was to attend in the next three months. I’m pretty sure he has a table booked for your restaurant?”

The administrator paused. You hoped he wouldn’t ask you to repeat yourself or question you further, so you sarcastically joked, “He will murder me if I can’t find out, it’s very important.”

You prayed he’d bite the banter.

The administration clerk had a boyish tone, “Of course! Would you like me to look up the time and date of his reservation?”

You smirked and held back a cackle, you feigned a sweet joyful cry, “I would be grateful if you could be a dear, thank you so much!”

And that was how you found out the schedule and exact location of August Walker and his criminal associate.

09:45am Friday 9th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

Getting inside the restaurant wasn’t too hard. It had an open-door area with French doors. You made sure to wear a large sun hat and a plain dress. Your dad owned a small camera, about the size of an apple. You put it on a timer and leant to the floor, aiming the view finder at their table.

The entire time you swore you were sweating bullets. If August had seen you and confronted you, you probably would be chained to a pipe laying naked on a dirty mattress…maybe with those missing women you heard about on the news, Rachel, Stephanie, and Alison.

‘Why didn’t he keep me then? We did he return me back home? Did he kill those other girls?’ the more you thought too deeply on the topic, it made your skin crawl.

You clenched one of the forks, staring at the kingpin in the reflection. He looked to smug for a man that got off on harming women. You wished you could stab out his eyes with the prongs. And when the waiter came around to ask what you wanted to order, you held up the fork and requested a new one, apologising for “dropping it”.

You determined the camera had taken enough footage. You knew you’d need to make your escape when the waiter left to find you a new fork. Afterall- who can afford to pay for a cut of salmon with rocket leaves and white sauce for a hundred and thirteen fucking dollars?

You went straight home on the train and bus. You developed the photos in the bathroom sink. Hanging it up on the shower rails to set.

Those were the first photos you gave Mr. Luther.

The other times you took photos of Brandon and August were harder, a little more risky.

06:23am Saturday 10th August 2024, Coomera, Gold Coast.

You had staked outside of the hotel where Brandon stayed. Waiting across the street in a side street. It was cold and miserable. But you knew August would be down here. Darling Katarina had posted a photo of her shoes in an elevator, beside her feet were Brandons shoes, but his had a shine. You could see the blur of Augusts moustached face. Maybe it was a reach, except when the caption said, “Lions Lounge anyone? Don’t my heels look incredible! **love heart eyes emoji**”

You were dressed in rags, you clenched a juul stick you bought that morning, gagging on the watermelon flavour while you practiced your “Eshay” accent. You stared up at the windows trying to guess which room the three were in with the help of the ex-ballerinas photos.

A month ago, you would’ve thought doing something like this was insane and frankly unhealthy. But you a month ago had not been humiliated and manipulated, God knows what a woman will do once you’ve pissed her off…was it obsession? Most definitely, for revenge, for justice, for all the girls who fell for August and harmed by his reputation.

You waited…and you were right. Brandon and August walking out together. The sweet young woman was clinging to Brandon’s side with a wide girlish smile and love heart shaped sunglasses. Funnily enough, the car that picked them up just so happened to be driven by the same dark headed driver in the same black car that August took you in. You took a snapshot of the license plate and watched it drive through the somewhat slow traffic down the street. You walked and walked, keeping your eyes set on the license plate. While traffic rolled, you turned and noted there were a few empty taxis.

You took off the jumper that you cut a bunch of holes in and dumped it in a garbage bin before bending down and tapping on one of the taxi windows.

“Hey! Are you available to drive me?” You called to one of the taxi drivers that hadn’t noticed you until that second...his eyes widened with surprise before nodding, “quickly, traffic is slow, hop in!”

You slid directly into the passenger side, which on a normal day you’d never dare.

But today wasn’t a normal day. You sat up in your seat and scrolled the area with your eyes.

“So where are we headed today, ma’am?” The driver asked.

You pointed ahead with a cheeky smile, “See that black car? The fancy one.”

“The tesla?” He asked.

“My friends are in that car, so please follow it. They know the way.”

He peered at you curiously, you knew it was stupid. If you had friends rich enough for a tesla, they’d never leave you to find a taxi. But hey…money is money, the driver wouldn’t argue. He started the timer and to your satisfaction traffic picked up. When they zoomed through the street the taxi tried to keep up. They were driving to a quieter street with Western Europeanised cafe’s.

As they stopped and hoped out you quickly requested to the driver, “Do you mind going around the corner? I’m a little embarrassed.”

God, you hated to say it but you had to play the suddenly snobby cunt.

He didn’t care either way to your relief and parked around the corner, metres away from the two men.

You paid the driver handsomely with cash you managed to find in your old piggy bank back home and slid out of the cab. Your face carefully looked around the corner and you skirted back. August, Brandon and Katarina had decided to sit outside in the warm morning sunlight. It was just your luck! Quickly, you crossed the street away from the cafe. The more distance the better.

To your luck it was a block of units across from the cafe. You walked around the building and kept your head down. You came up behind in an alley and smiled at the long spiral stairs that went up to the roof top. The adrenaline extinguished all fear of heights and pushed you up until you stood out on a flat roof. You crossed the way and looked over the side.

‘Fuck’, you thought to yourself. ‘Would a police officer ever do this? Would Lloyd ever have the guts to do this?’

Probably not, there was lots of red tape involved in police investigations...but you were just a reporter...You were a photographic investigator and you amazed yourself at the lengths you were taking. You were eager to get these shots. This evidence.

You saw the pair of businessmen receiving a cup of tea and breakfast meals from the waitress. Getting down onto your tummy, you grabbed your camera and leant over the ledge to zoom in on the two.

The pumping blood roaring in your vein filled you with a mixture of fear, excitement and surprisingly…arousal.

Those were the photos that made it to the papers first.

06:35pm Wednesday 14th August 2024, Woolloongabba Brisbane.

As you reminisced on the evidential demise of August Walker, a knock at the door designed a bigger grin across your face. Lloyd had arrived. And no longer standing in a fit of sobs you welcome him cheerfully at the door.

He was wearing a black turtleneck and black slacks, totally out of uniform. Below his eye was a reddish spot. It was shining against his pale face. It wouldn’t surprise you if it was a bruise.

‘Many police are brutal and cruel but there’s no way Lloyd is one. He isn’t one of those cops...he must’ve been attacked by some bogan eshay or crackhead.’

His smile turned your knees to warm jelly. You felt shy like some first year highschooler being noticed by the seniors. He just had this glow around him.

“Hi Lloyd.”

“Hello there,” he said softly, his head cocked to the side, “Do you mind letting me in?” He asked.

‘Oh right.’

“Come- come in.”

You felt your face grow warm. You opened the door wider and looked out and down the hall. You held your breath and stood aside. The tall man slid passed you inside to your lounge room.

You took a massive breath in and exhaled. No one was waiting behind a corner or ready to catch you with the officer. You knew there were no security cameras and you doubted August would ever add any with his reputation.

Lloyd removed his leather shoes and placed them beside the door. His black socks glided over the hardwood.

You bit your lip…you looked back at the coffee table and quickly shut the door, bolting the locks after the detective entered your flat.

If August knew you were letting a detective inside, continuing to talk to one he could-…’Well, hold on...how would he know? He wouldn’t.’

“Woah, locked me in, what are you doing?” Lloyd gasped as he glanced over the metal mechanisms of your door. His eyes widened when you twisted the locks and shifted the small chains.

“I just...um. August Walker.... he’s kinda now...my new landlord and he probably will be getting keys soon and I....” your breath wavered. You paused and took a deep breath, “I needed to talk to you privately in person I think....”

His eyes didn’t grow any wider, but his pupils shrank. He pinched his dark pink lips. Sucking his teeth loudly he nodded slowly.

“That’s definitely a pickle you’ve been put into then, huh?”

You nodded back, pressing yourself against the door, sighing softly, “That’s not even the half of it Lloyd...”

His eyes raked up and down your body in surprise. You weren’t wearing your bra and your nipples were rock hard. Your pyjama bottoms were very short and little did you realise how much they were riding up your thighs.

You walked around him timidly to the coffee table.

“I got a new job, as a photographer journalist, no real experience required just my luck honestly,” you awkwardly laughed, “August um, he’s supposedly up to no good and I thought I could have a jab at him from a professional angle…”

You sat yourself in the recliner, while you invited him to sit opposite of you on the couch where he’d be able to properly look at all the photos.

He looked frightfully tired. His hair was dishevelled, and his shirt was stain with sweat. He had a nasty purple bruise on his knuckles that also matched the one under his eye.

You lifted your knees to your chest and worried about how much trouble this man was getting into as well as you. You wondered if it was like television shows where detectives mostly focus on the darkside of the force.

You gestured to the photos. You weren’t sure how he would react. He sat on the couch and peered across the coffee table, glancing over the images. It took him a few seconds before a gasp of shock ripped from his throat.

You tapped on the photos where you’d been stalked and seen taking photos of August, “Well, it shows he’s not one to have his photos taken...”

He was shaking his head. He couldn’t stop staring at the nude photos. And for a few seconds you relived that feeling of embarrassed humiliation.

You could see how his throat bobbed and his eyes flutter.

He leant forward on his knees and licked his lips.

“I...and here I had called you to check up on you and I was going to ask you for help Y/N, but god I don’t know if that’s gonna work now,” he sighed.

The detective ran a finger across your face in the lewd photos.

Your eyes narrowed, “Wh-what do you mean?”

There was a lengthy pause.

He chewed the inside of his cheek before asking, “How much do you hate what August did to you?”

You didn’t hesitate, “I’d kill him for what he’s done if I knew I wouldn’t go to prison…” you briefly looked down, “He…he came back like you said...”

Lloyd eyes glanced down too and he sighed, “Thought as much…let me guess…he threatened you?”

Your eyes fluttered closed, August had done more than just threaten you.

You nodded slowly, “He…he did…but he…is possessive, he kept saying I was his and I belong to him.” You pointed to the photo of you taped up on the recliner.

His brows pressed together, his eyes saddened. He clear his throat, “How long ago was that?”

Your mouth grew dry. You felt embarrassed telling Lloyd.

“The day of the report, after you brought me home.”

His eyes widened, his hand rubbed his parted lips, “So he ugh…he was here already?”

You nodded again, “The call you made… he was standing right here with a knife in his hand.”

“That’s why you have those deadbolts huh?” The officer rubbed his eyes and groaned, “Fuck. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me after he left? I could’ve moved you, you could’ve stayed with me at least until I could put you into witness protection. Fuck!”

His swearing sent a shiver down your spine.

Your looked at your feet, you knew he wasn’t victim blaming, he just didn’t understand. You told Lloyd everything…confessed like he was your priest. You told him what August did with the vibrator despite it bringing you to tears again. You told him he was the new landlord and that’s why you installed the extra locks. You told him about your new job and you told him about the photos and how you were going to help however you could to put the bastard away.

You sat off the recliner and slid the photos back into the envelope.

“You’re very brave Y/N,” Lloyd whispered, he reached out and laid his warm hand on top of yours.

Your belly felt warm at the praise. You let him hold your fingers in his and rubbed his thumb over your skin. You stared at his blonde moustache and those bright clue eyes of his. You imagined his mouth scratching your lip if you only leant in closer...he was still as handsome as the day he patiently listened to you in the report.

Lloyd smiled softly.

God if you were a cat you would’ve been feral and in heat with how creative your imagination was getting.

Your eyes fluttered as your entire body warmed up.

“Y-You said you needed help with something?”

He smirked, letting go of your hand.

He claimed, “After what you’ve told me I’m confident you can do it...but you might not like it…”

“Try me,” you huffed, falling victim to his contagious grin.

“I have two tickets to August’s little Soiree at his club The Lions Lounge,” He started off, “My other sources have confirmed there is going to be some form of arms deal with some unsavoury company, illegal, unregistered weapons. August Walker is very good at knowing the law and requesting a warrant… but the sources I have are not substantial to the board to guarantee a warrant by that night and by that time Walker would’ve moved the weapons and sold them in a different location.”

You pieced it bit by bit.

“So you need to get inside the party, find the deal going down and bust them?”

“Exactly, that’s right! However the moment a single man waltzes to the front door it looks suspicious. I need a lady on the arm…and better yet…I need a distraction for Walker, if he sees me head on, I could be as good a shark chow.”

Your eyes lit up, it didn’t take a genius to realise he meant you. You would be the distraction. And you’d be damned before you put yourself in real danger again especially after the threat August had given you...your photos were taken in public, this would be in private. Anything could happen to you.

“No… that is too dangerous, Lloyd,” You stood up and paced the floor in front of Lloyd who was now also rising to follow you in your pacing. You walked around your kitchen and Lloyd put his hands on the bench beside you.

“Y/N…” he bent close in a whisper. You wouldn’t look at the detective. Fear was buzzing inside of you. You felt stupid about saying you’d do anything to take August Walker down now. You really wanted to just humiliate the man and call him up in prison one day and rub it in his face. But this? This was a game of cat and mouse and you didn’t want to be backed up into a corner again.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if this unless I had to...”

You bit back the whimper in your throat as Lloyd touched your shoulder gently.

“He let you live…he has a soft spot for you.”

‘He threatened to put me down.’

He turned you around and squeezed your arms while he pitched the plan, “What’ll happen is we enter the club, I find the dealers and you find Walker because he will be hosting the party, he will want to know why you’re there and you are going to tell him that…you wanted to see him.”

You rubbed your eyes angrily, “Why the fuck would I want to see him?!” your fingers felt moist, you’d been compelled to tears.

The kind eyed detective sucked his teeth, “I don’t know, make it up. Kiss him. Men don’t care about a thing once a pretty thing is kissing them.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. No, this wasn’t the Lloyd you had imagined.

“Oh,” you chuckled sourly, “So you’re pimping me out then?”

He gave you a dumbfounded look, “Call it whatever you want…you’ll be paid good money for your service and he’ll be arrested, in prison, unable to touch you. You can run away and move to wherever you want then.”

Your breath was shaky as you dared to ask, “How much?”

His left brow rose.

“How much would I be paid by the Queensland police or Australian defence department or whoever this is through?”

He sighed and gently laid a hand on your shoulder, “Around fifteen grand.”

Your breath escaped you. From near negatives to fifteen grand overnight? That much? For this job?! You were stunned…not sure if it was worth your life…but if it meant he only humiliate you one more time and you walked away with that much money…you’d do it.

You shook your head, “Fine, it’s this Friday night yea? His club is high-class and I don’t have clothes for that type of event.”

The tall man stood back and chuckled as he tug into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. He pinched a wad of cash and slapped it in the benchtop. Your eyes widened, holy fuck it was a month or two in rent alone…

“Go buy some. But you have got to be ready. At Seven o’clock I’ll pick you up an hour before the event and we can refresh what we know before we line up.”

You glanced between him and the money and nodded….”Alright, let’s…let’s do this.”

He laughed and clapped his hand excitedly, he leant in and gave you a fat kiss on the cheek. Nothing romantic, just pure joy.

“Thankyou so much Y/N you are going to be hailed a hero, a legend in my books!” He marched back to the couch and grabbed his blazer.

“You are a special person and I’m honoured to have met you! Really honoured!” He said as he unlocked all your bolts. He swung the door open and slammed it behind him.

You sighed and fell back against your cold fridge.

You weren’t sure you could pull this off….but as your eyes looked over the cash, the corner of your lips lifted.

You shut your eyes and sighed…all that money, it made your blood pulse. You returned to the lounge room and sat in the recliner. You laid back, staring at the ceiling. Your hands crawled down, passed the waist band of your pyjama shorts and underwear. You touched yourself and sighed.

Your fingers rubbed delicately against your clit while you leant against the kitchen bench.

You tried to imagine someone...Lloyd…the detective. He had a warmth his face. Lloyd would never rape you though, he was good, he was honest…

You moaned softly, imagining his warm hands groping your skin and his lips kissing your skin.

Fingering yourself, in and out, in and out.

You were imagining Lloyd speaking to you. He was currently the most attractive man you’d made contact with in weeks...other than August who essentially raped you.

What kind words would Lloyd say? “I washed our clothes, finished the dishes, now come here and let me fuck you.” ‘Oh yea that’s fucking hot.’

You imagined he would be gentle and soft before using more strength in his hips. His lips would be soft and hot. He would protect you and play sexy policeman. You might not have been a fan of the justice system but you were confident Lloyd would fill in a police uniform very well.

So why did your body start to dry up?

You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. You were riding your fingers and teasing your clit…why couldn’t you cum? You felt weird doing this now. It was strange to think before you met August you could cum very easily, after your dad- well you hadn’t touched yourself because you weren’t thinking about sex for a while until the millionaire stepped into your life.

After the third time of unsuccessful release, you punched the arm of the chair and started searching sex toys on your phone.

You weren’t totally sure if the prices were worth it for a piece of painted pink silicone. And there were strange shapes you were amazed were even designed to fit into a human….‘a whole fist? Surely that’s satire,’ you thought, ‘it shouldn’t be possible. It would be like reverse birth?’

You settled on buying a “rabbit dildo with thrusting pleasure.” You rolled your eyes at the name. You slapped your phone down and sighed, rubbing your eyes.

The hour was late.

Your first paycheck would be coming in soon. It was the smell of a small victory.

10:33am Friday 16th August 2024, Queen Street Westfield Shopping centre, Brisbane.

“What should I wear…” you hummed as you flipped through the dresses. Some of these dresses cost the amount of a new iPhone. You bit your lip. ‘Maybe I can return them tomorrow and give Lloyd his money back?’

A sales clerk came up, “Need some help?” She was blonde, curvy and tall. A supermodel compared to your body. You blushed.

“I’m looking to wear something to one of the high end clubs like The Lion Lounge, he’s having a nineteen twenties theme soiree this evening?”

Her lips widened, “Well, we do have many suitable gowns and even pantsuits for that social class, what designer were you thinking?”

You balked and worried that she would see you sweat, “Oh…I um…I’ll be super frank…I have not a clue what I’m doing…it is my first time to something so spectacular.”

The clerk’s eyes softened, her lips pursed, “Well! Let me help you then! These gowns you’re looking at are definitely not old twenties glam worthy! Right this way!”

Your cheeks buzzed as you were led into a dressing room and made to try on multiple styles, designers and colours of dresses.

She asked if you were getting your nails done and gasped when you said you hadn’t thought about it.

She was like a fairy godmother. She went the extra mile to call up the other stores in the mall to book appointments. You hadn’t felt so pretty ever in your life until then

She appeared stunned by the cash you laid on her counter.

Your nails were french tips with a holographic clear coat. You received a quick arm and leg wax and eyebrow shaping. The makeup matched the entire outfit. Your dress clung to your best assets and shaped your body with a clutch purse and low heels to match. Your hair was gelled and hairsprayed down into finger waves. And a lather of pearls circled around your throat and wrists.

The long finger of your dress tickled your calfs down to your small kitten heels.

You looked incredible, it took your breath away to see the glow up….

Lloyd thought so too.

HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers. .

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

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weirdmorefics · 7 months

Note

If you're comfortable with angst, can you write poly ineffable husbands with a human SO they've been with a very long time and is now succumbing to old age and dementia? (the time period is up to you!) I just think the idea of immortal/mortal lovers has so much room for angst and big raw emotions with stuff like that!

Death Comes for Us All

Aziraphale X Reader X Crowley

3rd person point of view

A/N- I do love writing angst! I can also tell this request is absolutely going to break me, but it's a very good idea so we are going to have a love-hate relationship now lol.

Reader Pronouns-They/Them

Word Count- 1.6 k

Summary- Crowley cannot accept the reader's fate, the reader does not even know their fate, and Aziraphale is the one thing keeping them steady.

Aziraphale and Crowley met Y/n on the same day it was however very unfortunate timing for Y/n. Timing has never been Y/n's strong suit in general but this day turned out to be particularly bad. Y/n had received intel about the location of multiple Nazis. Y/N had snuck in an hour prior to the trade deal time the informant had told them and hid behind a pew.

Y/n listened to the deal intently and took notes in shock that this whole deal was about books with prophecies you don't even know are true. It was a huge waste of money in their opinion but once the man in the pale coat handed over his books they pulled a gun on them. Y/n prepared to intervene when another British intelligent spy entered the scene which was even more confusing to them because they thought they were the only one assigned to the case it was strictly on a need-to-know basis.

She thanks the man for the introduction and the man says how she recruited him which can't possibly be true the agency just heard the intel three days ago!

He says the building is surrounded by British agents but we definitely do not have the force for that right most staying back and evacuating towns to prevent fewer bombing deaths.

He quotes an American saying, "Played for suckers." Y/n instantly facepalms. This gentleman has most certainly been conned. He starts shouting for people to start taking the group down and they'll start laughing and the man gasps in shock. Y/n rolls their eyes and starts to come out of their hiding spot to protect this sorry fool and hopefully get him out of here without any harm.

Y/n pauses with a look of utter confusion on their face as another man enters the scene hopping from foot to foot. The two men start to bicker like an old married couple.

"What a pity you both must die," one of the Nazi spies wickedly smirks.

Y/n scoffs at this why did these two civilians have to come to ruin my entire mission. Reluctantly Y/n stands up from behind the pew gun pointed, "You will not be killing any civilians today!"

Crowley smirks joyously and gushes, "They think we are regular civilians how quaint."

Y/n makes their way to the front of the church, "This ends now!" They turn back to the two men, "Get out of here I will hold them off."

The gullible man in the pale trenchcoat shakes his head, "Absolutely not!"

One of the Nazi men smile widely, "Agent L/n we had no idea we would get the pleasure of killing you as well tonight. I certainly would have made your death grander as a message to the other agents. Oh well too late now." He shrugs and points his gun at Y/n's face.

The strange babbling-jumping man seems excited to jump back into the conversation, "Speaking of a grand death!" He gestures his arms out widely, "In a few moments a bomb will be landing directly on this church but if you run very fast you may not die."

The man starts rambling about the unpleasantries of death and the opposing force looks at him with doubting glares. They argue about the bombs' location but Y/n just wants to get the civilians out and is getting progressively more annoyed.

Y/n points her gun at the ceiling and shoots a warning shot into the sky. Pieces of the ceiling and dust fall to the floor and all eyes are on them.

"Everyone out if you want to live! I will escort the peculiar civilians and you will leave us be or I'll shoot you before the bombs get to you first!"

The strange jumping man smiles, "Ooo they're feisty! I like them."

Y/n rolls their eyes and walks backwards keeping their eyes on the Nazis directing the odd pair out.

"My books," the man in the trench coat shouted.

"Quite an odd thing to be worried about when we are on the verge of being killed." Y/n sourly responds.

The jumping man seemed to look directly back at the other man, "Yes it would take a divine miracle to save us and the agent." The two seemed to be having a conversation with their eyes even though one was wearing sunglasses even though it was the middle of the night.

The agent assures them that they are protected and that they will get them out.

The jumping man looks up at the sky, "It's a little too late for that sweetheart."

With that last sentence a bomb falls upon to the church and Y/N tries to cover the civilians with their own body, knocking them to the ground just making the jumping man laugh. The church crumbles around them but Y/n finds themselves completely unharmed.

They jump to their feet in utter shock and stutter out, "H-how did you do that!"

"I think you are in shock darling. I am Aziraphale and this is Crowley. Are you all right?" The gullible one says expecting Y/n's face.

"I am fine! Especially for someone who should be dead! That bomb should have killed us all!" Y/n shouts pacing back and forth.

Aziraphale ignores the question, "I am quite glad that you are all right. It is such a shame about my books though."

Y/n starts laughing uncontrollably, "We just survived a bomb and you are worried about books!"

"I think you broke them, angel," he says sauntering over to a pile of rubble. He pulls the bag of books out of the hand of one of the dead men under the rubble, "A little demonic miracle of my own."

Aziraphale smiles brightly, "How nice!"

"Shut up!" Crowley groans. "No paperwork," he rationalizes and starts to walk away Aziraphale not far behind.

"Wait! You must tell me what just happened!" Y/n chases the two beings and never leaves their side after that night.

Sixty Years Later

Y/N, Crowley, and Aziraphale have been inseparable since they first met. They have had many dangerous adventures together and quiet nights reading and drinking hot cocoa. Crowley was befuddled at Y/N's stubbornness to protect them when they were the ones who were immortal. Aziraphale loved Y/n's stubbornness they were the only one who seemed to be able to beat Crowley in a game of wills. Y/n's stubbornness never seemed to fade with age, unfortunately.

Aziraphale pulled the curtains open, "Morning sunshine!"

Y/n tossed and turned but they did not wake up they kept mumbling. They seemed to be having a nightmare their forehead glistened with sweat. Aziraphale walked up to them and brushed Y/n's hair away from their face.

"I don't want to leave you," mumbled Y/n.

"It's alright, I'm here," Aziraphale whispered.

"I'm not ready," Y/n groaned.

"You don't have to get up darling, but I do think it is best you have something to eat or at least some tea." Aziraphale tries to bargain with Y/n.

Crowley enters and slowly takes his sunglasses off, "That's not what they mean angel." He puts his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder filled with sorrow.

"What are talking about Crowley? They will be fine once they wake, mornings are just the worst time for them." He rationalizes trying to avoid the obvious that Y/n is near death.

Crowley has been warning Aziraphale that he knew it was coming soon. As Y/n fell deeper and deeper into the memories of their long past together. Crowley longed to be stuck in those happy memories with Y/n and Aziraphale together. Sadly, he was stuck on the outside watching Y/n relieve everything the good and bad while Aziraphale lived in denial.

"Angel, please just look at me," He begged.

"I know what you're going to say Crowley and no it is not their time yet it never will be." He said venomously.

"I am upset as you are! You knew this was bound to happen we were destined to outlive all of humanity," Crowley says back trying to fight back the anger rising in him but failing miserably.

"Aren't we supposed to be not on Heaven's side or Hell's, but our side!" Aziraphale passionately states with his hand to his chest.

"Believe me, angel, if I could do something I would," Crowley looks back at him sorrowfully.

Crowley's heart aches at the look Aziraphale shoots him one full of disappointment and fear.

"I suppose you are right.. nothing ever lasts," Aziraphale responds almost emotionless like he had a mysterious switch in his head and it was flipped in an instant.

"Angel, don't say that," Crowley says back in disappointment but Aziraphale does not respond and leaves lightly shutting the door behind him.

Crowley sighs and sits on the bed next to Y/n. He gently cradles their face, "I will be with you Y/n no matter where you go and you will always be in my heart wherever ago. Rest assured darling we will meet again." He says these last words like a spell that he knows will come to fruition and seals it with a kiss on their forehead.

Even though Y/n has been unaware of most of what is going around them for almost a year now they seemed to smile at this statement and their eyes filled with tears that Crowley wiped away. Y/n knew they were safe and they shut their eyes for the last time.

#crowly x aziraphale #good omens x reader #good omens fandom #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #good omens crowley #good omens imagine #good omens drabble #aziraphale imagine #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader

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digitaldiarystuff · 3 months

Text

Worst Mistake Pt.2

omg i’m having so much fun writing this but i still need support! if you have any ideas on the storyline or any comments about it please please lmk. hope you enjoy💖

————

pairing: Jude Bellingham x Y/N

summary: Jude was a close friend of your boyfriend, so you meet him. What’s the worst thing that could happen right?

genre: i think a bit of everything

————

For the next weeks, you successfully avoided any occasion Jude would attend and you had every intention to keep it that way because the guilt was eating you alive. However, your plans didn’t work because you always worked from the office on wednesdays and this wednesday, the first thing you saw was Jude standing in the foyer with your boss talking.

“Oh Y/N, welcome” she happily said when she saw you coming in. She was never this kind to you but it had to be because she was talking to a client.

“Hi Susan.” you told her but didn’t look at Jude once, you didn’t know how to approach him.

“You never told me you gave a pitch to Mr. Bellingham, now he’s here to tour some places and decide.”

You couldn’t believe it, why did Jude decide to come to your agency when there were a billion of them? Yeah you showed him the options but he also tried to kiss you and the worst part was, it took everything in you to stop him.

“Yes, Mr. Bellingham was looking for a place and I gave him some ideas.” you professionally answered.

“Well, as luck would have it, you’re actually here today. Can I count on you to show him 3 houses today and then we can have a lunch and discuss which one he’d like.”

This was quite normal in your company, you had many big clients who got very special treatments because they were wealthy and Jude was obviously a great addition to your clientele but being alone with him touring houses all day made your cheeks heat up. You didn’t even have an idea about how this day would go.

“Of course.” you smiled politely. There was nothing you could do, this was a job and you were now his real estate broker.

Jude’s eyes never left your face, wondering if you were going to ignore him forever. You could feel a burning gaze and finally looked up at him and to your absolute disbelief, just looking at him for three seconds reignited the feeling you had the first time you saw him. You felt horrible about all this. You tried smiling reassuringly but your face muscles barely moved. He, on the other hand, had a genuine smile on his face and you wondered if he did this a lot. Maybe he was a home wrecker who enjoyed meddling in people’s relationships all the time.

Susan soon left you alone with Jude to fetch the keys for all the houses you were going to visit today and you stood there silent.

“Hey” he cautiously said when you didn’t talk.

“Hey”

“Zack insisted I should come here, he says you guys are the best.”

Zack… Just hearing your boyfriend’s name was enough for you to know you could never do this to him. You had to put every single feeling aside and focus on being Jude’s friend, this was the only way it should be.

“Yeah, look Jude, we are friends and I’m happy to help you. So let’s go find you a house.” you smiled looking up and saw a slight change in his eyes with your sentence but you couldn’t care about it now. You’re doing your job and helping a friend out.

You tried driving but Jude insisted he should, saying he had to get used to the streets anyway. You silently agreed and went over to his car which was way better than any car you could afford.

“Must be nice.” you mumbled while getting in.

“So the first house is in the neighborhood. You can take a left here and we can go see it first. It’s the only one in the city actually, the other ones are in the suburbs.” you explained and he listened to your directions without any words.

“And this is it.” you exclaimed while he pulled up into a complex. Jude didn’t say a word to you the whole way and it was starting to get to you, yes you were terrified to explore the tension you had with him but you could at least converse like two acquaintances.

You were going to show him a penthouse on the top floor and had a private elevator so you walked over with Jude following close. Once in the elevator, you scanned your card and pressed the highest floor. Your fear of elevators was added to your already anxious self and you felt your hands shake a little but it was okay, this was a fast elevator.

“What the fuck?” Jude asked when suddenly the lift stopped completely.

You couldn’t even form a sentence because this was one of your worst nightmares, you just leaned against the wall and tried calming your breathing.

“Y/N?” Jude asked once he saw the state you were in.

“Yeah?” you said just above a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

“No I’m not. This is my worst fear” your voice cracked at the end and he immediately stepped closer.

“No no no it’s fine. It’ll probably just start again anytime now. It’s fine don’t worry.” he tried reassuring you but you couldn’t even focus on his words, feeling on the verge of a panic attack.

Jude didn’t know what to do so he opted for something that would calm him down and reached for your cheeks. He held them with both of his hands and made you look up at his eyes.

“Y/N listen to me, it’s going to be alright. I’m with you and nothing’s going to happen.”

Just then, the lights turned on and the elevator started moving. You didn’t know if it’s the state you were in seconds ago or the fact that Jude calmed you down with just talking but you started crying immediately. Jude didn’t move, he didn’t drop his hands still holding you like a fragile statue, gently and wiped every single tear you shed. In this light, you could see every single detail of his handsome face and you could also see the worry in his eyes. He probably thought you were crazy, but completely lost in the moment, you placed your hands on top of his holding him in place and leaned in his touch. No words were spoken, you just silently waited for the doors to open and as soon as they did, he retreated his hands and you stepped out.

“So this penthouse is 3 bedrooms 4 bathrooms and is 207 square meters…” you started but Jude cut you off immediately.

“Y/N you need to sit down, here I’ll bring you a cup of water.” he said leaving you in the main space and going into the open kitchen.

Seeing him so worried about your wellbeing made your head spin and you finally realized what happened minutes ago. Your cheeks heated up to a crimson red.

Jude opened the fridge and found an unopened bottle containing water and brought it to you.

“I thought I told you to sit down.” he smiled

“Thanks Jude.” you said opening the bottle and settling down on the sofa. He sat at the other end and examined your face.

“Do I have mascara smudges on my face?” you asked seeing how careful he looked at you. He laughed a little.

“Um, maybe a little but it’s nothing.” he said sliding over to you.

“It better be, I paid 70 dollars for it.” you joked but your breath hitched when he leaned in removing the drops of mascara under your eyes with his fingers.

“You didn’t have to.” you whispered but he kept wiping your under eyes until he was satisfied.

“There, good as new.” he said taking his hands off your face but didn’t move back to his old position just kept close to you.

You smiled genuinely because he took good care of you when he didn’t need to. You were lost in each other’s eyes for a while, he looked at you like he wanted to memorize every single detail he could until you finally got up, it was becoming much harder to just sit there and stare at him.

“Okay, let’s start the tour.” you smiled and said.

“Okay tour guide, show me what you got.” he said and stood up as well.

The day was going far better than you imagined considering you were trapped in an elevator, almost had a panic attack and were with Jude who you were trying to avoid at all cost. You toured the first and the second houses and were actually having a fun time, nothing inappropriate happened and Jude and you had good conversations with banter. If you weren’t deeply attracted to him, you knew you’d be close friends. I mean, you are friends and nothing more but, you know…

“Is this the right place?” he asked while pulling up.

“Yup” you answered as you looked at your dream house, this was your favorite but of course the only way you’d be in here was with a client showing them the house. It was a modern villa with stone exterior and an infinity pool in the garden.

“Is this the one you showed me?”

“Yeah, I mean I showed you all of them. But this, I think this is a place has a calm energy to it.” you laughed and got out of the car.

You gave Jude the tour trying to be professional and not affect his choice.

“So what do you think?” you asked whilst you were sitting in the lounge with him.

“I think I know which one I’m picking.” he confidently said. “Do you guys link me an interior designer as well or should I find one?”

“Yes we work with some designers I can tell Susan to help you with that.” you replied.

“Susan, why?” he asked.

“I mean, my job’s basically over here. I showed you the houses, Susan takes care of the clients after this stage.”

“But do you get a commission?”

You were startled by his curiosity.

“Um, no. I don’t work on commission, I just handle the background work most of the time.” you answered truthfully and he stopped asking about it after that.

After that, you met up with Susan for lunch. You didn’t know if you were actually invited or kindly expected to leave Jude and Susan to have a discussion alone but Jude firmly told you to stay with them so you had no other choice.

“So how was everything? Did Y/N take good care of you?” Susan asked clearly being extra.

“Of course, she’s amazing.” you cleared your throat. “As a tour guide.” Jude added immediately.

“And did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think I did.” Jude said while looking at you, the sentence alone made your stomach feel butterflies but you quickly tried shrugging them off.

“The last one, I want the last one.”

You looked up at him because you really hoped you didn’t change his opinions being biased but he quickly sent you a smile.

“It really has a calm energy and I loved the pool.” he added and Susan happily continued talking but your mind was racing, he used the same wording that you did while explaining to him. Did he really agree with you or was just quoting you?

After the lunch Susan offered to take you back but she had to cancel last minute to attend a meeting with other clients, you reassured her it was okay and you could just get a taxi and she left. You thought Jude also left but his car was still in its place and he showed up behind you in a second.

“You need a ride?”

“Oh no you don’t have to.” you tried but he wasn’t taking no for an answer so you hopped in the car with him.

You knew better than asking him but couldn’t help yourself.

“Jude?”

“Hm?”

“Did you really like the house or did you just do it because I said it’s good?”

This was dumb, why would he want a house just because you liked it. He was probably laughing at me right now, you thought but as you looked at his side his face was neutral.

“I liked it.” he simply shrugged and you felt extra stupid for thinking something like this.

“But I also value your opinion. You said it yourself, you love being in that house.” your heart started beating faster.

“But I wouldn’t be there, you would so what’s most important is what you want.” you looked out the window because the tension was back and it was thick.

“I wish you would.” he mumbled and you almost didn’t hear it. But you did.

“Huh?”

“I said, I really like it so thank you.” he said just as you reached your office and thanked him for driving you.

“No problem, see you soon.” he said as you were closing the door.

“Yeah, see you soon.” you whispered as he was speeding off.

————

#football #football imagine #football x reader #football x y/n #football oneshot #football x you #football blurb #football one shot #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x yn #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham #football fluff #football angst

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nymphoheretic · 1 year

Text

˜”°•.˜”°• The Rare Gem •°”˜.•°”˜

Synopsis: Animal mutation quirks are fairly rare so you were captured by the underground black market because of your quirk. You were to be put up for sale to the highest bidder. You just hope that whoever wins you was a kind soul and will not mistreat you. This is how you ended up with Todoroki Shouto.

Warnings: Temperature play, collaring, pet play. Master/pet, reader has a kitsune type quirk, dom!Shouto, sub!fem!reader, oral (both receiving) overstimulation, cum play, cum swallowing, orgasm control, black coded (but can still be read by others), breeding kink, edging, creampie, ,squirting, fingering, spanking, branding/marking dub-con with a twist(CNC), clit pinching, multiple orgasms (both receiving) praise, degradation, slut calling, pet name (baby, snowflake, my love, etc), implied kidnapping

Word Count: 10k

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x Fem!reader

Small taglist: @tokyometronetwork @babiefwuit @stygianoir @bookandyarndragon @megumri

How did you get yourself into the mess? You struggled against the chains binding your wrists with no avail. Sighing, you leaned your head against the cool metal of the cage they left you in. Perhaps it was because of your quirk that you were captured. Your quirk gave you the animal attributes of a fox. You had large ears, claws, fangs, and a bushy tail.

You usually maintained a good control over your quirk and only used the strength it gave you during missions, but at the time those men captured me, you lost control over your emotions due to an argument with your agency, causing your fox-like attributes to show.

The door creaked open loudly, the light blinding you temporarily. Squinting your eyes, you could faintly make out a figure. “Who’s there?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly from underuse.

Once your eyes had adjusted to the brightness that flooded into the dark room, you saw that it was the man that had captured you and you bared your teeth. “What do you want, you burnt bitch?”

Dabi, a man with burn scars that covered 60% of his body, smirked down at me. “Well, Doll, it’s your turn to be auctioned off. So, I’ve come to collect you.”

“You’re lucky these chains suppress my quirk, asshole!” you snarled, rising to your feet to glare at him. A blush lit up your cheeks when you noticed the look in his light blue eyes. Desire was swirling in them as they looked over your body. It was then you remembered that you were dressed only in a thin white dress. Squeaking out, you covered your chest with your hands and knelt back down. “Fucking pervert!” you cursed at Dabi.

He sent you another cocky smirk as he reached into his pocket for something. You watched as he pulled out the key that could unlock the cage you were trapped in. Dabi opened the door to your entrapment and quicker than what you could react to, he grabbed the chains circling your wrists, “Can’t have you running, can we, doll?” He then clicked something around your neck. A fucking shock collar!

You wanted so badly to claw Dabi’s face off. Who the fuck did he think he was putting a damn shock collar on you? “Take this damned thing off of me! I am not a fucking dog, Dabi!”

“Ooh.” He purred. “Such a dirty fucking mouth you have on you.” His eyes narrowed as he pulled out a remote and pressed a button on it. Dabi watched with sick satisfaction as you convulsed from the electric shock that went through your body.

You opened your mouth and let out a strangled scream, begging for him to turn off the collar. He pressed the button again, turning the electricity off. “Now be a good little girl and follow me.” He attached another chain to the collar and yanked you alongside him.

The light blinded you once more as Dabi drug you out of the darkness of the back room. Scrunching your eyes together, you waited for them to adjust and saw that you were approaching another room. You blinked in confusion when Dabi opened the door and you were greeted by a blond with her hair tied in two messy buns. “What’s this?” you asked.

Dabi ignored you. “Toga. Make her look presentable for the men waiting to bid on her.”

You jerked your head back when Toga reached out and caressed your face with a wide smile on her face. She said something about how smooth and soft your skin was, which made your skin crawl even more.

You had already had to endure having your body inspected by some blue haired, crusty skinned creep earlier, now some blood crazed blonde was going to have her hands on me? “I don't need this, Dabi! I look fine now!” You could feel your emotions boiling over and knew that if you did not calm down soon, your fox-like attributes would come out.

Toga reached for the remote that Dabi held out for her. “Oh, my little foxy, we’re going to have so much fun together.” Her golden eyes twinkled with a look that you could only describe as a yandere with her sights set on her prey.

Eyeing the remote carefully, you sighed as you allowed her to pull you by the chain attached to your collar. Dabi had the decency to leave the room when Toga ripped through the white dress you were wearing with a knife she kept in the boxes on her legs.

The tip of the blade nicked your skin, not enough to break flesh but enough to leave a long red mark. You hissed when she leaned in to place a delicate kiss against the scratch. “What are you doing?”

“Making your owie better.” She said in her slightly singsong voice, her face flushing with a blush and she placed her hands against her cheeks. “You’re so cute when you’re angry. Do you resent us?”

“What do you think?” You snapped, looking away from her.

Toga pouted before skipping over to the clothing rack and pulled out a sleek red dress that had a high slit up to the thigh and was very low cut so that you were almost positive your breasts would pop out of it if you moved wrong.

You blinked in confusion when she pulled out her knife and cut a hole in the back of the gown. “Why are you ruining such a pretty dress?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

The blonde flashed you a smile before pointing the knife at you and lunging. Your fear skyrocketed as your emotions flooded your brain. She was going to kill you? But were you not a precious item to the underground auction? You felt your fox-like attributes pop into existence as your instances told me to get out of the way.

You rolled out of the path of Toga’s knife, temporarily forgetting that you were chained to the table leg. The collar around your neck tightened, choking you. “Fuck!” you cursed as you tried to move back into your original position. Shooting a glare at the blonde, who was giggling up a storm. “What the fuck, Toga?!”

She said nothing as she turned around to look at you over her shoulder. Suddenly, you felt electricity send your body into convulsions. You let out a gurgled screech as you clawed at the collar around your throat. You watched through watery eyes as Toga approached you with a small orange medicine jar in her hands.

As the current still flowed through your body, you were helpless as she force fed you some kind of medicine. “There, foxy, that should keep those cute little ears and tail out for the men and women to see.” She pressed the button that shut off the shock collar and moved to help you into the short, sleek red dress.

Toga was careful with your tail as she guided it through the hole she made before zipping the gown up completely. “You’re so pretty! Just like a red bride.”

You shivered at the new nickname she dubbed me with. You had a name. Why won’t any of them use it? Still feeling the after effects of the collar, you had to let Toga help you to your feet so she could guide you over to the vanity where she did your hair and makeup. She gave you a red and black smokey eye paired with a bold red lip. To hide the thick shock collar around your neck, she placed a red ribbon with a bell attached to it over it.

For your hair, she simply curled it and tied black ribbons around your fox ears. “Just look at how beautiful you made you. If only they would let me take some of your blood. Then I could always remember what you look like, foxy.”

A knock came from the door before Dabi let himself back in. He took one look at me and let out a low wolf whistle. “Damn, dollface. If you weren't going to fetch us such a high price, I’d take you for my own.” He flashed you an attempt of a seductive smirk. If you had not despised him at the moment, you probably would have fallen for it. Your eyes worked fine. You knew Dabi was a sexy man. Hell, you were sure he knew it as well.

“Whatever.” you scoffed as he reached for the chain that he then used to drag me to your feet. “Slow down, will you? I am wearing heels.” Toga had finished off your look with a pair of five inch black stilettos with straps that went up the length of your calves.

You gasped when Dabi suddenly turned on you, a blue flame covering his left hand and a cruel look in his glowing blue eyes.

Dabi growled at me as he pulled me closer by the chain. “You are to be silent now, dollface.” He held the flame dangerously close to your face and you could do nothing but stare in fear.

You knew of Dabi’s quirk, Cremation. It reached temperatures that could melt everything it came in contact with, even wood that is supposed to burn. “If you utter a single word during the auction, I will not hesitate to kill you, understand?”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head and sealed your lips shut as Dabi curled his lips into a smile and snuffed out the flame. Yanking on the chain, he dragged you over to a large pedestal that had a cage around it. You could not help but to roll your eyes at it.

At least this one was a bit bigger than the last one you were placed in. Dabi then attached the end of your chain to a locking mechanism inside the cage and shut the door behind him.

“Good luck, doll. If you’re lucky, your new master won’t break you too badly.” He laughed as he walked away from the caged pedestal, but stayed within earshot in case you spoke out of turn.

You simply sat on the cool metal of the floor and curled your legs against your chest. You hated that it was because of your quirk that you were going to be sold off like livestock. Sometimes you hated having a mutation quirk, they were so rare that people would pay large money to have ya'll work for them.

If only you were stronger like Miruko, you would not have been captured like this. And if it were not for that medicine Toga forced you to swallow, you could have easily concealed your quirk, but no, you were in a constant state of heightened emotions.

“And now for the main event!” you heard the voice of the man who inspected your body call out loudly over the loudspeaker. Closing your eyes, you awaited your fate. You were to be bidded off to the highest paying bidder. You can only hope that your new master will be kind.

“Lastly, we have a rare mutation quirk owner. Her quirk gives her fox-like attributes.” The blue-haired host announced, you think his name is Shigaraki. “Let’s start the bid at five million.”

You blocked out most of the bids since the auctioneers were wearing masks that conceal their identities. Wrapping your tail around your body, you tried to make yourself smaller the higher your cost rose. It was currently up to twelve million and steadily rising.

You were beginning to hate being born with such a quirk. You opened your eyes to look out at the crowd, trying to see who was currently in the lead. you t would seem as if you were going to be purchased by some fat, disgusting older man and that caused a shiver to travel down your spine. He would not be gentle with you.

“Twenty-five million!” Shigaraki called out, his red eyes shining with glee. They were going to be rich off of this one. “Do I hear twenty-six? No? Going once. Twice..”

“That girl belongs to me now.”

You lifted your head when a smooth tenor voice filtered throughout the building and saw what looked to be a young man. You could only see his eyes through the black mask he wore; the left eye was blue, similar to Dabi’s while the right was grey.

How could he say that you belonged to him? Just how much money could someone like him have? The amount of money to purchase you was nearing thirty million?!

Shigaraki narrowed his eyes at the newcomer. “Oh? Then what’s your price?” He pressed the button on the remote that activated the shock collar around your neck, making you convulse around in your cage. “She’s such a fine specimen, you know?” He shut off the power when you let out a strangled plea for him to stop.

The man simply pulled out a thin black card and flung it at the auctioneer, watching him scramble after it. “Just charge whatever price you want to this card.” He walked over to Shigaraki and held his hand out expectantly for the key he held. Once he obtained the item, he walked over to the cage and opened it. “Come here.”

You looked up at him with reproachful eyes. Who was he? You flinched when Shigaraki offered him the remote to your shock collar and quickly shot up to your feet, wobbling slightly due to the stilettos. “Y-Yes, sir.” You slowly walked over to him and placed your hand into his proffered one.

That was as far as you could move due to the chain still latched to the side of the cage. He noticed it and stepped inside and unhooked it from its locking mechanism. Once the chain was free, he turned to face you, his eyes intense. His stare made you feel warm in places you could not describe.

“We’re going.” He said as he pulled at your chain gently. He turned to look at Shigaraki, “Just return that to me once the charges are made. I’ll send someone to retrieve it.”

-0-0-0

You sat in the seat across from the man that had purchased you. You still did not know who he was as he was still wearing the hood of the burgundy robes that the bidder wore and that black mask that only showed his intense heterochromatic eyes. Eyes which were locked on your body and made you squirm a bit under the intensity. You had wanted to cover your breasts with your arms but you were paralyzed by him.

You watched as he lowered the hood of his robe, revealing his long red and white colored hair and realization slowly began to strike you. It could not be him? He reached for the black mask that hid his face from you. You gasped.

There was no mistaking it. The long red and white hair, those blue and grey eyes, the intense red scar on the left side of his face. “You’re Todoroki Shouto!”

He let a small smile tilt at his lips as he brushed back a strand of his long hair. “Yes, but you shall only call me Master now.”

Shock rushed over you. Was he not a Pro Hero? Did he not purchase you to save you from the greedy men and women of the underground auction as a mission? You had been missing for nearly a week and you were an important asset to your agency.

You pulled at the chains circling your wrists, glaring at Shouto. “What are you talking about? You are the Pro Hero, Shouto, right? Isn't this a mission to rescue me? I’m a Pro Hero too!” you froze when you saw him hold up the remote control to the collar hidden behind the red ribbon around your neck, fear wrapping around your body. “What are you...”

Shouto did not let you finish your sentence as he pressed the button to activate the shock collar. He watched as you shook from the electricity coursing through your veins, your tail puffed out from the pain. “You belong to me and I thought I said you are only to call me Master.”

He pressed the button again to shut off the power and you fell back against the cool leather of the limo seat, trying to catch your breath. Shouto moved over to where you were sitting and gently looped his index finger around the collar and lifted me up.

“But to answer your question, yes I am the Pro Hero, Shouto, but this isn’t a mission to rescue you, my darling. I wanted you for myself. You should know how rare animal mutation quirks are and I find those little ears and tail of yours adorable.” The fingers of his other hand reached out and touched your ears at the base.

Without your permission, you had let out a moan when his fingers caressed the fur surrounding your ears. You quickly blushed and covered your mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the sound. You could only pray that he would ignore the sound.

You peeked up at him and gasped at the look of lust on his face as a rush of heat flooded your core. Damn him for being so damn attractive. It made it hard to hate him for what he was going to do. “M-my ears are sensitive...” Was all you said as you looked away from him.

He said nothing as he reached for you and pulled you into his lap. You tried your best to not stiffen in his hold as you curled your tail around your waist, protecting it from his touch. He already found out that your ears were rather sensitive, you did not need him learning that your tail was even more sensitive.

“That was a rather cute moan. I want to hear more of them.” Without a warning, he yanked down the top of the dress you were wearing, your breasts popping free. You let out a squeak as you tried to cover yourself but he yanked your hands away with a sharp tug at the chains circling your wrists. “Don’t move. That’s an order.”

“You can't just expect me to just sit still and let you do whatever you want with me! I am not your property!” you screamed, fighting against the chains trying to free yourself from his hold. your body went limp when his fingers slid over your ears, sending a pleasurable tingle down your spine. Another pitiful sounding moan left your mouth as you felt warmth flood your center when Shouto’s other hand began plucking at your nipples.

Shouto’s warm breath hit your shoulder as he leaned in closer, his voice echoed around the small space of the limo. “I can and I will, Snowflake.” His tongue licked a long, wet line up the side of your flesh, sending streaks of fire down your spine.

Damn it, you were attracted to him. Seeing him on television had spurned a crush on him. He rolled your left nipple in between his fingers as his mouth latched onto the spot where your neck and shoulder met. “Come on, Baby~...” He purred in a voice that should be illegal. “Let your voice out.”

You could not stop the wanton cry that left your throat when his hand moved from your breast to the increasingly damping spot between your thighs. His fingers slipped inside the dress you were wearing, skimming along the front of your panties. You let out another moan as he slid his index finger over that sensitive bundle of nerves. “Fuck...” you choked out, quivering in his arms. you were fighting a losing battle with both your mind and body. Your mind was telling you to resist, yet don’t at the same time and your body was accepting his touch.

He pinched your clit roughly between his fingers as he sucked at the junction where your shoulder and neck met and his fingers rubbed one of your ears. The overstimulation of having so many erogenous zones touched at once was leaving you breathless.

You squirmed around on his lap and gasped when you felt it. Shouto’s cock was hard and pulsing against your ass. For some reason a sense of pride filled your mind. you were happy that you were able to turn on such a handsome man with your body. You let out another piercing moan when you felt his teeth bite down on your shoulder and his fingers graze over your clit again.

“Do you want me to shove my fingers inside, Baby?” He asked. “Do you want me to fuck you with them?”

Your eyes shot open as you realized what he was doing. ‘He’s fucking edging me. you hate being edged!’ you stubbornly shook your head, refusing to answer him. you would not give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. Suddenly, you felt a chill run down your body where the fingers of his right hand trailed and a pitiful sounding cry left your throat. You wanted to beg. you wanted to beg so fucking badly, but you had your pride. “Fuck!” you screamed out when those icy fingers of his slid through the fur of your tail, stroking it softly.

Shouto let out a chuckle. “So, that’s why you kept moving it out of the way of your touch. Your tail is even more sensitive than your ears.” His breath turned cool as he whispered against your neck and you knew that he must be using his quirk to manipulate me into begging for his touch. Running those sinfully cold fingers through your tail from tip to base was driving me insane. “Let’s see how much longer you can hold back from begging me to fuck you.”

Youlet out another breathy moan when you felt his mouth close over one of your ears, his tongue swirling along the edge. you could literally feel your resolve breaking with each stroke of warm fingers of his left hand along your clothed pussy. When he squeezed your clit again, his fingers nearly burning hot is what made you break. “S-s-shit...Master, please?”

“Please what, Snowflake?” He mocked, rubbing his hot fingers along the sensitive bundle of nerves. His long hair brushed along your neck when he leaned over to watch your expression as his icy cold fingers found their way to the base of your tail and he rubbed his fingertips along the spot where it met with your lower back. you let out another wanton sounding mewl as you jerked around in his lap, grinding your hips down. “Say it. Beg for me, Baby.”

Biting your lip in irritation that he was going to make me beg for it, a low growl left me. Swallowing thickly, you lowered your head. “Please, Master, fuck me with your fingers. you want them inside me.” you let out a lusty cry of pleasure when one of his cold fingers slid your panties to the side and found purchase inside your dripping cunt. It was so cold that it hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. His left hand went for your tail, rubbing hot circles around the spot where it met with your flesh. Dammit, you wanted him. You wanted more than just a finger. You wanted his cock rammed deep inside you. “I need more.”

Shouto smiled as he slowly moved his finger in and out of you, edging you on slowly. His hot breath fanned over the swollen mark he’d left on your neck. He let out a grunt when you grinded your hips down into his crotch, your ass rubbing against his cock. Quickly, he added another icy finger to your dripping pussy. You could not hold back the lewd cry that left your mouth as you tossed your head back against his shoulder, sweat glistening on your forehead.

“Was that enough, your darling? Or do you still need more?” He taunted, drilling those fingers of his deeper.

You hated to admit it, but you were so turned on by him. There was no denying your attraction to him. you wanted him. you wanted more of this temperature play he was doing using his quirk. It felt so good to have his icy fingers inside while his hot palm gripped one of your breasts, twisting a nipple. Pride be damned! “Master, please? More. I need to feel more of you!” But the instant you admitted that you wanted him, he stopped and pulled away completely. You blinked in confusion when he lifted you off his lap and back onto the seat next to him.

“Unless you want the entire mansion to see you in such a state, I suggest you fix your clothing.” Shouto readjusted the silk tie of the suit he was wearing, ignoring the large bulge in his pants.

Looking away from him as shame filled your mind. He got what he wanted. You begged for him like a needy bitch in heat. Glaring at him, you pulled up the top of your dress the best you could with your bound hands. Growling when the movement put your hands in an awkward position, you glanced up at Shouto. He was already watching you with amused eyes and you knew that this was what he wanted. Biting your lip and lowering your eyes, you asked, “Master, will you help me?” you growled when he gave you an expectant look. “Please, Master?”

He moved over and helped you pull the red dress up over your breasts, but he made sure to brush his knuckles over your nipples as he leaned in. “We will continue this inside, Snowflake.”

Your face flushed at the seductive tone his voice took on when he whispered the nickname in your ears before he bit one of them. You let out another loud moan before clamping your hands over your lips. you watched as the door of the limo was pulled open and Shouto slid out of the car, gently yanking on the chain around your neck so that you would follow him. You ignored the curious stares of the staff that came out to greet Shouto like he was a young lord. ‘He basically is!’ you wanted to smack yourself. The Todoroki family was one of the richest families around. ‘That’s how he was able to afford your price tag in the underground auction.’

Shouto pulled you alongside him, your stilettos clicking loudly with each step. Your back stiffened when he placed his hand against your skin, lightly rubbing circles on the base of your tail. You had to bite your lips to keep from letting out a pitiful sounding moan at his touch. He was playing dirty. Now that he knew that your animal attributes were sensitive, he was going to exploit that weakness every chance he got.

-0-0-0

It's been a few weeks since you were purchased by Todoroki Shouto and he’s been nothing short of a gentleman after that first incident in the limo ride to his mansion. Despite his promise to continue when the two of you got inside, He’d claimed that he was tired from having to deal with the underground and went to bed almost immediately after.

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror and admired the outfit that was set out for you. Shouto decided that you would only wear traditional Japanese kimonos as they allowed space for your tail. So, today it was a short black kimono that had a red obi with white lilies on the material. It was a cute outfit and you appreciated the clothing, but hated that you were basically being forced to take that strange medicine that kept your ears and tail out. The medicine also made them even more sensitive and he took full advantage of it.

A knock at your room door caused you to jump slightly. “Come in?” you said, watching the doorknob turn before it creaked open. Your eyes widened at the sight of Shouto stepping into your room wearing one of his robes, his hair tied up into a bun. You could feel the saliva build up in your mouth at the sight of his bare chest from the gap in his robe. Quickly, you turned your head away and swiped your mouth. “Hello, Master. What can you do for you?” you knew why he was here dressed only in his robe. That was his sign that he wanted to fuck you and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Shouto said nothing as he walked over to you, his eyes intense as he looked at you. He frowned as he stared at your neck and you realized that you had forgotten to cover the shock collar with the black choker that still sat on your bed. “The collar, Snowflake.” He growled out, his voice dropping in octaves. With a predatory look in his eyes, he began to advance on you.

Your breath got caught up in your breath as you took a step back for each one he took forward until your back was pressed against the wall. You let out a squeak when Shouto slammed his hands next to your head, trapping you. He was so close you could see every detail of his face and feel every breath he took as he leaned in closer. “I-I’m sorry, Master. I was about to cover it up when you knocked.” you placed a hand on his chest in a discreet attempt to put some distance between you two.

He grabbed your hand and brought it to his mouth, teeth grazing over the fleshy part of your palm. “Are you lying to me, Baby?” His lips spread into a seductive smile when you shook your head. “So, it’s your Master’s fault that you didn’t have enough time to put on the choker?” the fingers of his right hand stroked your cheek, leaving trails of frost in its path to the shock collar.

You shivered, whether it be in anticipation or from the chill of his touch, as he hooked a finger into the collar and pulled you closer to him. “No, sir.” you replied, looking him in the eyes. “It's my fault for taking too long getting dressed.” During the few weeks of you being in his care, you’ve learned that he likes a submissive partner. You even allowed a few tears to swell in the corner of your eyes, knowing it would please him. You’ve become his Snowflake, beautiful, delicate and fragile. Well...not that fragile.

Shouto, accepting your submission to him, smiled down at you and wrapped his large hands around your waist before seizing your lips in a slow yet passionate kiss that soon left you both panting and straining against one another. He reached for the obi and tugged at it gently until it loosened around me. The red tie fell to the ground in a pool of silk. He then reached for the pin that held your hair up, letting the locks fall down to frame your face and you knew that was your signal to touch him.

Slowly, you reached up and caressed his face, tracing your fingers along the edge of his jawline before moving them to tangle in his hair, gently pulling it from the bun he had it in. You felt him slide his hands into the fabric of the kimono, pushing at the edges until it slid off your shoulders leaving me only in your bra and panties. Shouto finally pulled away from your lips to admire your body. Seeing the appreciation in his eyes let you know that you picked out the right lingerie. So, maybe he will forgive me for not putting the choker on before he came.

He trailed his hands along your body before taking your hands and placed one on his chest and the other on the sash at his waist. You looked down at your hand near the tie as you pulled on it until it hung loose before you slowly parted the crimson robe, your hands gliding over his sinewy muscles of his shoulders. You could feel your mouth water at the sight of his chiseled chest, sculpted abs, and the V-cut of his hips. Sweet mercy, he was sexy and you wanted to run your hands all over his body. But you refrained from doing so without his permission, Shouto was the dominant one here and you were the submissive.

Shouto pulled you closer and trailed his fingers down your back, trails of frost forming in its path, until he reached the base of your tail. You immediately went limp with pleasure in his arms as a flood of moisture soaked your panties. Those sub-zero fingers stroked through your fur, teasing the spot where the flesh merged with your fluffy appendage. “I can smell you, my darling.” His voice caressed your ears as your face flushed with heat. “Your arousal is getting thicker by the second and you ’ve barely even touched you.” He bent down and caught your lips in a searing kiss that made your knees buckled from the intensity. “Look at how cute you are? You’re just my cute little captive fox. It makes me want to tease you more.”

You opened your mouth in a soft sounding moan when he leaned in and grazed your shoulder with his teeth, pulling down your bra strap in the process. Treading your fingers into his long hair, you silently guided him to the other side so that he could lower the other strap with his teeth. “M-Master...” you moaned out as he slowly lapped at the center of your chest. He was edging me again. You hated being edged so slowly, but you knew this was probably punishment for not covering the shock collar. Shouto moved down to your breasts, his tongue both heating and cooling on your flesh.

You felt his teeth graze over your nipple as he pulled the cup down before closing his lips over the pebbled bud. First his mouth was hot, scorching almost as his tongue swirled over your peak, but then it cooled to near freezing. The pleasure was damn near maddening as you clenched your thighs together to ease the ache that formed between them.

“I will make you ache for me.” He whispered against your skin as he lifted his mouth back to your lips, placing another passionate kiss on them. You heard him chuckle at your disappointed moan when his lips left mine. He placed a warm finger against your mouth to shush me, his gaze predatory, before he lifted me up into his arms.

Shouto dropped you softly on the large bed, hovering over you. You felt him reach behind you to unclasp the bra and you were anticipating his touch, but it never came. Holding back a frustrated cry when his fingers instead trailed lines down your shoulders. “Oh, you thought I wasn’t serious? No, you’re going to go mad with want. And I will not fuck you until you’re dripping wet for me.”

His words alone were making you ache for him. His low, timbering voice was like sweet music to your sensitive hearing. Hot tears of frustration pooled in your eyes and you tried to reach out for him, wanting to attempt to change his mind. Shouto saw your movement and with a twitch of his hand, ice formed shackles around your wrists and pinned you down to the bed. His grey and blue eyes narrowed down at me for your slight defiant behaviour and you knew that he was going to go even slower to torture you.

Softly, he placed his hands over your breast, kneading them without his quirk and you mewled at the raw feeling of his skin against youurs. Shouto then leaned in and bit the tip of one of your ears and your core tingled even more causing you to rub your thighs together to produce some type of friction. Your tears of frustration broke free when you felt Shouto shackle your ankles to the bedpost thus keeping your legs spread open.

“Master, please? I need you.” you were damn near sobbing with how much your body was throbbing for him.

Shouto softly wiped at the tears that were streaming down your face. “You’re so pretty when you cry. Are you aching that badly, my little slut? Shall I end your suffering?” He let a sly smirk touch his lips as he slowly trailed his left hand down the length of your body, trails of heat flaring along your skin until he reached the edge of your panties. There was a flare of smoke and you realized that he was burning the underwear off of you. You were panting as his fiery fingers drew slow, hot circles along your inner thigh. “Such pretty thighs. Just the right size to grab a handful.”

Your body was visibly shaking with each slow touch Shouto graced your body with. You were becoming so needy. You needed more. More of his touch. More of his lips and tongue on your skin. This slow torture was driving me inssane with desire. Your pussy was practically drooling by now, begging to be touched and fucked. Without realizing it, your tail moved on its own and wrapped around Shouto’s neck and pulled him down into your body.

A gasp left you when you realized what you had done and quickly unwrapped your tail from around his neck. You let out another wanton sounding moan when Shouto reached out and grabbed the furry appendage with his icy cold hand. He slowly lifted his face from your chest and stared down at you with such an intensity in his eyes. You were in trouble.

“Snowflake...” Yep, you were in deep shit. He only called you that when you were about to receive punishment. And by the way he growled out the name, he was pissed that you questioned his dominance. “What have I told you about using your tail without my command?” His sub zero touch trailed up the length until he could not reach anymore of it due to you laying on your back. The ice chains holding you down lengthened so he could flip you onto your hands and knees. You shivered in pleasure as your body nearly went limp from his touch until you heard his command. “Don’t fucking move, Snowflake.”

When the first burning smack to your ass came without warning and tears sprang from your eyes from the sheer pleasure. He spanked you soundly with his left hand, practically branding his handprint into you with his quirk and you loved every second of it. What you were not expecting was him to use his right hand to send chills up your back from the next couple of spanks. The icy cold smacks felt so good against your hot skin that you could not help but to stick your tongue out and moan at the feeling.

“That’s a good little bitch in heat. Moan for me.” He smacked your ass in alternation of both hands until the flesh was raw. Shouto then leaned in and placed his lips against the heated and tender skin causing you to flinch slightly from the soreness. His teeth grazed along the curvature of your rear, tongue slipping out to cool the stinging flesh until he reached the spot where your tail met with your lower back.

A shiver ran down your spine. He knew how very sensitive you were there and loved to tease you there. His tongue went from cold to hot as he lapped at the spot as his fingers teased at your dripping slit. “Oh?” He breathed, his breath turning cool against your back. “You’re a sopping wet mess down here. My Baby, I’ll ask you again. Shall you put an end to your suffering? Tell me what you want.”

Your thighs were quivering by the moment and your face was covered with your tears of frustration. “I want you, Master. I want you to eat your pussy and then fuck me with your hard cock.” you begged, sobbing as you did so. You were so fucking turned on and you did not want to wait anymore.

Shouto sat back on his knees and you could see that his cock was straining against his boxers. He tapped a finger against his chin in thought as his other hand rubbed his shaft slowly, tempting me. Shouto freed his cock from the confines of his underwear. “Before you do that...” he mused as he reached and grabbed one of your ears, causing you to moan out loudly. He turned me around, the ice chains rattling. “Why don’t you suck my cock. Take your Master’s cock deep inside that pretty little throat of yours.” He slapped the head of it against your cheek. “Stick out your tongue, Snowflake.”

You quickly opened your mouth and did as he ordered. Soon after your mouth was filled with his flavor, his pre-cum sweet on your tongue.. His masculine scent filled your nose as you took in a breath. He was so large that it stretched your lips, but you were determined to take all of him. As always, you made sure to keep your teeth away from his sensitive anatomy, but would occasionally let your sharp canines drag over the bulbous tip. His moans were like music to your ears and only spurred you on.

His hand came up to caress your face. “Yes, just like that, Baby. Suck that cock.” he hissed out as he thrust his hips gently, pushing more of his length inside your mouth. “You look so beautiful with your cock shoved so deep in your throat, Snowflake.” Shouto tilted his head back and let out a low groan when you swirl your tongue over the thick length pumping in and out.

You kept your jaw slightly slack because you knew of his tendencies of losing all his composure and face fucking you. You hollowed out your cheeks and hummed lightly, knowing the vibrations would drive Shouto insane.

Shouto let out a grunt. “Yes...” he hissed. “That’s a good little slut.” He purred out as his hand tangled in your hair to push his cock even deeper down your throat. Tears were starting to leak from your eyes from the pleasurable pain and he wiped at them with his warm hand. “Crying again? We’ve only just begun, Baby.” He let out another deep moan as he tossed his head back, long red and white hair sparkling in the dim light of the room as it slid off his broad shoulders.

You moaned when Shouto reached across your back to play with the soft fur of your tail, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth. Fuck, he was driving you up the wall with pleasure, but you could sense that he was getting close too. Your inner walls were clenching in tune to your sucking and you felt Shouto’s cock beginning to swell. You curled your tongue around him and gave him a hard suck. “Fuck...” He cursed. “You want my cum that badly?”

Hot and cold hands wrapped around your head as he pulled me in closer. “Then you can have it. Deep down your throat.” you nearly choked when the first of the thick, white fluid shot out and filled your mouth. “Take it all, but don't swallow just yet, Baby~. Keep that cum in your mouth until you say you can swallow it. And don’t spill a single drop.”

You obeyed his command, holding his seed in your mouth. You allowed a small smile to cross your lips when Shouto wrapped his hands around your waist and flipped me onto your back. You shivered when he began trailing those sub zero fingers down your abdomen. “You said that you wanted my tongue, right, Snowflake?” you nodded your head vigorously, mewling when those icy fingers of his began circling around your clit, coating them with your honeyed essence. “You’ve been such an obedient pet that I should reward you, I suppose.” He licked a warm line down your stomach. “Your scent is addicting.” His hot breath fanned out over your nether regions causing another rush of liquid.

Shouto used two of those icy fingers to spread your lower lips and gave it a long, scorching lick with that hot tongue of his. Your toes curled as a sobbing like moan left your throat when those slender digits of his slid inside your drenched, slick cavern. He used his thumb to flick the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of your opening. “Make sure to keep holding that cum in your mouth, darling.” Shouto thrust his fingers in and out of your dripping center and you gasped when he entered the third cold finger, almost making you swallow what was in your mouth.

You let out a lustful humming sound as his fingers pistoned into me at such a furious pace, his fingers the perfect chilling temperature that it stung in a pleasurable way. your eyes shot open when his hot tougue swirled over your clit, attacking the swollen bud with quick flicks. you could feel your release building up and tears from the sheer pleasure were building up in your eyes.

“Are you about to cum, Snowflake?” He growled against your flesh and brought you closer to sweet release. “Go ahead and cum. You have my permission.” Shouto lapped at your honeyed center with that scorching tongue again. With another loud, muffled cry, you came hard. White spots danced in your vision, blinding you momentarily.

He greedily drank all of what you had to offer as it dripped out of your pussy, not letting a single drop escape. you expected for him to stop, but then your body arched when his tongue turned cold and warm fingers replaced the cold ones. ‘Again!’ you had just come, you were not ready for his tongue again, especially when it’s so hot that it's causing maddening pleasure.

You pulled against your shackles as your body shook from the overstimmulation Shouto was causing on your body. He stroked his fingers in and out at such a furious pace and flicked that burning hot tongue over your clit. Not forgetting that he liked it when you cried, you let hot tears stream down your face as you thrash on the bed only for Shouto to hold your hips down with his arm.

“Can’t handle what you asked for, Baby?” His voice dropped into that dangerous territory that made your heart beat erratically in your chest. He lashed at your sensitive budle of nerves with his tongue once more. “You’re so pretty when you’re crying those sweet tears.” His sub zero fingers moved faster within you as another round of pressure built up.

You could feel another release coming and it was coming fast. You wanted to open your mouth and scream but could not due to the order to not spill any of the cum you held. “Keep that cum in your mouth, Snowflake. Savor the flavour of it.”

Your body gave a sharp convulsion when you came, lifting off the bed. Shouto did not miss a beat as he slurped up every drop, his tongue lashing over your clit and fingers never once slowing down. Once you had calm down from your high, he slowed down and gave your sex gentle licks and nips before pulling away. “What’s the matter, Baby?” He gazed down at your sweaty flushed body, your chest still heaving from exhaustion. “Don’t tell me you're ready to tap out. We haven’t even begun to have fun yet.”

You tried to plead with your eyes that you needed a break before continuing as your sex was still tingling from two back to back orgasms. Either Shouto did not notice or he ignored it as he slapped the head of his cock against your slit. He grabbed your legs and placed them over his shoulders as he stroked himself with one hand. His grey and blue eyes stared down at you intensely. “You can swallow now. I want to hear that sweet voice of yours as I take you.” You nearly choked as he timed his first thrust with your swallowing, his salty yet sweet tasting seed sliding down your throat.

“Fuck!” you cursed when he gave a hard trust, your breasts bouncing from the vigorous movement. Another loud gasp fell from your lips at the tingle of pleasure that grew within your core when Shouto picked up his speed more. You mewled when he bent down and nipped at one of ears, teeth grazing the fleshy inner part softly as he plunged his cock into me.

It felt so good and you were so full of his huge length. You tried to wrap your arms around him, but the ice shackles around your wrists prevented that so you held onto his strong biceps. “M-Master...it feels so good.”

Shouto let out a grunt as he snapped his hips down into me, your walls clenching around him firmly. “You feel so good around me, Snowflake.” His hissed into your ear, sending shivers down your spine. your tail was swishing around until he grabbed it in his left hand, the heat of his palm caused tears of overstimmulation to burn at the corners of your eyes. “Are you about to cry again, my love?” he brought the tip of your tail to his lips and drew it into his cool mouth. You let out a scream as your body buckled at the feeling, the stimulation wrecking havoc.

“Go ahead and cry some more. I am going to keep fucking you.” Tail still cluched between his teeth, Shouto reached out and wiped at your tears. Damn him for being able to cause your body so much pleasure that it hurts. His cock was almost too big for you, stretching you to accommodate him. But it only made you want him even more. The slight pain was addictive. He was addictive and you wanted more. Much more. His hips never faltered in his fast movements, deep thrusts that touched your cervix. It felt so damned good.

You could feel your climax approaching, but you knew better than to cum without Shouto’s permission. Hoping that he was not wanting a long session because it was geting harder and harder to hold back. Especially with his thrusts causing your inner muscles to clench and unclench on him. But then he said something that made you want to whine in defeat.

“Don’t you dare cum until you say you can.”

You wanted to curse him. You hated when he controlled your orgasms! That was more torture than the overstim. You dug your nails into his forearms, knowing that he liked it, but it was revenge for the denial.

Shouto leaned down and caught your lips in another wild, passionate kiss as he let out a lustful grunt. You immediately felt warmth fill your womb and knew that he had just had his second release. “How does it feel, Baby? To have my cum so deep inside.” He stilled his hips momentarily, savoring the feeling before he began to pick up speed again. “Let’s go for another one, Snowflake.”

The slickness of our combined juices made it easier for him to slip in and out of me as he pounded me into the mattress. Your inner muscle quivered as he pulled himself out before slamming back in. His mouth, hot from his quirk, captured your nipple between his teeth and swirled his tongue around the hardened nub. His fingers, cold to the touch, rubbed at your clit..

You opened your mouth in a lustful cry as you tried hard to hold off on cumming until Shouto said you could. It was just so damn hard. But those intense eyes were locked on yours, daring you to defile him. So, you squeezed down on him to try and coax another one out of him, so that he will allow you to have one.

Knowing him though since you had already had two from his tongue, you were not going to be allowed to have one until he had another one. You pushed your hips up to meet his repeatedly, silently hoping that he would get his third one soon. But you know of his stamina. Shouto could go for hours if he wanted to. You really felt like crying this time when you felt the burn of salt sting at your eyes. This pleasurably torture was almost inbarable, but you could withstand it.

You actually craved it.

He moved your legs from their position against his shoulders and pushed them back until your knees were against your chest. Shouto pulled out only to slide back in just as rough. You knew that he could feel your throbbing pussy clenching down on him, trying to milk him of all he has to offer. you nearly disobeyed his direct order when his leaned down and grazed his teeth over your shoulder before sucking on the spot where it met with your neck as he squeezed that sensitive little bundle of nerves.

“Do you want to cum, Baby?” At your nod, he chuckled, the vibrations tingling your skin. “Well, that’s too bad. You’ll only cum when I say so.” He leaned back down and took your nipple back into his mouth this time without his quirk, while his hand fondled the other with those icy fingers.

“Fuck...” you heard him curse, your legs beginning to tremble as he grabbed your hips as his thrusts became erract. You clamped down on him once more and ground into his pelvis insistantly. “Snowflake...” he tilted his head back and moaned, sweaty strands of his long hair sticking to his forehead. “You ready for the second load? Beg me for it. Beg for me to fill you with my hot seed.” He pumped his thick length in and out, slowing his pace to a maddening level.

You tried to buck your hips to urge him into a faster speed, but he locked your legs in place, pushing them further into your chest. “Master, please!” you yelled, forcing out a few tears for good measure. you wanted it. you wanted him to fill me again even if you were not allowed to cum yet. you wanted to make him feel good. “I want it. Give it to me, please.” you cried out when he gave a particularly harsh thrust, locking his hips in place.

You gave another loud lusty mewl as his hot cum filled me again for the second time. your vision was starting to get blurry from the passion that Shouto was giving me. “Please, Master, can I cum now?” The pain in your lower parts was so intense now, the constant throbbing of your clit was in tune with your own racing heart.

Shouto gazed down at you, his hair falling over his shoulders as he tilted his head. A soft, slow smile tilted at his lips. He pulled out, much to your disappointment, but took hold of your still quivering hips. You were then placed on your hands and knees again. You could feel Shouto rubbing the head of his cock teasingly at your hole.

“You’ve been so good to listen to me. I suppose you should.” you cried out in pleasure when he slid back inside with a slow, deep thrust. This position allowed him the deepest penetration and you loved it. You loved feeling him pressed so tightly against your cervix. “You may cum when you do, Baby.”

You whined. This was his fourth wind. It could take as long as twenty minutes before he came again. Your body was shaking with anticipation of release and your clit was burning. You wanted to scream and shout at him for being so commanding, but another hard thrust had me choking on your saliva.

“F-Fucking shit...” you cried out, your voice starting to go hoarse from your screams. “Please, Master..” you needed to cum so badly you were going to go insane. You did not know how much longer you could hold out. The slow, intense drag of his cock felt so damn good that it made actual tears stream down your face, not your forced ones. You opened your mouth as your tongue fell out and your eyes rolled upwards.

“Does it feel good, Baby?” He groaned. “Having my cock so deep inside you?” His hips snapped forward in another hard, deep thrust. Shouto then moved one of his hands from around your waist, sliding down to squeeze and flick at your clit. The feeling of his fingers without his quirk felt just as good as it did with it. “How badly do you want to cum?”

His squeezing intensified, causing you to throw your head back, your ears swiveling back to lay flat against your head and your tail swishing around wildly. You were a panting mess under him. Every nerve in your body was heightened and sensitive to the touch. “Tell me, Snowflake.” He ran a heated finger down your spine as he leaned down and nipped at your ear.

“Fuck, it feel so good, Shou.” you moaned out. “I want to cum so fucking badly that I’m going insane!”

Shouto bit down on your ear. “Cum, my love. Cum for me.” He gave one last slow, deep thrust and held it. The tip of his cock was pressed so tightly against you that you lost the strength in your arms as you came so hard that stars danced in your vision. The hot liquid dripped down your thighs as you felt Shouto’s third load fill you. He had wrapped an arm around you to keep you in place as he gave a few gentle thrusts. “I love you, baby. I love you so much.”

you smiled lazily as you turned your head to look back at him. “I know Shou, you called me your love in the middle of it all.” you whinced a little when he pulled out as you were still very tender.

“And you broke character by calling me “Shou”.” He said matter-of-factly, squeezing me against his body. “But I didn't hurt you, did I?” Shouto asked as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Shou, I could have said the safe word at any time.” you reached up and flicked his nose. Laughing slightly, you snuggled against him, a soft purr like sound rumbling in your throat. Todoroki Shouto was actually your boyfriend. You were so happy when Shouto had come to rescue you from that nasty black market.

You were sure he was frantic when he learned that you had been kidnapped by Shigarki due to your quirk. Speaking of that auction. “You never did tell me how much you had to pay to free me or why you basically molested your girlfriend in the limo ride home.”

He looked down at me with those beautiful grey and blue eyes of his and a smile spread over his lips. “I didn’t pay a thing for what’s mine, but my father paid fourty million to have you back safely. And you did not molest you. I was just so happy to have you back safely that I had to touch you. Plus the limo ride was being monitored by the commity of the underground.” He pouted as he reached out and rubbed one of your ears softly. “You played along anyway, Snowflake.”

Another lusty moan left your throat as Shouto played with your ear. “Shou... stop messing with my ears. You know how sensitive they are. But fourty million?”

Shouto shrugged his shoulders. “I told Shigaraki that he could charge whatever price he wanted. I was not letting anyone else have you.” He looked down at me and you could see the possessiveness in his gaze. “You are mine. My rare gem.”

You smiled as you leaned up to press your lips against his in a sweet, passionate kiss. “Only yours.”

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shdo-xplosion · 1 year

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11. 💙 QUID PRO QUO - k. bakugou

power imbalance, manipulation, coercion, forced blow job. this actually turned a little darker than i planned, so sorry! in fact, to be safe, i’m going to call this non-con.

@touyatodorokislut’s event ask!

Doing this right behind the police station probably isn’t a great idea, but Bakugou can’t help himself, especially with the threat of never running into you again hanging over his head.

You’re so cute, still visibly shaken by the attempted villain attack that Bakugou had saved you from. He was only too happy to go to the station with you after all was said and done, give report to Tsukauchi while reassuring you that you were safe. It was all over.

Little did you know the plans he had for you. Or the hard on he’s been hiding since picking you up off the ground and carrying you to safety.

He can’t remember the last time he’d felt such a primal attraction to someone so quickly—without knowing anything about them. But something about you has him short of breath and hot all over.

So he ushers you into the alley after the report is written up, sweet talks you for a little bit, and then lowers his voice.

“That rescue was pretty taxing, ya know. Kinda feels like you owe me one.”

You laugh quietly, but Bakugou can tell you’re nervous. Whether it’s because of the attack or the dark or him looming over you, he’s not sure.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up,” you admit. “If I could tip you for saving me I would, but…”

“You don’t gotta give me money,” he snickers.

“Well, I’m a pretty good cook!” you try. “I can drop off some food at your agency, make you and your sidekicks lunch for a few days?”

Fuck, you’re adorable. And naive. It makes Bakugou’s dick twitch.

“Nah, that’s okay. We all stay pretty well fed.”

You blink at him, apprehensive when you ask, “what… what can I do for you then? As a thank you…” He thinks you have a vague idea of where this might be going, so maybe you’re not as innocent as he thought.

“Nothing much. Just help me unwind after a long shift.”

You gulp. He smirks.

“I, um… I don’t really know what…”

Bakugou takes a step toward you, his voice all gravel when he suggests (more like commands), “how ‘bout you get on your knees for me?”

Your eyes are wide, a glimmer of fear lighting them up brighter than any of the street lamps.

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll make it quick.”

“But, I—my boyfriend…”

“He doesn’t have to know. And remember… you owe me,” he grins, slowly beginning to unbuckle his belt.

Bottom lip trembling, you stare at him for a little longer as if you can change his mind with nothing more than a look, but when Bakugou doesn’t budge you nod to yourself, take your cardigan off to lay on the asphalt, then kneel on it. Smart. Your knees will be bruised, but at least they won’t be bloody.

You wet your lips when Bakugou pulls his throbbing cock free, and when he guides his tip into your waiting mouth he can feel that it’s dry with panic. Doesn’t matter. One sudden thrust just a little too deep makes you gag, saliva immediately pooling into your mouth.

“There we go, that’s a good pet.”

Tears are already gathering at your waterline, falling when Bakugou starts moving his hips. He puts a rough hand on the back of your head to hold you in place so that he can set his own pace. He alternates between shorter thrusts that make the ridge of his cock pop in and out of your lips, putting pressure just where he likes it, and fucking deep enough for his tip to slide into your tight throat.

You feel so good, muscles constricting when you gag on his length. Drool leaks from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin. The sound is what’s really getting him off, though, the lewd schlick schlick like music to Bakugou’s ears. In and out, in and out, harder, faster—he’s using both hands to hold your head now, hips pistoning as he feels the white heat growing inside of him.

“Feel so good, taking my cock like a pro,” he grunts. Pro is a loose term, though. You’re struggling just like everyone else does, shoulders heaving with gags every time he pushes in too deep. Your whole face is drenched now, spit and tears and Bakugou’s own pre he keeps wiping on your lips.

“M’about to cum,” he warns. “You gonna be good an’ swallow for me? Be my biggest fan, yeah?”

He holds your head tightly as he climaxes, groaning and shoving his cock deeper into your throat. He can feel you try to pull back, but he won’t let you, and he feels your throat tighten around him as you’re forced to swallow.

“Good, good, drink it all, baby.”

And, you do. Every last drop until Bakugou is spent. He pulls out of your mouth with a huff, falling back against the wall as you scramble to your feet.

After you wipe your face as best you can, you glare at him and spit, “do me a favor and never save me again.”

event masterlist ✿

#doves welcome event ✿#bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #tw coercion #bnha x reader #tw dark content #tw noncon

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follows-the-bees · 1 month

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What's ur issue with edizzy?

Any relationship that ties Izzy with Stede or Ed, I am not a fan of. I live by a ship and let ship philosophy but I will curate my timeline so I don't have to see ships that I personally don't like.

I don't like Izzy with Ed because it is clear to me in canon that Izzy doesn't actually love Ed, and he realizes that at the end when he gets to grow and start to become his own person that isn't clinging onto the persona of BB and the strict masculinity Izzy has been holding onto.

To Ed, Izzy is just another father-like figure that is part of his trauma response. (Captain Hornigold, the fisherman, etc are also part of this.) And at least twice, we see Ed react negatively to any affection offered to him from Izzy. He is not in love with him. And I will even argue that while Izzy loves Ed, he isn't in love with the real Ed. He does wish him well though.

I think a large part of Izzy's season two journey is finding out he isn't in love with Ed. And even if Izzy wasn't killed at the end (I think there were plans to bring him back in s3, there's a lot of foreshadowing in the story, just like there was foreshadowing of his death) Ed and Izzy needed to be apart to grow out of their toxicity.

The Discomfort in a Married State episode seems to be peoples biggest evidence of a sexual edizzy. But I think that's a baseline reading of what that episode is trying to communicate. It is not about sex/romance, it is about the societal expectations that are causing the discomfort. For Stede, it is about living in this married state and the societal expectations in it, while he is incredibly unhappy. So unhappy, he runs away, and is even suicidal, but would rather live a short life as a pirate then continue living in "discomfort." For Ed, it is the societal pressures of being Blackbeard. He is also suicidal and trying to get away from it and we see him tell Izzy this directly in this episode, and Izzy's response is basically, buck up and pull yourself up by your bootstraps. (Now there is a whole thing of Izzy as the middle manager trying to keep his bad boss and the crew in check, which is why he responds like that reading. But also, I will say Izzy constantly lies to the crew, to Ed, to whomever, and I don't think it's always to "try to keep everything working" or however you want to phrase it. A lot of times it's to his own advantage, and the show also shows that he's in the wrong. It may be done in a funny way, but throughout both seasons, Izzy continually makes the wrong choices by the narrative.)

Years ago, Ed and Izzy may have gotten along but not anymore. That's why Ed and Stede work so well, they are confined by society and those societal norms being put up on them by outside forces, but together, they can just be themselves.

I haven't even touched upon the abuse side of things because I know that's a tricky subject, but I don't want Ed or Stede to be with their abusers.

You did not ask about stizzy or Steddyhands, but I'm on a role, so here goes.

I read Stede as demisexual. I think there is also a very clear canon reading and support of that theory. And it is also clear he wants Ed, and only Ed. Doesn't mean he hasn't had dalliances with others in the past, but once he's set his mind on Ed, that's who he wants. Because it's Con playing the character, he has sexual vibes with everyone, and that can be easy to play into if you want to ship Izzy with anyone. It makes sense. Especially cause Con will repost any Izzy art, including any Izzy ships, because he is a great man who wants to support art and support us.

But stizzy just doesn't make sense to me, for reasons stated above.

And for Steddyhands, I have found that most people who support Steddyhands are usually using it as a way to heal Izzy. Or that Ed and Stede are too "whim-prone" and they need Izzy to balance them out. And that is clearly taking away both Ed and Stede's agency, which could be a whole other discussion. Also, Izzy has represented the toxic masculinity of being a pirate, and he gets to grow away from that, but not completely. So teaming that person up with the two men, whose entire journey is to get away from societal norms, and not fitting into society because they aren't playing their masculinity right, to become themselves and live by their own rules, takes away the entire thesis of this show and their relationship.

Now having read all this, you may think that I hate Izzy. And the thing is I don't. I love canon Izzy. I don't particularly like fanon Izzy, and quite frankly his more extreme fans have tested my patience on my love for him, but I find him intriguing. But Ed and Izzy's relationship in canon is absolutely fascinating and I loved seeing Izzy's journey over the two seasons. I just don't think it being tied to Ed and Stede sexually/romantically is it. Not for me. But as I said, ship and let ship.

#answered

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furious-rogue-stuff · 6 months

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

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

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

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

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000

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

Haze

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

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

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

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

It had been a contentious adjustment.

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

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

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

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

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

"Extenuating circumstances beyond my control, Pikey boy—"

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

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

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

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

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

"They're completely different colors, though—"

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

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

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

"Have a nice night, Pike."

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

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

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

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

"That seems punitive and uncalled for—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…How much?"

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

"How much, Dandy Lion?"

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

"Just a little over six grand…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least until you found the consequential stuff.

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

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

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

You'd been astounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—You with us, Savedra?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you actually showed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—Why keep it a secret?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marcus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—You were in a band?!"

"Yep. Back in the day—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle despite yourself before sipping the wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes! I love John Lennon—"

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

And so begins the next round of banter between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ta-da!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like old movies?"

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

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

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

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

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

You don't have to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—So your mom liked art?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bemused, he's just turned after covertly adjusting himself in his jeans to see you already at the door.

"See you at work, Pike."

You're out the door before he's even able to articulate a response.

If you were both honest, there had been a not-so-subtle buildup occurring between you.

However, after cookoff-gate, things had swerved into a direction neither of you seemed equipped to maneuver.

Your guard was all the way back up with him. So much so, you weren't even verbally sparring with him at the office anymore.

Marcus handled it the only way he knew how: Focus exclusively on work, and leave no question that his intentions were recalibrated back onto what he assumed you expected. That you wanted nothing but a professional rapport, and to rebuff anything else.

Even after that theory was tested with the club incident soon after the distance between you began – a torrid event that had left him pining for something more, Marcus was left more confused than before when you instead became even more distant.

You were on the precipice of uncertainty for the first time since you'd been ensnared into the task force.

So much so, that you were planning on making the antiquities sting your last.

None of this was because you didn't feel anything for Marcus. Quite the contrary. Your attraction was magnetic, and you hadn't realized how much you'd longed to be safe with someone the way you did when you were with him. It was too dangerous to give into it. That's why you intended to keep your walls up and to suppress all your feelings on the matter in order to concentrate of your impending exit strategy.

But then, things are never that simple.

Marcus is livid when he gets off the elevator and storms at a stalking pace down the corridor several days before the undercover operation is targeted to begin. Everyone takes notice, but the uncharacteristic glower on his rugged features is so intimidating that no one dares check in with him.

He makes it to your office, abruptly enters, and slams the door after himself before stomping to where you're sat behind your desk.

"What the hell possessed you to go around my back and contract an informant without my authorization?!" he shouts forcefully as he looms over you while you stare up at him and frown.

"Nothing. He's been part of the plan since the beginning—"

"Part of the plan that you haven't disclosed to me. And had you told me about the fence you recruited from within the group we're trying to take down, I would've never allowed it!" is Marcus's furious harangue, hands going to his hips to prevent him from gesticulating angrily at you. "You went to the U.S. Attorney and secured an immunity deal with him without my consent—!"

"There was no feasible way to infiltrate this organization without someone on the inside willing to vouch for me, and who can also co-sign that you're The Jackal. He's one of the very few people in the world who has actually seen him and knows his demeanor. And, he's got the motivation to not screw us. He wants out of the life, and knows we're his only chance of making it out alive," you rationalize as you stand and round your desk to point at your transparent board. "See? He's given me key coordinates, and after this morning's intel session with him, I have even more crucial info—"

Marcus grabs your elbow to steer you around to face him and his unwavering scowl. "You are not an agent, Savedra. All you are is a resource – an asset to this team, with no standing to orchestrate these kinds of things behind my back—"

"Listen, Pike. I'm the last person you have to remind of how short my leash is here. I've never forgotten that, least of all that you're the one holding the other end of it. Your task force is a joke, mostly. If you're going to be meek about how you go after these syndicates, then you might as well close shop and go back to Dallas," you snap and shrug your arm out of his hold, staring at him fiercely as you add, "Now, be mad all you want, but if you pull the plug on things now, you're going to derail weeks of work, and set your team back months. I, for one, would like to make all the effort count."

Clenching his jaw, Marcus exhales through his nose and pins you in his dark glare as he grounds out, "Fine. But this is the last time you pull a stunt like this. Understood?"

You nod curtly before turning away to recalibrate your poise as you sigh out.

"Now that we got that out of the way, I set up a session with him so he can detail to you what you need to channel when you're undercover."

Said session does nothing to assuage Marcus, but at least he gets the needed context of what this middle-aged criminal knows, and is briefed on key intel no one has on The Jackal.

The initial meet a few days later with the traffickers goes according to plan.

You convince them of your expertise as a collector of privately-acquired relics, and they buy your explanation of needing the help of a network in order to transport the large, archaic limestone Greek statue of the sphinx you sought to move overseas to a wealthy buyer. The fence, Elio, steers the crew to The Jackal being the appropriate track, and as planned, arranges the fake meet between the traffickers, you, and The Jackal himself.

Marcus didn't need a lot of motivation to channel a reticent, stony man quick to intimidation. His intense demeanor was exactly what everyone in the room expected, thanks to The Jackal's reputation preceding him. However, Elio had divulged one thing that no one outside of this kind of black-market syndicate knew about the head of the Mediterranean art theft ring.

"—Before I give my blessing to this transaction, I'd like to get to know who I'm doing business with."

You'd turned to Marcus and expertly portrayed cautious intrigue. It really wasn't hard, with how dapper he looked in his dark black suit, sans a tie and with a matching open-collared dress shirt underneath the tailored blazer. His hair was swept back, curling in shaggy whisps at his nape and behind his ears. And while his beard wasn't as thick and full as Elio had mentioned The Jackal's being, you thought he looked roguishly handsome, nevertheless.

"And I would be obliged to do whatever necessary to make our business nothing but successful, Sciacallo," you tell him, using the Italian moniker The Jackal favors when doing business.

As planned, Marcus leads you out of the impromptu gathering at the hangout the traffickers use and escorts you to the private quarters upstairs. However, unlike you'd planned up until five minutes before you'd entered the hideout for the meet, you and Marcus weren't dropping your covers once the door to the room closes.

You can't. Not with Elio mentioning that they had installed hidden cameras throughout the hideout, and he couldn't guarantee that the security goons monitoring the feeds wouldn't leave any camera or audio device on in the private quarters.

Marcus had been fuming when you'd faked leaning in to flirt with The Jackal, and whispered about the cameras in the room upstairs. His eyes had hardened and his jaw clenched, but he feigned like he was annoyed by someone talking too loudly close to you both.

So, having not planned this part, you were anxious and exhilarated.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Marcus gave the room a cursory stare before turning to you and murmuring, "See? Much better. We can hear ourselves talk. Perhaps you'll repeat what you said downstairs?"

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you approach him sultrily and caress your hand over the lapel of his suit. "I said, I'm eager to partner with you, handsome," you purr, eyes inviting as you glance up at him through the fringe of your lashes.

"That's what I thought," Marcus husks before trailing his hand up your arm to graze along your shoulder before snaking across your collarbone and up to clasp the slender column of your neck and wrap his thick, dexterous fingers around your throat lightly. He can feel your pulse racing, so he backs you up slowly into the nearest wall before cradling your jaw with a possessive caress of his hand as he rumbles, "I like eager and beautiful women."

Your body reacts, arching into him as you tilt your head back and stare alluringly at him before he leans down and kisses you with voracious zeal.

You dimly wonder if it's truly improvised undercover work when you've wanted Marcus to kiss you like this for weeks – maybe even longer, if you were being honest with yourself.

Marcus is wound tight in his chest with worry, but the way you loop your arms around him and hum into his mouth when he deepens the kiss gives him some relief that maybe this isn't a complete clusterfuck. The thought that they could be watching you both, though, kept him on edge – focused on not getting carried away in how phenomenal having you like this was and instead hyperaware of staying on task.

Mercifully, before things got carried away, a clueless underling walked in on you both, which gave Marcus the perfect opportunity to showcase the infamous fury The Jackal was known for.

He was off of you and slamming the guy up against the doorframe in an instant, yoking him up and contumely cursing him out before the dude could stammer an apology and the girl he had brought up with him ran off to avoid any wrath herself.

Fracas smoothened over by the underling's leader, who profusely apologized to The Jackal, things went back on track as planned, and you were able to leave the hideout with a guarantee that your antiquity could be smuggled overseas and sold to your contact.

The final meeting for the sting operation, however, did not go as planned.

You'd made it all the way up to the handoff at the warehouse when the boss of the trafficking syndicate suddenly tried to change the terms of the deal, by trying to make you reveal the name of your buyer overseas. There you were, surrounded by underlings and enforcers who were packing the crate housing the artifact with the contraband supplied by The Jackal, when you had to smoothly refuse.

The burly man had approached you swiftly, making a veiled threat you'd already composed a rebuttal for when all hell broke loose. You don't even know how it happened, but one second the tactical team rushed in and the guy pulled out a knife while he was lunging to grab your elbow. In a blink, though, you're yanked away and the knife swung wide and slashed at one of the stacked bundles near the crate.

You'd given up on trying to regain your bearings with how your eyes and sinuses were burning, vision watering and stinging as you blindly let Marcus haul you out of the sting's warehouse – having barreled into danger to extract you. The unidentified powder was part of the narcotic contraband to be stored in the crate with the artifact, but the contents of the torn bundle went airborne and caked over you before he was able to whisk you out of the fray and to a safehouse.

Even in the hyper rushed aftermath, his ears were still ringing.

Marcus had yanked you away from being attacked or taken hostage, but not before the powder exploded out like a confetti-cannon over you while shots started ringing out in the warehouse.

The pink haze had the consistency of dry cement as it fluttered down, and even he wasn't spared the hit of it flitting against the side of his face in the chaos.

The fallout was technically his fault, but the main target of the sting had threatened you, so he'd rushed in with backup. The ensuing pandemonium of the raid and the frenzy of pink powder haze and bullets flying had made it a frenzied operation for him.

He'd acted first and thought second, which was not the norm for him. But the threat? It had propelled him to determinedly bust in to extract you, cover being blown be damned. As far as he was concerned, it was unimportant now and of little consequence to him.

Well, now, while he hissed and scrubbed the chemical residue from his face as he locked the door and engaged the security system, he did let his anger swirl up in him all over again.

He hears you coughing in the bathroom, and no matter how exasperating you've been, something fierce coils in his chest at the distressing sound of you dry heaving and gasping to catch your breath.

Tucking his service weapon into the holster underneath his leather jacket, Marcus finds his way down into the narrow hall where the bathroom is, squinting the entire way as he absently wipes at his heated features in attempt to get the strange powder removed.

He knocks on the door before grousing lowly, "Hey, you ok?"

You croak some sort of scoff before running the faucet again and trying to get the cakey residue out from your nostrils so you can breathe without wheezing. Once you've splashed water over your face, you mumble, "I think so."

The door cracks ajar before Marcus pokes his head in to survey you. "What?"

"I said, I think so," you snap, cupping your hands under the faucet and splashing water messily over your flushed features.

"Damn…here, come sit and let me have a look at you," you hear him grumble as his footsteps approach you from behind.

He cups your elbow and firmly tugs you away from the sink to steer you towards the bathtub's ledge, yanking a hand towel from a nearby rack as he sits you down so he can try helping you scrub the remnants of the bubblegum-pink powder off your face.

You sneeze, which causes an itchy sensation in the back of your throat that sends you into another coughing fit, so Marcus hurriedly gets the glass you'd left on the sink vanity and refills it with cool water before placing it in your hands and helping guide it to your lips.

"Small sips. Take it slow," he murmurs in a firm baritone, ignoring his own discomfort to tend to you.

"Mmph," you grunt before taking a breath and shaking your head. "What the hell—what is this stuff?!"

"I'm not sure—"

"What if it's some kind of toxin?!" you exclaim as you try to stare at him without having your eyes water from the menthol-like burn.

"It's not. Remember the narcotic contraband was loaned to us by DEA. There's no way they'd let something toxic be used for a sting—"

"Then why is this stuff making me feel like I just got hit with powdered speed?!" you gripe as you snatch the towel from his grip so you can scrub your face more.

Marcus feels feverish and antsy himself, so he goes to the sink and runs the tap to splash his own features with cool water. "Probably just an irritant from the pink dye—"

"Ugh, I'm covered in this crap," you grouse as you begin to scrub the damp cloth down your neck and decolletage, ignoring how your slinky black dress is hanging in a racy, askew manner at your bustline from the strap drooping off of your shoulder.

Marcus catches himself staring at your cleavage before he hoarsely clears his throat and turns away. "I'll go see if there's anything you can change into," he croaks as he rushes out of the bathroom, heading for the spartan bedroom at the end of the hall and into the armoire across from the bed.

It's then while he's muttering crossly to himself, that he realizes his phone is vibrating in his jacket's pocket. Swearing, he retrieves it and answers, "Pike."

"Jeez, man! I've been calling yah nonstop," the DEA partner, Agent Jarvis, who helped coordinate things with the narcotic contraband for the sting, is barking in his ear. "Where are you?!"

"At a safehouse—"

"I was told your asset got a face-full of one of the powder bricks when shit went south—"

"She did. I caught some too, in the melee of trying to extract her—"

"…Shit. Ok, so, we have a problem," Agent Jarvis warns, before seriously instructing, "Listen to me very carefully, Pike. You and your asset were exposed to Pheral. If you haven't already, you're going to start feeling some effects from it—"

"Whoa, what the hell are you talking about? Pheral? What even is that?"

"So, it's a designer drug out of Amsterdam that's becoming big in the affluent, socialite drug scenes at clubs all around the world. It's a synthetic chemical composite of human pheromones, but it's potent and has the same effects as doing ketamine and acid. However, it's a disinhibitor; it hits the system and can cause coronary distress—"

Marcus is listening in horror while the man instructs him to remove any tainted clothes and rinse the residue off as soon as possible, all as he feels the effects of the drug start to palpitate in his chest. His pulse had been racing and he'd chalked it up to the adrenaline of extracting you from the botched sting, but now he's realizing that it's an elevated sensation pounding in his veins and zinging south, making him feverishly aroused.

"—How do you stop it?! Is there an antidote?"

"Lab hasn't been able to come up with one yet. It's absorbed through mucus membranes, so it hits the bloodstream quick. Get as much fluids in her to clear it out as quick as possible, but mostly, just keep her from hurting herself, Pike. She's going to be jonesing for physical gratification like a hellcat in heat. It's supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac—a heightened state of euphoria, but only when done in dab-like doses. If she was doused bad…I don't know. Users get so desperate from the effects when they overdo it that they lose sense of their pain thresholds—"

"I gotta go."

Marcus ends the call quickly before discarding the phone and then pulls the holster with his gun from the back of his waistband to be plopped onto the dresser in order to sprint down the hall to check on you.

He hears you whimpering just before he burst through the bathroom door.

"M-Marcus."

You're in a state of amplified arousal that is bordering on hyperventilating distress. Sweat has broken out along your hairline, and your bare skin is dewy from the overheated racing of your pulse. The ache of desire has you squirming in discomfort, feeling hypersensitive and raw-nerved as you stare wildly up at him from where you're curled into the corner of the floor by the tub.

He rushes to your side to cradle you against him as he hurriedly turns the shower's faucet handle to start spraying cold water into the tub. He says your name firmly before explaining in a hoarse rasp, "—I gotta get this stuff off of you and you're gonna have to drink more water for me."

You sob and grip onto his shoulders, trembling as you whine, "What's happening?!"

"It's the drug," is all he says as he hastily sheds his leather jacket in order to ease his own overheated discomfort, grabbing the glass to fill it to the brim with water before chugging half of it and refilling it in order to kneel down and insistently press it to your lips so you can guzzle as much as you can. When you drink your fill and push the glass away, he blindly sets it down on the back of the commode's tank lid before he rasps, "Now, c'mon, dandelion. I gotta get you under the cold water—"

"Come in with me?" you plead as he lifts you to stand on shaky knees. "You got it all over you too, Marcus," is your watery whisper as you caress his face and swipe at the pink smudge on his cheekbone.

The contact to his skin makes Marcus shudder, and against his control, arousal throbs riotously into his apex and pulses in his loins.

Rock-hard now, he huffs raggedly as he insists, "I gotta take care of you first, so let me get this off of you."

You're feeling like liquid fire is thrumming under your skin and your pulse is at your center, blood pumping from the silken clutch in your pelvis rather than from the organ in your chest. The usual tingle of arousal is instead a rapacious, searing heat at your core – making you quiver and drip with desire while Marcus rushes to gently remove the slinky black cocktail dress off your torso.

Your blush feels like you've been sitting under the Saharan sun, and the brush of Marcus's touch over your ignited body has you shivering and biting back a whimper as he strips you to your black cotton and lace thong before lifting you into the tub and under the cold spray of the showerhead.

The yelp you let out when the water beats down on your bare skin has him scrambling to grab you as you writhe to be in his embrace. "N-No, the water will help—"

"It feels like needles!" you cry and cling to him, quivering as you grip on to him desperately and chatter, "You feel good," before nuzzling his neck and giving yourself over to the urge that's become an incandescent force inside your body.

Your bare breasts press against him, nipples studded and tingling for gratification while your pussy clenches at how good his skin tastes when you suckle a kiss into his neck.

Marcus can't keep a lid on his own baser urges any longer at your distress melting away the more you touch him.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he gravels out and kisses your burning cheek, and at your breathy mewl, he kisses your mouth. The water on your body soaks into his shirt and jeans as you clamber to wrap your legs and arms around him with intoxicated urgency.

When he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, he has to soothe you when you whine for him.

"Can't—I can't just…don't want to lose control—"

You kiss him possessively and slink down his front while simultaneously yanking on his clothes he now desperately tries to peel off of himself.

Feeling his feverish skin press against yours after he shoves his clothes down and rushes to sit on the edge of the tub to kick the remainder off while simultaneously yanking you down – settling you to straddle onto his lap, you moan at having the length of his cock nestle against your damp cloth-covered crotch. You can feel your folds drench with arousal, making you ache to be split by him to the hilt – to be filled by his throbbing erection.

"No antidote—can't lose control. D-Don't want to hurt you," is all he's managed to string together as he gropes you against him and grazes wet, open-mouth kisses along your neck and jaw. Your clit throbs when he grips your waist and starts edging you onto his cock.

"You won't! W-Won't hurt me," you groan and encircle your arms around his shoulders before whining, "Please, please, Marcus—"

He shakes his senses loose of the horny haze to press, "Listen to me, wildcat. We need to wash this shit off. It'll be quick—we'll do it quick, and once it's off I'll do whatever you need—"

"Need you. Want you," you exhale in a frenzied state, staring with blown-out pupils at him as you start to pleasure yourself by rubbing your aching pussy along his cock. The friction of your soaked panties along his velvety, pulsing erection has Marcus buzzing from the electric pleasure sparking across his nerve endings.

"You'll have me, dandelion. C'mon, be a g-good girl for me," he husks and stands, holding you in his arms as you cling to him and whimper.

Once sure you won't bolt, he gets in under the shower spray with you.

The water doesn't feel as horrid against your skin as it had the first time, so you snap out of the hedonistic daze once Marcus has stood under the frigid spray for a few minutes and clumsily scrubbed the pink residue from your shoulders and back for you.

You hurriedly unlatch yourself from him to stand on quaking legs in order to wash the pink powder remnants quickly off your skin and hair, then help Marcus get it off his beard and neck while he lets the water spray directly into his face in hopes to get the maddening sensation to cease.

Now that the water going down the drain is no longer tinged in pink, you and Marcus maneuver so the spray can run down his back while you sway on your feet and try to regain your wits. Instead, you both end up standing in the cold cascade, staring into each other's flushed features.

It feels like a fever dream – seeing his naked body like this, and your pussy clenches around nothing when you caress your palms down his abs and watch his ruddy, pulsing erection twitch at your sensual touch.

He murmurs your name when you lean forward to kiss along his heated skin after nuzzling your face into his pecs, chasing his delectable scent.

You're dialed into this primordial attraction, so you kneel at his feet from how your mouth waters to have his cock stuffed in it – to have the weight of it on your tongue before he fills your pussy with it the way you're convinced he needs to in order to stop this feeling from consuming you like a leaf flung onto a blazing fire.

Marcus shakily cups your jaw as he rasps your name again, and at the skittish unease of his tone, you stare up at him and snake your other hand between your thighs to touch yourself while you mewl for permission to do what you hunger for. The sight of you has him trembling, and his thumb grazes over the corner of your mouth, attempting to tow you back up to him, but then you lick it and make a needy sound that sends a jolt of insatiable arousal to his cock.

"T-This'll make you feel better?" Is his hoarse whisper, cold cascading water raining onto his back completely forgotten.

"Yes, hot stuff. I want you in my mouth—"

He groans, muscles flexing in anticipation. "Wanna give you what you need, baby—"

You gratefully hum and finally put him in your mouth, savoring his salty pre-cum and the velvety smooth thick of him you suck lustfully on.

His hand buries in the back of your wet hair, a raspy moan tumbling from his lips as he grapples to stay balanced with the other planting against the tiled wall.

You're enthralled by his reaction, sucking him off while gripping the base of his cock and pumping him in your fist every time you let his thick cock slip from the warm purse of your mouth so you can catch your breath. All while you rut against the palm heel of your other hand to try and ease the ache of arousal pulsing beseechingly for gratification.

It's when you grind too hard and whimper like it hurts that finally snaps Marcus to focus on you and not the exquisite pleasure that you're giving him.

Your senses sway as Marcus manhandles you off your knees and picks you up to be carried out of the cold shower.

Latching your arms and legs around him with a yelp, you wail, "M-Marcus, wha—?"

"No hurting yourself," he grumbles heatedly as he hurriedly stalks as best as he can, in the state he's in, to the bedroom with you. "M'gonna make you feel good so you don't hurt yourself by accident—"

You hiccup, "Hurt?! What's h-happening to us, Marcus?"

He makes it into the room and puts you on the bed. You're both still drenched from the shower, and he eyes you intensely as he peels your soaked panties off of you whilst trying to soberly explain, "The pink powder? It's a designer drug. The way you're feeling—that we're both f-feeling is because of it. You got dosed with way too much of it—"

You rear up onto your splayed hands and gape at him once he's tossed your drenched thong aside. "C-Can't they give us something to counteract it—?" you begin, but he shakes his head vigorously and sends water droplets to halo about before a shudder makes him wring his hands across his overly-heated features.

He's still rock-hard, and completely naked in front of you now, and the insatiable force in you is suddenly dismissing your panic to instead fixate on him.

"Marcus?"

"Hmmph?"

"Are we going to die?"

"N-No! Jeez—no, of course not," he begins to assure as he drops his hands from his face and rushes to convince you, but ends up avidly staring as you provocatively spread your legs to show him how needy you are for him, keeping your gaze fixed on his blown-out pupils. He watches you sit up and beckon for him to come to you while you shimmy backwards onto the bed.

"Ok then. Take your socks off and get over here, now."

Marcus looks down and realizes that indeed, he still has his socks on. They're sopping wet from the shower, and explain why he had such a difficult time getting traction over the tile and floorboards as he carried you from the bathroom to the bed.

Yanking them off with as much dignity as he can muster, with how worked up and ravenous he is, Marcus tosses them and clambers onto the bed after you. You admire the way his broad, muscularly toned physique looks under the bedroom's track lighting, thrill tangling excitedly in your core at how thick and hard his ramrod cock is as it bobs from his prowling towards you.

Once he's in reach, you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a rapacious kiss, wanting to have his weight on top of you finally.

His hands are warm and assertive as he pulls you into him while his tongue plunders your mouth, and yours encouragingly grope down to grab his ass when you mewl and roll your hips into his.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, as if compelled to keep his wits about him while he stammers, "W-We don't have to do this. I-I can just—"

You roll your positions so that he's on his back with you straddling him now.

"You said I could have you. I want you, Marcus," you husk silkily as you brace your palms over his broad chest and undulated your hips to grind yourself against his ramrod cock. He groans and grips your thighs, so you lean down to kiss him before you purr against his panting lips, "Now let me have you, handsome."

Marcus feels like you've hit the payload that is his stockpiled arousal he's been trying to keep buried deep in his gut, unleashing a feral desire he's never allowed himself to experience.

You gasp in surprise when he sits up and lifts you by your waist so he can nudge his cock between your soaked folds in order to notch the smooth tip at your dimpled entrance before plunging you onto him to the hilt.

The moan that falls from your lips comes out almost like an overawed wail at how amazing he feels inside you, making you arch into him and cling to his shoulders as he starts fucking up into you with bruising, ruinously precise thrusts that have him stroking nerve-melting pleasure to flare inside you.

"Oh my god!" you cry out when Marcus starts using one hand clutching the small of your back to slam you over and over onto his cock while the other squeezes one breast before pinching your nipple while he suckles the other into his mouth.

He barely registers the sting of your nails pinching into his upper back when you whimper his name after a particularly nippy suckle onto your pebbled flesh, and he doesn't realize how overcome you are with pleasure until you start begging in a frantic tone he's never heard you use.

"Marcus, I—I can't—oh Marcus! Please—"

His hand abandons your breast to instead grip the back your neck and anchor you to him as he nuzzles your cheek and soothingly coos, "Tell me, gorgeous girl."

You feel overwhelmed. The heat of it singed across your face. It has you sobbing against his jaw, "I want more – w-want you to use me. Please, Marcus. I need you—"

There's something primordial that you're both dialed into, and at your words, Marcus just knows what he needs to give you.

Pivoting up on the bed with you, he tosses you onto the mattress before manhandling you onto your hands and knees so he can possessively yank your hips to be positioned just right for him to spear his cock back into your molten pussy from behind.

"Fuck," Marcus grits between clenched jaw at how your walls clamp greedily onto his shaft while you let out a sound akin to a hearty cry of triumph. When he crowds you and starts to pound into you insatiably, he moans at how you rock back to meet his thrusts.

You feel like an animal in heat. Like all there is right now is his cock inside you and his body enveloping around you and his taste and his scent and his sweat and it all has your head spinning in the best way while you interlace your fingers in his and crane your neck out so his face can fit perfectly in the crook as he suckles on your dewy skin.

For Marcus, it's like something was turned on inside him – an undiscovered feeling of belonging and power and accomplishment was cresting free, and the more he reveled in you, the hotter and brighter it was burning in his chest.

It was so liberating that he let his feelings escape the hive-like place in his heart where he kept them trapped away.

"You make me feel things I've never felt before," is growled into your jaw, and you clench around his cock like a silken vise while you moan and arch into him.

"Marcus—"

"M'gonna protect you. Was scared—scared I'd lose you—"

You whimper, "Oh, Marcus—"

"Tell me what you want, wildcat," he gravels in a rough timbre that rakes exhilarated desire through you.

"Fuck me, Marcus. Want you to fuck me until this feeling stops—until I'm yours. M-Make me yours—"

All inhibitions are gone from him now.

Marcus fucks you with abandon, railing you with such ferocity that you're turned into an alight, moaning mess as bliss tears you asunder with a deliriously scorching orgasm that has you bowing down into the bed while Marcus pounds through your fluttering cunt flooding his apex with your climax.

His hands grip your hips as he pivots back onto his haunches and prolongs your ecstasy, eyes glazed with his lust for you and watching you continue to mindlessly rock back to meet his thrusts.

He's throbbing for release, but this heightened state of arousal caused by the drug has an insatiable, prolonging effect – extending his libido's hold-out like a refractory period.

When you dissolve into the bed face-first with an exhausted mewl, Marcus pulls out and marvels at how much slick coats his cock and drips down his apex.

The scent of sex permeates the once sanitized-smelling air that came from the filtered vent system. The room feels humid from how elevated your body temperatures are, blood pressure feeling like it's sky-high as your pulses race. He knows that's dangerous, and in the syrupy miasma of his sex-dazed mind, he remembers the instructions he was given.

You are a blitzed-out heap of tingling nerve endings. So much so, you barely absorb when Marcus rumbles, "Gonna get more water. Be right back, dandelion," as he rolls you onto your back and pets the damp hair sticking to your warm skin away from your face.

"Stay," you mumble and take his hand, kissing the inside of his palm.

He grunts a reassuring sound before kissing your forehead and promising, "I'll be right back."

You vacantly nod and roll on your side with a tired sigh.

Marcus strings together enough control of his fine motor skills to rush out of the bedroom and go for the closest source of water. He enters the bathroom and finds the shower spray still on – having not realized he'd completely forgotten to turn it off. After doing so now, he grabs the discarded glass and refills it in the sink. He guzzles several glass-fills down, feeling more clearheaded the more he rehydrates. His body is running hot, tremors of arousal like muscle spasms in his apex that leave a tingling throb in his loins and have him idly palming and stroking his erection – gauging the muted sensation compared to normal – as he chugs the last of the water before he tops the glass off to take back to you.

When he enters the bedroom, he finds you still on the bed, but you're now restlessly trying to get yourself off – hand between your thighs and panting harshly as you grind against it.

He goes to your side and places the glass down on the night table before wrangling you into his arms.

"No, you'll hurt yourself doing that," he protests while you whine and squirm in his embrace. "I'll take care of you, baby. Just settle down enough to drink some water—"

"I don't want water. I want you," you complain heatedly, slinging your arms around his neck to anchor him down into bed with you.

He picks you up to maneuver you both on the disheveled covers, attempting to appease you before pressing, "I know. I want you too, wildcat. But you need to get fluids—"

"Marcus, you need to keep fucking me until you give me those," is your raunchy counter, smiling when he gapes at you before you start kissing along his cheek and suckle on his earlobe. He groans and ruts up against you, so you purr, "Please, I need you inside me. All of you—"

"Alright, then sit on my cock, naughty girl," he husks bawdily and clasps his hand to the back of your nape to tow you back so he can stare intensely into your dazzling eyes as you squirm in excitement. "You can use me – ride me as hard as you want. But first, you have to drink the water for me."

You look sinfully delicious as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your brows to obediently nod while already reaching between your bodies to guide his erection to be aligned with your plunging undulation over his lap.

Marcus groans hoarsely and guides you to remain still – flush over where you're both now joined – before hurriedly reaching for the glass and offering it to you.

Compliantly, you drink, and realize how parched you are, so you end up chugging the water until you gasp in relief and uncaringly glide the glass back onto the night table before burying your hand into the back of his damp hair and pull him into a hungry kiss.

Your tongue flicks and twirls against his as you start to fuck yourself onto his cock, mewling heatedly from the effort while Marcus fondles his hands possessively over the globes of your ass before squeezing them when he bucks up into you.

After you reach bliss riding him, shouting his name and staring at him in euphoric satisfaction, Marcus rolls you onto your back so he can dominate you into the bed, spinning you up into delirium all over again as he snaps his hips into a devastating angle that has him colliding dead-center with your nested pleasure clustered deep inside your fluttering sheath.

Time is lost to you both as you couple like animals during mating season.

He can't count how many times he makes you come, nor keep track of all the positions he takes you in, and you're so far flung in the throes of insatiable need that you don't realize until he's just got you off after fucking you with your legs propped up against his shoulders, that he hasn't orgasmed once.

While he slows his barreling thrusts into you once you've melted breathlessly under him, Marcus kisses along the crook of your neck and relishes how you quiver from the aftershocks of your climax. He's just about to shift back and pull out when you clench your floor muscles suddenly around him.

"Oh fuck, mmph," he moans gruffly before maneuvering your legs off of his shoulders and hooking the backs of your knees at his forearms so he can rear back and haul you with him as he says your name warningly and growls, "—You keep doing that and I'm going to lose control."

Your pussy aches, every muscle is sore and protesting, but still the insatiable heat persists, so you stare sultrily at him under heavy lids and coo, "I want you to lose control, you dope. Want you to fuck me until you come, and then keep fucking me until we both can't move or think anymore—"

He swears gruffly, but you feel his cock throb inside you, clearly betraying how enticed he is.

"It's not like I've been holding back. The drug takes the edge off and changes our pleasure and pain thresholds; affects sensation. I don't think I could come even if I tried," Marcus admits lowly as he wrings his hand over his heated features, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, M."

"Hmm?"

"You're gorgeous when you're all flustered and naked and hard," is your silky murmur, smile cheeky when he pauses swiping the sweat off his brow to stare at you heatedly. Your smile sobers meekly as you admit in a mumble, "And, you're so sexy. Even when you're being maddening and all I want to do is wring your neck and run away…"

Marcus feels that incandescent pressure in the back of his sternum – the one that makes him feel like his ribs ache but feel full at the same time.

Overawed, he sits back on his heels and pulls out of you with a hiss before leaning over you to kiss a worshipful path up from your navel to your jaw. After he presses a kiss to your cheek, he nuzzles your ear before murmuring, "Don't run away. Stay with me, dandelion."

You feel stripped raw and soothed over at the same time by his words, and before you can stop it, your heart wrings in your chest as you confess, "I want to. I've wanted to for a while, b-but I can't help feel this way—"

He props up to gaze wondrously at you. "Feel what way?"

"Ugh!" you groan and cover your eyes with your forearm, too jelly-jointed to do much else to keep your frazzled guard up. "You know, M—"

"No, I don't," he firmly huffs and stretches out onto his side next to you in order to pull your forearm away so you have to look at him.

"…It doesn't matter. This is a mistake – a fluke accident and the weirdo horny mating drug doesn't change that reality—"

"What reality?"

"This!" you shout and weakly gesture between you and him. "Whatever this has become is a mess. I am a fool to feel this way, knowing how reckless you think I've been already and how badly you want to be done with the hassle—"

"…You're serious," Marcus deadpans, derailing your ramble, and when you focus on him, he scoffs and shakes his head, as if astounded, before rumbling in a honeyed baritone, "You don't even know, do you?"

You frown, confused.

Marcus sidles close, dark brown eyes softening as he exhales sardonically before caressing your chin between forefinger and thumb so you can't turn your face as he looks at you purposefully.

"I feel the same way," he tells you, smirking softly before professing, "I love you."

You can feel his body heat and see the unwavering truth in his handsome face, and your flustered mind is processing that this is real while you're carnally supercharged already for him.

"That's the drug talking—"

"No, it's not—"

"Marcus—"

"If you don't feel that way, it's fine—"

"That…that's not it. I'm saying we can't trust what we're feeling right now. We're literally in heat—"

"I fell in love with you before getting hit in the face with pink dust, wildcat—"

"Attraction is not the same as love, Marcus—"

"Oh trust me, I've learned that the hard way plenty already," is his deriding huff as he tucks his chin and smiles self-deprecatingly.

You pout and cup his bearded cheek, caressing it lovingly before mumbling, "You're too good for me. Literally – I don't think I can take how sweet and considerate and…and wonderful you are—"

He says your name huffily before caressing his touch along your side reassuringly, crooning, "—Don't be like that. A sexy little smartass like you can't be contrary all the time."

"Oh yeah? You're seriously not dying to unload me, after everything?" you mutter as you brush your lips along his bearded jaw and card your fingers through his hair. "It isn't just the libido drug making you talk crazy?"

"All the drug is making me do is stay rock-hard and be bold about saying how I feel," he says honestly, and smirks when you hum interestedly before palming his thick erection. When you trace your touch along the underside of the shaft, he husks throatily, "You've clearly grown on me, dandelion. P-Pressed all my buttons, made sport out of challenging me daily, and I hated it all…until I started liking it."

You feel your heart summersault in excitement at that, so you nuzzle his cheek after you carve your hips around his to nestle his throbbing hard-on against your warm, wet pussy, lightly grinding on it as you whisper, "Liking is not the same as lov—"

"Tell me how you feel."

You pause and stare into his eyes. Pressed this close together, you can see how brown his irises are, and how free of judgment they are twinkling soulfully at you.

"I—I care…care more than I ever have, and I feel things that I haven't felt—that I haven't felt in a long time. I just…" you trail off, huffing at yourself before admitting, "The way I feel about you is something I don't know how to manage."

Marcus keeps your hips rocking against him, all the while you flustered to the truth.

"That kind of sounds like the same thing I'm telling you I feel about you, stubborn girl," is his amused rumble. You can't help snort and bashfully curl into him. He doesn't let you hide your face in his neck, though. "C'mon, look at me."

You do, shivering when he cups your jaw and pins you into place with his passionate stare.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, feeling like you've just jumped off a cliff with no idea what's beyond the precipice.

But the look Marcus gives you – the way his handsome features brighten with delighted surprise, it makes something twinge warm and hopeful in your chest. You kiss him before girlishly scoffing, then stammering, "W-What're we going to do?"

"Right now?" Marcus sits up and caresses his hand down your body to touch where your warmth is flush up against his twitching member. You mewl and melt a little when he teasingly grazes his lips over yours before purring, "Right now, we're gonna keep fucking like rabbits until this damn drug is out of our systems."

You giggle enticingly before timidly snickering, "I'm exhausted, cowboy. I don't think I can manage doing anything but this right now," as you undulate against him for emphasis.

Smirking, Marcus hums, affectionately squeezing your thigh as he croons, "I got an idea."

He assertively rolls you over onto your opposite side and spoons up behind you while possessively fondling your curves. You mewl at the feeling of his warm body up against you from behind while his cock starts rutting against your pulsing womanhood.

Marcus lets you acclimate and simply revel in the feeling of being in his covetous embrace while you rock back against him lustfully. When he starts pressing his throbbing arousal into your pussy from behind, you moan an ecstatic little sound before whimpering, "More, Marcus. Please."

With a deft thrust, he gives you more, and more, as he cups your pussy and grinds his fingertips over the hood of your clit while grazing his teeth down your neck to claim it with a rough kiss at the base.

You reach your arm backwards to sling around his neck so you can keep his mouth on you while you both set a ravenous rhythm, bucking backwards onto him while he fucks forward into you.

The hand that cradles the curve of your waist tightens when you cry his name and desperately loop both your arms backwards to hold onto him as you're lost to the euphoric ecstasy of reaching bliss like this.

Marcus aches when you sob a gratified cry, and he feels pride crackle in his chest when your hands grip the hair at the base of his nape so you have leverage to pivot in his grip in order to kiss him passionately.

His cock pulses inside you when you break the kiss to lick at his bottom lip before you susurrate, "I want you to fill me with your cum, Marcus."

Incredibly turned on by the prospect, Marcus bucks into you with a gruff groan before gravelling tensely, "Now that's the drug talking—"

"No, it isn't," you contradict and look at him with sultry heat blazing in your eyes as you purr, "What's a girl gotta do to get you off, Pikey boy."

You feel him strain enticingly against your fluttering walls at the pet name, which has you shivering in delight just as Marcus growls, "Keep telling me what you want. Please."

That has you divulging things. Some seductive things, like, 'Want you to be all mine, cowboy,' and some salacious, authoritative orders, like, 'Fuck me like you want me, Marcus. I want you. I'll let everyone know you're mine, but only if you make me yours.'

The more you tell him what you want, the more worked up into searing arousal Marcus gets as he buries his moans into the back of your neck whilst he fucks you faster and harder – hands clutching you to him as your pitch gets more alight from your own pleasure cresting incandescently through you.

He's feral with need by the time he's got you on your stomach with your ass up for him to plunder his cock deep into your fluttering cunt. You're blitzed out – lasciviously keyed into the wild throes of carnal elation of being ravished by him. Sweat and slick and the heat of your flesh pressed together is making both your senses flare with rapturous yearning – panting breaths wild as you both are finally at the precipice of savage release together.

At his thrusts picking up frenzied pace that has your warm flesh colliding rhythmically over your hearty sounds of pleasure, you press the button he didn't know he had in him.

"Please, m-make me yours, sweet boy—"

The exhilarating, searing pleasure that snaps loose from Marcus at your airy mewl has him barreling ferociously into you while moaning in guttural, incredulous bliss just as you cry out and orgasm with him.

He buries his cock deep and clings over you as he shudders through the bursts of his climax that fill your rippling sheath while you exhale a rapturous, sated sound and melt under him, toes curled and arms draped around his as they clutch you to him. You feel made whole as the warm bloom of his spend filling you diffuses through you, and Marcus feels like lightning struck him and the electric buzz still scintillates through his sinew.

Reduced to trembling, breathless heaps tangled against each other, you and Marcus lay on the sullied sheets for a while. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, and he can feel your pulse against the hand pressed between the bed and your womb. Neither of you can think beyond the content reassurance that the other is still there, warm and safe.

Feeling returned to yourself a disorienting amount of time later, you shift clumsily under him to squirm around and face him. Marcus heavily rolls off of you and grunts from the effort, but groggily rubs at his forehead to get the matted hair off his skin.

You tiredly rest your hand on his tacky chest, caressing it along his broad pectorals soothingly.

"…You ok?"

"…Yeah…can't move."

"Same…you feel ok?"

Marcus snorts exhaustedly before lulling his head to stare with hooded eyes at you. "M'feelin' like I fucked a marathon. You?"

You snicker girlishly. "I'm feeling like the marathon you fucked."

His laugh is raspy, features dewy and relaxed from sweat and all the over-exertion. Your hand reaches up to trace his bearded jaw, affectionately caressing along it until he hums and closes his eyes contently.

"Do you still feel in heat?"

"It's more of an aroused little tickle now versus the raging inferno of insatiable mania of before," you answer as you continue to caress his handsome features. "You?"

With a cleansing exhale, Marcus rumbles thickly, "About the same. I'm gonna need a few before I can go again, though—"

"Oh my god. I just said I'm not in nymphomaniac-mode anymore, you dope—"

You catch his sly smirk when he cracks an eye open to goadingly peer over at you. "You're cute when you're all worked up, gorgeous—"

With a scoff, you silkily mutter, "You're so lucky I'm too wrecked to slap you around, hot stuff—"

"C'mon, wildcat. Wouldn't you rather just have your way with me instead?"

You laugh, as if intrigued, before sidling up to him and giving him an alluring look, purring, "Is that what you want, sweet boy?"

Marcus feels arousal skitter down into his loins, zinging pulsing want into his cock before he can even try to not react to the titillating pet name that was much of his undoing.

"Yes. That's what I want, wildcat," he husks, too tired to be timid about it.

Appeased, you slink up against him and loop your arm around his midriff. "Good," you lilt around a yawn before murmuring, "That's what I want too, sweet boy. After we conk out for a bit."

His chuckle is like rich honey to your senses, and the warm tingle that tickles down into your womb when he nuzzles a kiss to the top of your mussed hair has you shivering with delight.

"Sounds like a plan, dandelion."

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#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x OFC #Marcus Pike fan fiction #The Mentalist #The Mentalist fan fiction #Marcus x Dandelion #ROGUEFURY's 400 followers drabble prompt #drabble prompt #ROGUEFURY's 400 follower drabble prompt

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