#buck needs someone to choose him and tell him that they love him exactly as he is

[dreamdollasmo]

“Shhhh.”

“Dr. Zayne…”

He put his thumb on the bridge of your glasses, pushing them up before moving it to your bottom lip.

His piercing green gaze followed his touch, staring intently at your flushed face.

“Suck.”

Well, I guess this is what you get for your incessant teasing.

But you couldn’t help it when Zayne looks so damn fine.

So now here you both were… pool cues abandoned to the side, with Zayne leaning back on the sides of the pool table and you on your knees in front of him.

His cock positioned right at your lips.

The red tip never looked so appealing, your eyes fleetingly followed the vein on the underside of his lengthy dick.

All you had done was innocently declare that you needed to powder your nose and you would be back soon.

It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t help but to have the idea to take your panties off while you were in there and unabashedly slipped them into his pockets upon your return.

Who knew he would react so viscerally? Who knew he would drop his pool cue and pull you into such a passionate kiss?

Who knew he’d bring his hands into your hair and tug softly at it, sending shivers down your spine? Who knew he’d drag his hands to your shoulders and gently push you down to your knees?

Clearly none of this was your fault… although your actions undoubtedly did lead you to where you are now.

“But Zayne,” you feigned worry to make yourself seem at least a little responsible. “What if someone walks in?”

“You choose to worry about that now? Where was this sense of awareness five minutes ago?”

Fuck. He got you there.

Ugh, whatever. You loved being a hot messy slut anyways.

Not breaking eye contact, you slowly took the tip of his cock into your mouth, causing him to hiss softly.

“My godddd,” you thought to yourself, eyes rolling back. “He tastes so fucking good.”

You temporarily got caught up in licking all the precum from the tip of his pretty cock, causing him to grab your chin and tip your head upwards to look back at him.

You peered up at him from the top of your frames.

“Concentrate.”

You smiled to the best of your ability, as well as you could with his cock in your mouth.

You felt the grip on your chin tense. You got him right where you want him.

Taking the hand on your chin into your own hand, you moved his hand to the back of your head.

Once again looking up at him over the top of your glasses, you slowly took his entire length into your mouth.

“Fuck…” he cursed, throwing his head back.

Hearing the sounds he was making and looking up at his flushed face made you wanna cum right then and there.

You kept at a steady rhythm for quite a while, bobbing your head up and down on his cock.

Running your tongue along the vein adorning his pretty dick, and giving an extra attentive suck to the tip every time you reached it.

Occasionally, you felt his hips stutter and buck forward to get even more of his dick down your throat.

His deep groans echoed through the room.

You knew exactly what he wanted.

Taking every inch of him in your mouth, you slowly released him and jerked him off while you briefly spoke.

You pushed up your glasses.

“Fuck my mouth, Dr. Zayne.”

Shivers went down his spine. He knew you were bold, but hearing it in such an intense moment made his knees weak.

Thank god he has a stellar poker face.

The room went silent for a few moments. You really couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

He moved the hand that was jerking him off so eagerly.

“I thought you’d never ask.” He said, almost breathlessly.

You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out; his invitation to begin.

Fuck, he felt like he could cum at just the sight of you.

He slowly pushed his cock back into your mouth, rubbing his tip back and forth a few times on your tongue, making you moan.

Once he was bottomed out in your throat, he started fucking your mouth in earnest.

Surely the sounds you two were making were audible from outside the room… but neither of you cared right now.

Each drag of his dick over your tongue and into your throat made you moan and gasp.

You’d always loved giving him head.

Zayne was making a fair amount of noise too. He was always relatively quiet but how could he be so in this situation?

Neither of your broke eye contact as he used you like a sex toy.

Your glasses moving with each thrust, and your eyes watering with tears running down your cheeks and ruining your mascara.

“I’m close.”

You hummed appreciatively, desperately. You wanted to make him cum so bad.

“If you look at me like that…” he groaned once again, started to speed up and get rougher.

A mixture of spit and precum slid past your plump lips and down your chin and he fucked your throat.

Suddenly grabbing the back of your head, he pushed his cock all the way down your throat as he came, making small thrusts to drag out his orgasm.

You swallowed every bit of his cum that he spilled down your throat.

Pulling himself out of your mouth, his cock twitched once more as another spurt of cum leaked out, this time landing on your face and glasses.

Usually Zayne would move quick to assist you, but neither of you moved.

He used his thumb and smeared the cum that landed on your cheek to the corner of your lips on into your mouth, which you readily accepted.

Once again looking up into his gorgeous eyes, you sucked on his thumb obediently.

Zayne exhaled softly.

“What am I going to do with you?”

#lads smut #lads x reader #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace imagines #love and deepspace #zayne smut #lnd zayne #zayne x you #l&ds zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x mc #dr zayne

[elvensorceress]

wip wednesday

tagged by @bekkachaos @tizniz @spotsandsocks @confetti-cupcake @wikiangela @hoodie-buck @exhuastedpigeon @sibylsleaves @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus tagging if you haven't played yet 💕 @eddiebabygirldiaz @wh0re-behavi0r @eddiediazisascorpio @kitteneddiediaz @monsterrae1 @lemonzestywrites @pinklobstertale @jesuiscenseedormir @jesuisici33 @chaosandwolves @frenziedblaze @family-tree-of-ships

some more of this little thing 👀

When Buck opens his eyes, someone is sitting on the couch near his feet the way Chris does. Someone who shouldn’t be here. Buck sits up frantically and stares at the vision of Eddie, healthy and beautiful and here and unharmed. 

Buck is dreaming. That’s it. Has to be. Wow, he actually fell asleep? Enough to dream? 

“Hey, Buck,” this Eddie says softly, and it sounds so real. It’s gentle and loving and full of warmth like Eddie always is when they talk. 

Buck reaches for him. He sits up and needs to hug him, hold him, feel him alive and breathing on his own. But when Buck reaches him, he touches nothing. There’s nothing to touch. 

He’s dreaming. It’s a vision. Nothing solid. Buck sags and sits back on his side of the couch and stares instead. Maybe looking at whole, healthy beautiful Eddie will somehow manifest this into reality. “You’re not real. You’re not here. I’m dreaming, right? And talking to myself? Apparently.”

“Either that or I am,” Eddie says. 

Buck hadn’t considered that. Maybe Buck is the one who isn’t real. Maybe none of this is real and the whole of his existence is in his mind. Or in the mind of someone else? 

Who knows. It’s too convoluted and too much to think about. But he’s read about this happening before. Someone’s loved one in the hospital, near death, and how their family had dreams or visions of them visiting. Maybe relaying messages. Maybe offering a comforting presence. Maybe nothing but the imagination of a mind wrecked by tragedy. Doesn’t really matter either way. 

“Why are you here? Buck asks him even if he’s talking to himself. 

Eddie swallows and looks pained. And so real. So, so vividly real. Even if nothing is real anymore. “I wanted to be with you.”

Buck reaches for him again because he has to. Eddie offers his hand in return this time. 

Their fingers go through each other. Not touching. Nothing to feel. Nothing tangible. 

They can’t touch.

Why would they? Even in a dream, they don’t get to have anything of each other. 

“Please don’t die,” Buck says. 

Eddie gives him a pained smile. “I’m trying really hard not to.” 

Buck knows that. He knows Eddie would fight. Is fighting. He had to say it anyway. “Why did you— why? I mean I know it’s our job and that’s what we do. But what happened? Why— why was it like that? Why did it end up like that?” 

Did you do it on purpose? Did you sacrifice yourself to save Tommy? Did you do that?

Eddie looks away from him, exactly how real Eddie would. He shrugs. As if it’s nothing. As if it’s just an accident. As if there was no emotion behind anything. “I know you need him. I wasn’t going to let you lose him.”

Buck closes his eyes, bends his head, and just wants to cry again like he has been for more than two weeks. “Eddie,” he sobs and clutches himself around his chest, around his own body since he can’t touch Eddie. “I need you, too. I can’t— This isn’t okay. This is worse. This is so much worse. Not that I want it the other way. It would have killed me, too. But. I can’t do this. I can’t lose you. I need you, too.”

“I figured,” Eddie says quietly. So quiet and strained and absent and distant. Too distant. “If you had to choose. You already chose. You picked him. I couldn’t let you lose him.” 

At this point, Buck isn’t sure which is worse— if this is real and what Eddie really thinks or if this is his own mind telling him what he already feels guilty about. 

#buddie #buddie wip #jenwyn wip #wip wednesday #fic: if i should fall #911 fic #911 #minor implied bucktommy but lbr this is me #yes I will use any little excuse to add magical realism and the paranormal #I was raised on the x-files okay

[prettyboybuckley]

seven sentences sunday

tagged by the lovely @rogerzsteven 🥰 this is a lot more than seven sentences, but I think I'm allowed after all the Sundays I've missed 🙈 also, would I be me if I didn't use this new storyline as an opportunity to write a threesome fic? Buck comes out to Eddie and tells him about his relationship with Tommy over dinner with both of them. What happens when Eddie reveals that during all his therapy, he figured out that he isn't straight either? "In theory", at least, according to Eddie.

"So, does this change anything?" Tommy asks as he diligently dries off the plates and glasses that Buck hands to him after washing them.

Buck pauses, torso half-turning towards Tommy as he looks at him. "What exactly?"

"Eddie being- Eddie being queer."

Tommy isn't stupid, and he knows that he's said that before, but he'll say it again. He's seen the way those two act together, how they look at each other. The moment the words left Eddie's mouth, he'd kind of figured that it'd been fun, he'd helped Buck figure out his sexuality, and now these two knew about each other, and a few days from now Tommy is going to gently get dumped because Buck can be with his best friend.

He needed to ask.

Buck blinks, tilts his head a bit as if he's thinking, but he doesn't look away, except for a quick glance to the stairs. Eddie's voice as he talks to his son on the phone is drifting down from the loft.

"I don't know," he answers, and Tommy knows it's honest. It's also obvious that Buck knows what he means. "I do know that I don't want it to change anything between you and me. I know it's only been a month, but I really care about you, Tommy."

Oh.

That wasn't was he was expecting. Buck sounds so earnest, though, and Tommy believes him, and it sparks hope.

"Okay," Tommy says, and he can't resist leaning in and kissing Buck, brief and gentle. "That's good, I like that, and I care about you too."

Buck has that soft, shy smile he often gets when Tommy kisses him like that, and it's a weight off his shoulders to know this isn't the end of them, at least not yet. Not all the weight, though.

"You know, you've been so good to me, and patient, helping me figure myself out and everything… I wish Eddie would have someone like that for him."

There is a tinge of sadness there, perhaps at the knowledge that by choosing Tommy — and god, is he really choosing Tommy? Or is he simply scared to choose Eddie? — that will not be him.

And for some reason, that is what puts an idea in Tommy's head. A crazy idea, bordering on insane, but-

He likes Eddie. Earlier today, he was thinking about how he'd have considered dating Eddie, if Buck hadn't been right there flirting with him, and if he'd thought he'd have a chance. Now he's thinking that maybe- maybe there is a possibility.

"What if it does change things? I mean, between the three of us, together?" he asks on a whim as Buck takes off those adorable dishwashing gloves, and Buck's head snaps in his direction. "What if we give Eddie that?"

It seems that Buck is picking up what he's putting down because his eyes widen and his gaze flickers over Tommy's shoulder to the loft and then back. Buck licks his lips, taking in a deep breath, and then he's nodding, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

Tommy smiles back.

tagging: @monsterrae1 @saybiwithme @loserdiaz @bi-buckrights @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @princessfbi ✨

#gary writes #seven sentence sunday #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tommy kinard #wip

[eddiediazswife]

I don’t want Eddie pining over Buck and Tommy at the wedding while he is with Marisol.

I want Buck to actively realise his attraction to Tommy was just that attraction.

I want him to realise his jealousy was because he felt like he was being left behind by his best friend whose attention is usually 100% on him.

I want him to tell Tommy he wants Eddie he just needed to catch up.

I want Eddie to realise he doesn’t have to be with a woman.

I want Eddie to realise he has choices and he doesn’t have to listen to that voice in his head telling him what he ‘should’ do/be.

I want Eddie to know he can have boundaries and his body is his and he gets to choose who and when he gives it to someone else.

I want Eddie to think about who he actually loves and trusts and has built an entire family with.

I want them to break up with their respective partners and then sit down and talk about it.

I want them to lay their cards on the table about how they love each other more than anyone else (besides Christopher).

I want them to cry and and feel every single bit of what they need to feel to get to a point of being able to be together without all the bullshit their minds scream at them.

I want them to build a relationship on such a solid foundation that nothing can tear them apart.

I don’t want a half assed drunken confession I want them to actively choose each other. To fight for each other.

Six years they have been building this thing between them let them go into it knowing exactly who they are and what they want.

#buddie #let them be happy #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 abc #tommy kinard #911 marisol

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Bucky's sweet treats | Part 2

PAIRING | Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

WORD COUNT | 2K

SUMMARY | Both you and Bucky have been getting into the habit of leaving and finding baked goods at the end of his missions, but he decided he would like to help in the kitchen. He's not much of a chef, so it won't be as innocent and easy as you may have thought it to be.

WARNING(S) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Smut [ fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sex, squirting, dirty talk, aftercare ], swearing. It's just porn with a little bit of a plot.

A/N | Surprise! Since most of you seem to love Part I of this story, I've decided to write a second part, which will be a lot more steamy than the first. Enjoy! 😉

Likes and reblogs will be very much appreciated 💜

Main Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Ever since that kiss in the gym after you left him the peanut butter cookies, the two of you couldn't get enough of each other. It wasn't just in the bedroom either, because the two of you absolutely loved every single session of sex you would have in there. But the touches, longing glances, lingering hugs, nothing would be enough for each other. You couldn't be close enough to one another, so when Bucky asked if maybe the two of you could bake something together at one point, you didn't hesitate to tell him how much you'd want that.

''And what would you like to bake then? Since you'll be helping me, I'll let you choose,'' you say with a wink, getting ready to get the supplies you'll need to make it. ''How about... those peanut butter brownies you've been wanting to try?'' he said with a devilish smirk on his face, and that is when you realized this wasn't going to be as easy as you'd imagined it to be. ''Okay, but no funny business! You know how serious I am about my brownies!'' you say to him with a stern look, and it just makes him laugh.

''Oh, I wouldn't dream of it doll,'' he said throwing his hands up in the air, but you knew him all too well for you to believe him. And in all honesty, you didn't really mind the distraction of him inside the kitchen with you. So, the next day both you and Bucky went to the grocery store to get some of the missing ingredients, his hand never leaving the small of your back as to show a little bit of his possessive side. You absolutely went crazy for it though, you love it when Bucky shows everyone you're his, and sometimes even give him a kiss or 2 to show everyone he's yours.

''Is this everything, doll?'' Bucky asks as you put a bag of chocolate chips in your shopping basket. ''I believe so, yeah. Let's go back and make some brownies, shall we?'' you asked him and he happily agreed, almost dragging you to the checkout so the two of you could go home faster. He insisted on paying for the groceries even though you said that wasn't necessary, but he said it was his idea so he should pay, so you agreed. When you were done you walked to the car and before you could even open the car door to sit down, Bucky pinned you to the side of the car.

''Buck, what are-'' is all you could get out before he kissed you, immediately asking for access with his tongue, and you happily grant him what he's asking for. The two of you deepen the kiss immediately, not caring about anyone who can see the two of you in the parking lot. Only when someone tells the two of you to get out of here, do you break apart and smile at each other. ''Damn, I couldn't wait any longer to kiss you doll, you look so damn sexy today,'' he said giving you a short kiss before moving to open your car door for you. You slip in and Bucky gives a slap on your ass before you sit down, earning him a little squeal from you.

''Bucky, behave!'' you said when you sat down, but the look on his face showed you he wasn't exactly planning on behaving himself, the mischief practically dripping off of it. When he sat down on the driver's side of the car, you could see that he was starting to get hard from your kiss earlier, and you would be lying if you said you weren't absolutely soaked right now. But you couldn't give in to him, not when driving, you didn't want to get into an accident after all. Bucky put his hand on your thigh and started rubbing soft circles with his thumb, making you melt under his touch.

When you arrive back at the Compound, you have to keep yourself in check and not drag him to your bedroom to fuck him senseless right then and there, you would be doing that later. First, there would be brownies to bake, and you were happy you could get your mind off of Bucky for a little while. Except, you forgot he would be helping you. You walked towards the oven to preheat it, and when you were bending over, you suddenly felt Bucky behind you, one hand giving you a slap on your ass and the other holding you steady at your hip so you wouldn't fall forward. ''Bucky!'' you hissed at him, ''Somebody might see us!'' but he didn't react, he knew everyone was away for a mission, so the two of you had the entire Compound to yourselves.

He sank to his knees and grabbed both your ass cheeks in his hands, kneading them softly while he enjoys every last whine and soft moan coming from your mouth when he does this. He shifts a bit more forward and turns you around, so your back is turned to the counter, and he starts moving his hands over your thighs and up to the button of your jeans. ''Let's see how soaking wet you are for me doll,'' he says and unbuttons your pants quickly, pulling the zipper down and then pulling down your pants completely, letting you step out of them before throwing them to the side. He lets out a hum of appreciation when he finds out you're dripping with arousal for him.

His fingers glide over the thing fabric of your thong, but it doesn't take much for him to rip it off and throw it to the side and attach his lips to your throbbing clit, finally giving you the sensation you've been yearning for from him. He starts licking a few broad stripes through your folds and one of your hands attaches to his hair, while the other is holding onto the counter to ground yourself a little. When he lifts up one of your legs give him even better access to your dripping pussy, you let out a deep moan of his name, the fact that anyone can walk in and see you like this only makes you feel hotter. ''Oh Bucky, f-fuck...'' you moan as he starts fucking you with this tongue.

You're getting closer to your orgasm and your legs start to tremble. ''Gonna cum, please...'' you tell him and Bucky lets out a groan at this, which vibrates through your entire body. ''Such a good girl for me, all dripping like this... Gonna cum for me doll? Gonna cum all over my face?'' he asks and he pushes two fingers inside you in a steady motion and works your clit with his tongue. ''FUUUCK fuckfuckfuck,'' is all you can say as he keeps going and your orgasm washes over you. Bucky keeps working you through it and your juices start spilling out, coating Bucky's face and when you come back down to earth a little bit, you realize you just squirted all over him, making your face go a deep red, you've never done that before.

''I- I'm sorry, Buck,'' you say softly as you put your leg back on the ground, allowing Bucky to get up. ''Oh no, never be sorry about that doll, that was amazing,'' he said before kissing you, making you taste every last drop of yourself he licked off of you. You moan into his mouth and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth again. His hips slowly start rolling against your pelvis and you feel how hard he was now. Your hands trail down to his pants and you feel how thick and hard he is right now. ''Oh no doll, right now is all about you, my turn will be later. Right now I want to fuck you so bad,'' he said and takes off your shirt, exposing your lacy bra which he also rips off without any regard for the piece of fabric.

He quickly gets undressed too and he starts stroking himself up and down, before walking back to his pants and grabbing a condom out of his pocket, he thought ahead and had put a few in there just to be sure. He lifts you up on the counter so you're the perfect height for Bucky to fuck you, and he strokes his hard length again, getting it ready to put on the condom. He rips the packet open with his mouth and you bite on your lip, loving the sight in front of you. ''I need you so bad, Bucky, need you to fuck me so deep I can't walk for days,'' you beg him and as soon as he rolled the condom on his length, he starts teasing your pussy by running it through the folds and gathering some of the wetness.

''Oh yeah? You need me to fuck you, doll? Need me to rail you so hard right here you won't be able to think? 'm gonna fuck you so hard you can't think of anything other than my thick cock in that tight little pussy of yours,'' he says and he lines himself up at your entrance, slowly inching in. When he's almost all the way in, you suddenly hear the oven turn off signifying that it's preheated, but neither of you cares at this moment, too wrapped up in one another to think about what you were originally going to do. ''Oh fuck, so big Bucky, feels so good...'' you moan into his ear and when he bottoms out, he puts soft kisses on your neck, making sure to ease the sting of his stretch a little. ''Such a perfect girl for me right now,'' Bucky said and he slowly started moving.

His hands wandered over from your hips up to your breasts, each hand taking one of the nipples in them, softly pulling on them, and squeezing a little bit. ''Oh Bucky, please...'' you say and he starts teasing you a little with some dirty talk. ''What is it that you want, doll? Need me to fuck this needy cunt of yours? Such a needy slut for me right now,'' and you throw your head back because it feels so good when he finally starts thrusting in and out of you. He keeps tugging on your nipples making you only wetter, and all that can be heard is both of your moans, and his thick cock sliding in and out of your dripping cunt at a relentless pace, constantly hitting your g-spot.

Your fingers move to your clit and start rubbing circles, making your orgasm come really close. When Bucky grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close so your moans are absorbed by his mouth, he fucks into you with an unrelenting pace and before you know it you squirt once again, Bucky keeps riding you through your orgasm and not long after his pace starts to get sloppy too. ''Oh shit doll, your cunt is squeezing me so good, such a good fucking girl for me, gonna make me cum if you keep squeezing me,'' he says and you instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, making his thrust sloppier and it doesn't take long for him to cum as well. You kiss him softly as he rides out his own orgasm, softly stroking over his shoulders and biceps. ''I think we should bake together more often...'' you say with a fucked out expression on your face, and Bucky couldn't agree more.

He picks you up and you wrap your arms and legs around him, leaving your clothes behind, you will worry about that later. He carries you to his room and runs the both of you a nice hot bath, and he sets you down slowly before stepping into it himself. You go and sit against Bucky, your back touching his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. ''I love you, Bucky,'' you say with a little smile on your lips. ''I love you too, doll,'' he said and you sat there enjoying each other's presence for a little while. When you were just about to get up out of the bath you heard Bucky's bedroom door open and your clothes hit the floor before Tony yelled ''Don't ever fuck in my kitchen again, you guys are nasty!'' and both of you couldn't help but laugh at it.

#bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut

[louisandjade]

spuffy fic rec

figured all the time i spend scouring EF and ao3 might be useful to someone!

part 2

Scooby Crew, Where Are You? by Twinkles [9k]

In a not comics-compliant post-series universe where spuffy have been reunited and everyone else is drifting apart, chaos drops by for a visit. Or a nefarious scheme. I guess we'll find out XD

To Apprehend Air by Quinara [19k]

Two days after LMPTM, Spike's soul is stolen. But that's OK; they can get it back, right? Simple. How hard is it to hop dimensions, anyway? Or storm a castle…

Wild and Wonderful by solstice [23k]

Dawn is nine and three quarters. She is resilient, strange and sharp as a tack. She's a credit to her big sis. But she's just been kidnapped by one of the most notorious vamps of all time - Drusilla. Things look bad. Enter Spike, her very unlikely hero. Spike's relationship with Drusilla has been on the rocks since the Acathala debacle and the morsel in the crate is her double-edged gift to him: a chance to make things right, and a chance to be really bad. Kill the girl and make it hurt. But for some reason he. just. can't. Instead, he tosses the niblet into the trunk of his Desoto and hits the road, leaving his one hundred year relationship in tatters, and grinding his reputation into the dust. Buckle your seat belts nice and tight. We're in for a bumpy ride.

World Enough, and Time by toooldforthis [23k]

“You came back wrong,” he told her, all those years ago. He was right, but it took them a very long time to realise exactly what that meant. It meant a hundred more apocalypses, a thousand battles. It meant a journey, a prophecy, a war. They’d lose one other, and find their way back, and choose, again and again. And all the while, the earth was failing. There are a lot more people than you think who are here for the long haul – like, the really long haul. This is a story about two of them.

Once You Eliminate the Impossible by yellowb [30k]

Icelandic noir. Inspector Summers of the Reykjavik police force has finally got her big chance: she’s in charge of a murder case.

sometimes enough by taxicab12 [35k]

“Tell me everything,” Willow said, not sounding particularly like she’d been asleep. “Are his friends cool?” Buffy blinked. “Some of them. There was this one British guy—” “Ooh, accents, hot.” “—who wouldn’t stop staring at my boobs,” she finished. “Ew, men, gross.” “Spike,” Buffy said with a scoff. “What kind of name is that?” Or, Buffy falls in love and in love and in love. For some reason, life keeps happening anyway

ever waiting airports (full of the love that you deserve) by womanaction [41k]

Buffy catches up with Riley's helicopter, solving one problem and introducing a host of others. How is she supposed to rebuild their crumbling relationship in the face of an angry hellgod out for blood, an emotional teenage sister who spent millennia as a glowing ball of energy, and a weirdly helpful vampire? Season 5 rewrite from "Into the Woods" on.

GTFO by Girlytek [54k]

Spike doesn’t take the extra hundred bucks to be the decoy. Ethan doesn’t hang around to gloat. With the Initiative on their tail (just a little one), and Ethan needing a good being killed, Spike and Fyarl-Giles get out of town. There’s nothing like a road trip to put your demons in perspective.

Care by Sigyn [72k]

While under her Will Be Done spell, Willow just happened to say “I don’t care about anything,” and as a result, wanders blithely off as a vengeance demon. Spike and Buffy are left to protect a threatened Xander and a blind Giles while under the effect of a powerful love charm. But all is not happy in paradise – they’re still constantly fighting, and Angel is determined to end the spell they’re under. In a desperate attempt to collect the tattered remains of all their lives, ex-watcher Wesley Windham-Pryce is called in to try and play marriage counselor between the vampire and the slayer.

The Soul Lies Down by the_moonmoth [73k]

"As a child, I used to dream of a man in black and white, spinning in the desert like a dervish, sword flashing in the moonlight as he danced with death." Dawn travels back in time to save the vampire who saved her life. It's not purely out of sentiment, though -- the fate of the world is at stake (again) and somehow Spike is at the center of events. If only he can stay on the right side of Buffy. A sequel to Angearia's "Fin Amour".

Summer’s Lease by Iamblichus [86k]

Buffy thought it would be just another night of slaying lame-ass campus vampires, but one green demon, some unexpected help from Spike, and a spurt of fluorescent blood later, she finds that her world has acquired a novel complication.

Indigo Overture by Rikki_oko [119k]

Spike's just a drummer, content to live in lead singer Angel's shadow. But when a certain blonde strolls in on Angel's arm, will Spike be content to take the backseat forever? Loosely based on the eighties song, Jesse's Girl.

#there’s a bit of everything in there #obviously catered to my taste but hopefully some people agree! #i’m gonna try and include more lesser known writers in the next one #spuffy #spike x buffy #buffy x spike #spuffy fic #spuffy fic rec #spuffy fic recs #spuffy ficrec #spuffy ficrecs #mine

[bi-bard]

Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Evan "Buck" Buckley - Evan "Buck" Buckley Imagine [9-1-1]

Title: Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Evan "Buck" Buckley

Pairing: Evan "Buck" Buckley X Reader

Word Count: 1,556 words

Warning(s): mention of bad parents/past heartbreak

Author's Note: I had a chunk of this written before I decided to write this in the format that it's currently in. You can find that under 'Lover'.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

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Lover

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January This is our place, we make the rules And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear Have I known you twenty seconds or twenty years?

Buck and I moving in together was a big move.

A move that he and I had both spent our fair share of time worrying about.

However, it seemed like every person seemed convinced that it was always a question of when and not if.

I only truly agreed when I placed the last of our stuff down on the floor of our new place. I looked over at Buck, standing in the kitchen area, surrounded by a variety of boxes and it all clicked.

This was it.

This was exactly what I wanted. What I needed.

Almost as soon as we were unpacked, there were plans for a housewarming party. I spent the whole day before making sure that everything was ready while Buck was on his shift.

And then, that morning happened.

I woke up after Buck.

He had his arm wrapped around my torso. He was almost laying on me when I woke up enough to properly look at him.

"Morning," I said, grinning at how he was already staring at me.

"Morning," he replied, leaning forward to press his lips to mine. "Ready for today?"

"Doesn't feel like it," I admitted. "It all still feels a little surreal."

He nodded as he leaned closer to me. "Tell me about it."

"I have an idea," I muttered as Buck hid his face in my neck.

"What is that," he asked.

"We cancel..."

He started chuckling immediately. I started chuckling too, but I tried to keep talking.

"Hear me out! We cancel the party and spend the day in bed," I explained. "I am prepared to make it worth your while."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Is that right?"

The tone in his voice immediately let me know that I had made a very poor choice in my wording. "I have made a mistake... I didn't mean... I meant that I was going to make those pancakes that you like."

"Oh," he mumbled. "Yeah, I completely misread that."

"I kinda figured that one out," I replied.

There was a long pause before Buck spoke up again, "We can't just cancel-"

"Why not," I whined, tilting my head back like a grumpy child.

"Because you went through all that work yesterday," he leaned to peck my lips between every few words, "with the cooking... and cleaning... and unpacking... what kind of partner... would I be... if I let you... not see the result of efforts?"

"You can't just kiss me as a distraction so you get your way," I muttered.

"Oh, it's not me getting my way," he chuckled. "I would never choose a party over spending all day in bed with you. I am saving us the consequences of us canceling last minute."

"Is there someone that would be angry?"

"There are many people who would never let me hear the end of it."

I slowly nodded. "Fine."

"Good."

"You're making the bed this morning. I earned the first shower."

"Deal," he leaned down and kissed me gently. "God, I love you."

"I love you too," I said as my fingers found their place in the hair on the back of his head.

I could imagine spending forever just like this.

long story short

Pushed from the precipice Clung to the nearest lips Long story short, it was the wrong guy Now I'm all about you

I had never been in a place as tense as my car when I pulled up to Buck's place.

Neither one of us made an effort to move or speak or anything. We both sat in silence, existing uncomfortably.

It had been that way through the whole drive.

Buck's parents had insisted on meeting me. I knew about them. I knew everything about them. Buck had told me everything in a hushed voice as we laid in bed together. I don't think I had held him as tightly as I did on the first night that he started to truly open up to me.

When they had made their "offer", which was more like a demand than anything else, I told Buck that I would take his lead. If he didn't want to meet with them, then that would be fine with me. I had no interest in forcing anything.

He decided to try. In the end, we all want our parents to accept and love us. Even when we know that they aren't capable of it.

It took me a while to finally take a deep breath and speak up, "We don't need to talk about it if you don't want to. But, I need you to know-"

"I get it," he cut me off. I furrowed my eyebrows. He looked at me. "After hearing it all from them, you're realizing that all of this was a mistake. I get it."

"That's not what I was going to say at all," I replied. "I was going to say that we don't have to talk about it, but I need you to know that I am here. I... I don't care about what those people had to say. At all. Because I trust you."

He looked away again, jaw clenched.

I reached over and turned his face back to mine. My heart broke at the sight of tears filling his eyes. "You have never given me one reason to not completely trust you. I think you're amazing, Buck. I can see who you became despite those people and whatever else has happened in your past. I see a man who is so unbelievably kind and loving and has made me feel more special than I ever thought that I deserved."

I caught one of his tears with my thumb.

I took another deep breath, "I love you, Buck. I really fucking love you and I will continue repeating it as many times as you want to hear it."

I hadn't said it out loud yet. But I thought about it every day. Every time I woke up next to him or when he texted me or when he would look at me with that smug grin on his face. I had known that I loved him long before I could force the words off of my tongue.

He reached up and grabbed my hand, moving to kiss my palm. I grinned at him.

"I love you too," he muttered.

I leaned over the center console and pressed my lips to his.

He was truly everything to me. And I had no plans to let him go. No matter what.

Begin Again

And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid I think it's strange that you think I'm funny 'cause he never did I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end But on a Wednesday in a café, I watched it begin again

I had met Buck a few times before we ended up going to dinner together.

I wish I knew who encouraged him to ask me out. I really wanted to thank them.

I expected it to be awkward when we first sat down, but it wasn't. It was like our conversation was on autopilot. Talking with Buck was just so natural.

We laughed and told stories like we had done it a million times before.

It was a connection that I had longed for throughout so much of my life. It all felt like a Disney movie. It may not have been love at first sight, but it was close.

In the middle of our conversation, I caught Buck seeming kind of lost in thought. He was just kind of staring at me.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Are you okay?"

Buck blinked a few times. "Uh, yeah, yeah."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, sorry," he chuckled, looking down for a moment.

We continued our conversation like the moment hadn't happened. I couldn't stop thinking about it. The look alone had made me nervous. Not in an uncomfortable way, but in a way that made me realize that this date may have been a bigger moment than I would ever fully know.

I didn't see that same look on Buck's face until much later that night. We were walking back to my car. I had started rambling about something that my parents used to do all the time.

I noticed the look when I turned to look at him as we made it to my car.

My words stopped as I felt my face warming up. "Sorry, I... I kind of started rambling there."

He blinked a few times just like he had earlier. "No, no... it's... it's fine."

"Okay," I mumbled. "Um, well, this is my car. Maybe we could do this again?"

"Yeah, I'd... I'd like that," he replied.

"Good," I replied.

There was a small pause before I leaned over and kissed Buck's cheek.

"Goodnight, Buck," I grinned before going around to get in my car.

"Goodnight," I heard him say as I stepped away.

I would have given anything to understand how important that night was going to be in the long run.

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#evan buckley imagine #evan buckley fanfiction #evan buckley x reader #evan buck buckley x reader #evan buck buckley fanfiction #evan buck buckley imagine #9 1 1 x reader #9 1 1 fanfiction #9 1 1 imagine #imagine #fanfiction #x reader #911 imagine #911 fanfiction #911 x reader

[furious-rogue-stuff]

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

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

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

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

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000

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

Haze

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

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

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

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

It had been a contentious adjustment.

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

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

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

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

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

"Extenuating circumstances beyond my control, Pikey boy—"

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

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

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

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

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

"They're completely different colors, though—"

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

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

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

"Have a nice night, Pike."

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

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

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

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

"That seems punitive and uncalled for—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"…How much?"

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

"How much, Dandy Lion?"

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

"Just a little over six grand…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least until you found the consequential stuff.

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

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

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

You'd been astounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—You with us, Savedra?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, you actually showed."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—Why keep it a secret?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marcus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—You were in a band?!"

"Yep. Back in the day—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle despite yourself before sipping the wine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes! I love John Lennon—"

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

And so begins the next round of banter between you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ta-da!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like old movies?"

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

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

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

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

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

You don't have to be told twice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"—So your mom liked art?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bemused, he's just turned after covertly adjusting himself in his jeans to see you already at the door.

"See you at work, Pike."

You're out the door before he's even able to articulate a response.

If you were both honest, there had been a not-so-subtle buildup occurring between you.

However, after cookoff-gate, things had swerved into a direction neither of you seemed equipped to maneuver.

Your guard was all the way back up with him. So much so, you weren't even verbally sparring with him at the office anymore.

Marcus handled it the only way he knew how: Focus exclusively on work, and leave no question that his intentions were recalibrated back onto what he assumed you expected. That you wanted nothing but a professional rapport, and to rebuff anything else.

Even after that theory was tested with the club incident soon after the distance between you began – a torrid event that had left him pining for something more, Marcus was left more confused than before when you instead became even more distant.

You were on the precipice of uncertainty for the first time since you'd been ensnared into the task force.

So much so, that you were planning on making the antiquities sting your last.

None of this was because you didn't feel anything for Marcus. Quite the contrary. Your attraction was magnetic, and you hadn't realized how much you'd longed to be safe with someone the way you did when you were with him. It was too dangerous to give into it. That's why you intended to keep your walls up and to suppress all your feelings on the matter in order to concentrate of your impending exit strategy.

But then, things are never that simple.

Marcus is livid when he gets off the elevator and storms at a stalking pace down the corridor several days before the undercover operation is targeted to begin. Everyone takes notice, but the uncharacteristic glower on his rugged features is so intimidating that no one dares check in with him.

He makes it to your office, abruptly enters, and slams the door after himself before stomping to where you're sat behind your desk.

"What the hell possessed you to go around my back and contract an informant without my authorization?!" he shouts forcefully as he looms over you while you stare up at him and frown.

"Nothing. He's been part of the plan since the beginning—"

"Part of the plan that you haven't disclosed to me. And had you told me about the fence you recruited from within the group we're trying to take down, I would've never allowed it!" is Marcus's furious harangue, hands going to his hips to prevent him from gesticulating angrily at you. "You went to the U.S. Attorney and secured an immunity deal with him without my consent—!"

"There was no feasible way to infiltrate this organization without someone on the inside willing to vouch for me, and who can also co-sign that you're The Jackal. He's one of the very few people in the world who has actually seen him and knows his demeanor. And, he's got the motivation to not screw us. He wants out of the life, and knows we're his only chance of making it out alive," you rationalize as you stand and round your desk to point at your transparent board. "See? He's given me key coordinates, and after this morning's intel session with him, I have even more crucial info—"

Marcus grabs your elbow to steer you around to face him and his unwavering scowl. "You are not an agent, Savedra. All you are is a resource – an asset to this team, with no standing to orchestrate these kinds of things behind my back—"

"Listen, Pike. I'm the last person you have to remind of how short my leash is here. I've never forgotten that, least of all that you're the one holding the other end of it. Your task force is a joke, mostly. If you're going to be meek about how you go after these syndicates, then you might as well close shop and go back to Dallas," you snap and shrug your arm out of his hold, staring at him fiercely as you add, "Now, be mad all you want, but if you pull the plug on things now, you're going to derail weeks of work, and set your team back months. I, for one, would like to make all the effort count."

Clenching his jaw, Marcus exhales through his nose and pins you in his dark glare as he grounds out, "Fine. But this is the last time you pull a stunt like this. Understood?"

You nod curtly before turning away to recalibrate your poise as you sigh out.

"Now that we got that out of the way, I set up a session with him so he can detail to you what you need to channel when you're undercover."

Said session does nothing to assuage Marcus, but at least he gets the needed context of what this middle-aged criminal knows, and is briefed on key intel no one has on The Jackal.

The initial meet a few days later with the traffickers goes according to plan.

You convince them of your expertise as a collector of privately-acquired relics, and they buy your explanation of needing the help of a network in order to transport the large, archaic limestone Greek statue of the sphinx you sought to move overseas to a wealthy buyer. The fence, Elio, steers the crew to The Jackal being the appropriate track, and as planned, arranges the fake meet between the traffickers, you, and The Jackal himself.

Marcus didn't need a lot of motivation to channel a reticent, stony man quick to intimidation. His intense demeanor was exactly what everyone in the room expected, thanks to The Jackal's reputation preceding him. However, Elio had divulged one thing that no one outside of this kind of black-market syndicate knew about the head of the Mediterranean art theft ring.

"—Before I give my blessing to this transaction, I'd like to get to know who I'm doing business with."

You'd turned to Marcus and expertly portrayed cautious intrigue. It really wasn't hard, with how dapper he looked in his dark black suit, sans a tie and with a matching open-collared dress shirt underneath the tailored blazer. His hair was swept back, curling in shaggy whisps at his nape and behind his ears. And while his beard wasn't as thick and full as Elio had mentioned The Jackal's being, you thought he looked roguishly handsome, nevertheless.

"And I would be obliged to do whatever necessary to make our business nothing but successful, Sciacallo," you tell him, using the Italian moniker The Jackal favors when doing business.

As planned, Marcus leads you out of the impromptu gathering at the hangout the traffickers use and escorts you to the private quarters upstairs. However, unlike you'd planned up until five minutes before you'd entered the hideout for the meet, you and Marcus weren't dropping your covers once the door to the room closes.

You can't. Not with Elio mentioning that they had installed hidden cameras throughout the hideout, and he couldn't guarantee that the security goons monitoring the feeds wouldn't leave any camera or audio device on in the private quarters.

Marcus had been fuming when you'd faked leaning in to flirt with The Jackal, and whispered about the cameras in the room upstairs. His eyes had hardened and his jaw clenched, but he feigned like he was annoyed by someone talking too loudly close to you both.

So, having not planned this part, you were anxious and exhilarated.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Marcus gave the room a cursory stare before turning to you and murmuring, "See? Much better. We can hear ourselves talk. Perhaps you'll repeat what you said downstairs?"

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you approach him sultrily and caress your hand over the lapel of his suit. "I said, I'm eager to partner with you, handsome," you purr, eyes inviting as you glance up at him through the fringe of your lashes.

"That's what I thought," Marcus husks before trailing his hand up your arm to graze along your shoulder before snaking across your collarbone and up to clasp the slender column of your neck and wrap his thick, dexterous fingers around your throat lightly. He can feel your pulse racing, so he backs you up slowly into the nearest wall before cradling your jaw with a possessive caress of his hand as he rumbles, "I like eager and beautiful women."

Your body reacts, arching into him as you tilt your head back and stare alluringly at him before he leans down and kisses you with voracious zeal.

You dimly wonder if it's truly improvised undercover work when you've wanted Marcus to kiss you like this for weeks – maybe even longer, if you were being honest with yourself.

Marcus is wound tight in his chest with worry, but the way you loop your arms around him and hum into his mouth when he deepens the kiss gives him some relief that maybe this isn't a complete clusterfuck. The thought that they could be watching you both, though, kept him on edge – focused on not getting carried away in how phenomenal having you like this was and instead hyperaware of staying on task.

Mercifully, before things got carried away, a clueless underling walked in on you both, which gave Marcus the perfect opportunity to showcase the infamous fury The Jackal was known for.

He was off of you and slamming the guy up against the doorframe in an instant, yoking him up and contumely cursing him out before the dude could stammer an apology and the girl he had brought up with him ran off to avoid any wrath herself.

Fracas smoothened over by the underling's leader, who profusely apologized to The Jackal, things went back on track as planned, and you were able to leave the hideout with a guarantee that your antiquity could be smuggled overseas and sold to your contact.

The final meeting for the sting operation, however, did not go as planned.

You'd made it all the way up to the handoff at the warehouse when the boss of the trafficking syndicate suddenly tried to change the terms of the deal, by trying to make you reveal the name of your buyer overseas. There you were, surrounded by underlings and enforcers who were packing the crate housing the artifact with the contraband supplied by The Jackal, when you had to smoothly refuse.

The burly man had approached you swiftly, making a veiled threat you'd already composed a rebuttal for when all hell broke loose. You don't even know how it happened, but one second the tactical team rushed in and the guy pulled out a knife while he was lunging to grab your elbow. In a blink, though, you're yanked away and the knife swung wide and slashed at one of the stacked bundles near the crate.

You'd given up on trying to regain your bearings with how your eyes and sinuses were burning, vision watering and stinging as you blindly let Marcus haul you out of the sting's warehouse – having barreled into danger to extract you. The unidentified powder was part of the narcotic contraband to be stored in the crate with the artifact, but the contents of the torn bundle went airborne and caked over you before he was able to whisk you out of the fray and to a safehouse.

Even in the hyper rushed aftermath, his ears were still ringing.

Marcus had yanked you away from being attacked or taken hostage, but not before the powder exploded out like a confetti-cannon over you while shots started ringing out in the warehouse.

The pink haze had the consistency of dry cement as it fluttered down, and even he wasn't spared the hit of it flitting against the side of his face in the chaos.

The fallout was technically his fault, but the main target of the sting had threatened you, so he'd rushed in with backup. The ensuing pandemonium of the raid and the frenzy of pink powder haze and bullets flying had made it a frenzied operation for him.

He'd acted first and thought second, which was not the norm for him. But the threat? It had propelled him to determinedly bust in to extract you, cover being blown be damned. As far as he was concerned, it was unimportant now and of little consequence to him.

Well, now, while he hissed and scrubbed the chemical residue from his face as he locked the door and engaged the security system, he did let his anger swirl up in him all over again.

He hears you coughing in the bathroom, and no matter how exasperating you've been, something fierce coils in his chest at the distressing sound of you dry heaving and gasping to catch your breath.

Tucking his service weapon into the holster underneath his leather jacket, Marcus finds his way down into the narrow hall where the bathroom is, squinting the entire way as he absently wipes at his heated features in attempt to get the strange powder removed.

He knocks on the door before grousing lowly, "Hey, you ok?"

You croak some sort of scoff before running the faucet again and trying to get the cakey residue out from your nostrils so you can breathe without wheezing. Once you've splashed water over your face, you mumble, "I think so."

The door cracks ajar before Marcus pokes his head in to survey you. "What?"

"I said, I think so," you snap, cupping your hands under the faucet and splashing water messily over your flushed features.

"Damn…here, come sit and let me have a look at you," you hear him grumble as his footsteps approach you from behind.

He cups your elbow and firmly tugs you away from the sink to steer you towards the bathtub's ledge, yanking a hand towel from a nearby rack as he sits you down so he can try helping you scrub the remnants of the bubblegum-pink powder off your face.

You sneeze, which causes an itchy sensation in the back of your throat that sends you into another coughing fit, so Marcus hurriedly gets the glass you'd left on the sink vanity and refills it with cool water before placing it in your hands and helping guide it to your lips.

"Small sips. Take it slow," he murmurs in a firm baritone, ignoring his own discomfort to tend to you.

"Mmph," you grunt before taking a breath and shaking your head. "What the hell—what is this stuff?!"

"I'm not sure—"

"What if it's some kind of toxin?!" you exclaim as you try to stare at him without having your eyes water from the menthol-like burn.

"It's not. Remember the narcotic contraband was loaned to us by DEA. There's no way they'd let something toxic be used for a sting—"

"Then why is this stuff making me feel like I just got hit with powdered speed?!" you gripe as you snatch the towel from his grip so you can scrub your face more.

Marcus feels feverish and antsy himself, so he goes to the sink and runs the tap to splash his own features with cool water. "Probably just an irritant from the pink dye—"

"Ugh, I'm covered in this crap," you grouse as you begin to scrub the damp cloth down your neck and decolletage, ignoring how your slinky black dress is hanging in a racy, askew manner at your bustline from the strap drooping off of your shoulder.

Marcus catches himself staring at your cleavage before he hoarsely clears his throat and turns away. "I'll go see if there's anything you can change into," he croaks as he rushes out of the bathroom, heading for the spartan bedroom at the end of the hall and into the armoire across from the bed.

It's then while he's muttering crossly to himself, that he realizes his phone is vibrating in his jacket's pocket. Swearing, he retrieves it and answers, "Pike."

"Jeez, man! I've been calling yah nonstop," the DEA partner, Agent Jarvis, who helped coordinate things with the narcotic contraband for the sting, is barking in his ear. "Where are you?!"

"At a safehouse—"

"I was told your asset got a face-full of one of the powder bricks when shit went south—"

"She did. I caught some too, in the melee of trying to extract her—"

"…Shit. Ok, so, we have a problem," Agent Jarvis warns, before seriously instructing, "Listen to me very carefully, Pike. You and your asset were exposed to Pheral. If you haven't already, you're going to start feeling some effects from it—"

"Whoa, what the hell are you talking about? Pheral? What even is that?"

"So, it's a designer drug out of Amsterdam that's becoming big in the affluent, socialite drug scenes at clubs all around the world. It's a synthetic chemical composite of human pheromones, but it's potent and has the same effects as doing ketamine and acid. However, it's a disinhibitor; it hits the system and can cause coronary distress—"

Marcus is listening in horror while the man instructs him to remove any tainted clothes and rinse the residue off as soon as possible, all as he feels the effects of the drug start to palpitate in his chest. His pulse had been racing and he'd chalked it up to the adrenaline of extracting you from the botched sting, but now he's realizing that it's an elevated sensation pounding in his veins and zinging south, making him feverishly aroused.

"—How do you stop it?! Is there an antidote?"

"Lab hasn't been able to come up with one yet. It's absorbed through mucus membranes, so it hits the bloodstream quick. Get as much fluids in her to clear it out as quick as possible, but mostly, just keep her from hurting herself, Pike. She's going to be jonesing for physical gratification like a hellcat in heat. It's supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac—a heightened state of euphoria, but only when done in dab-like doses. If she was doused bad…I don't know. Users get so desperate from the effects when they overdo it that they lose sense of their pain thresholds—"

"I gotta go."

Marcus ends the call quickly before discarding the phone and then pulls the holster with his gun from the back of his waistband to be plopped onto the dresser in order to sprint down the hall to check on you.

He hears you whimpering just before he burst through the bathroom door.

"M-Marcus."

You're in a state of amplified arousal that is bordering on hyperventilating distress. Sweat has broken out along your hairline, and your bare skin is dewy from the overheated racing of your pulse. The ache of desire has you squirming in discomfort, feeling hypersensitive and raw-nerved as you stare wildly up at him from where you're curled into the corner of the floor by the tub.

He rushes to your side to cradle you against him as he hurriedly turns the shower's faucet handle to start spraying cold water into the tub. He says your name firmly before explaining in a hoarse rasp, "—I gotta get this stuff off of you and you're gonna have to drink more water for me."

You sob and grip onto his shoulders, trembling as you whine, "What's happening?!"

"It's the drug," is all he says as he hastily sheds his leather jacket in order to ease his own overheated discomfort, grabbing the glass to fill it to the brim with water before chugging half of it and refilling it in order to kneel down and insistently press it to your lips so you can guzzle as much as you can. When you drink your fill and push the glass away, he blindly sets it down on the back of the commode's tank lid before he rasps, "Now, c'mon, dandelion. I gotta get you under the cold water—"

"Come in with me?" you plead as he lifts you to stand on shaky knees. "You got it all over you too, Marcus," is your watery whisper as you caress his face and swipe at the pink smudge on his cheekbone.

The contact to his skin makes Marcus shudder, and against his control, arousal throbs riotously into his apex and pulses in his loins.

Rock-hard now, he huffs raggedly as he insists, "I gotta take care of you first, so let me get this off of you."

You're feeling like liquid fire is thrumming under your skin and your pulse is at your center, blood pumping from the silken clutch in your pelvis rather than from the organ in your chest. The usual tingle of arousal is instead a rapacious, searing heat at your core – making you quiver and drip with desire while Marcus rushes to gently remove the slinky black cocktail dress off your torso.

Your blush feels like you've been sitting under the Saharan sun, and the brush of Marcus's touch over your ignited body has you shivering and biting back a whimper as he strips you to your black cotton and lace thong before lifting you into the tub and under the cold spray of the showerhead.

The yelp you let out when the water beats down on your bare skin has him scrambling to grab you as you writhe to be in his embrace. "N-No, the water will help—"

"It feels like needles!" you cry and cling to him, quivering as you grip on to him desperately and chatter, "You feel good," before nuzzling his neck and giving yourself over to the urge that's become an incandescent force inside your body.

Your bare breasts press against him, nipples studded and tingling for gratification while your pussy clenches at how good his skin tastes when you suckle a kiss into his neck.

Marcus can't keep a lid on his own baser urges any longer at your distress melting away the more you touch him.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he gravels out and kisses your burning cheek, and at your breathy mewl, he kisses your mouth. The water on your body soaks into his shirt and jeans as you clamber to wrap your legs and arms around him with intoxicated urgency.

When he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, he has to soothe you when you whine for him.

"Can't—I can't just…don't want to lose control—"

You kiss him possessively and slink down his front while simultaneously yanking on his clothes he now desperately tries to peel off of himself.

Feeling his feverish skin press against yours after he shoves his clothes down and rushes to sit on the edge of the tub to kick the remainder off while simultaneously yanking you down – settling you to straddle onto his lap, you moan at having the length of his cock nestle against your damp cloth-covered crotch. You can feel your folds drench with arousal, making you ache to be split by him to the hilt – to be filled by his throbbing erection.

"No antidote—can't lose control. D-Don't want to hurt you," is all he's managed to string together as he gropes you against him and grazes wet, open-mouth kisses along your neck and jaw. Your clit throbs when he grips your waist and starts edging you onto his cock.

"You won't! W-Won't hurt me," you groan and encircle your arms around his shoulders before whining, "Please, please, Marcus—"

He shakes his senses loose of the horny haze to press, "Listen to me, wildcat. We need to wash this shit off. It'll be quick—we'll do it quick, and once it's off I'll do whatever you need—"

"Need you. Want you," you exhale in a frenzied state, staring with blown-out pupils at him as you start to pleasure yourself by rubbing your aching pussy along his cock. The friction of your soaked panties along his velvety, pulsing erection has Marcus buzzing from the electric pleasure sparking across his nerve endings.

"You'll have me, dandelion. C'mon, be a g-good girl for me," he husks and stands, holding you in his arms as you cling to him and whimper.

Once sure you won't bolt, he gets in under the shower spray with you.

The water doesn't feel as horrid against your skin as it had the first time, so you snap out of the hedonistic daze once Marcus has stood under the frigid spray for a few minutes and clumsily scrubbed the pink residue from your shoulders and back for you.

You hurriedly unlatch yourself from him to stand on quaking legs in order to wash the pink powder remnants quickly off your skin and hair, then help Marcus get it off his beard and neck while he lets the water spray directly into his face in hopes to get the maddening sensation to cease.

Now that the water going down the drain is no longer tinged in pink, you and Marcus maneuver so the spray can run down his back while you sway on your feet and try to regain your wits. Instead, you both end up standing in the cold cascade, staring into each other's flushed features.

It feels like a fever dream – seeing his naked body like this, and your pussy clenches around nothing when you caress your palms down his abs and watch his ruddy, pulsing erection twitch at your sensual touch.

He murmurs your name when you lean forward to kiss along his heated skin after nuzzling your face into his pecs, chasing his delectable scent.

You're dialed into this primordial attraction, so you kneel at his feet from how your mouth waters to have his cock stuffed in it – to have the weight of it on your tongue before he fills your pussy with it the way you're convinced he needs to in order to stop this feeling from consuming you like a leaf flung onto a blazing fire.

Marcus shakily cups your jaw as he rasps your name again, and at the skittish unease of his tone, you stare up at him and snake your other hand between your thighs to touch yourself while you mewl for permission to do what you hunger for. The sight of you has him trembling, and his thumb grazes over the corner of your mouth, attempting to tow you back up to him, but then you lick it and make a needy sound that sends a jolt of insatiable arousal to his cock.

"T-This'll make you feel better?" Is his hoarse whisper, cold cascading water raining onto his back completely forgotten.

"Yes, hot stuff. I want you in my mouth—"

He groans, muscles flexing in anticipation. "Wanna give you what you need, baby—"

You gratefully hum and finally put him in your mouth, savoring his salty pre-cum and the velvety smooth thick of him you suck lustfully on.

His hand buries in the back of your wet hair, a raspy moan tumbling from his lips as he grapples to stay balanced with the other planting against the tiled wall.

You're enthralled by his reaction, sucking him off while gripping the base of his cock and pumping him in your fist every time you let his thick cock slip from the warm purse of your mouth so you can catch your breath. All while you rut against the palm heel of your other hand to try and ease the ache of arousal pulsing beseechingly for gratification.

It's when you grind too hard and whimper like it hurts that finally snaps Marcus to focus on you and not the exquisite pleasure that you're giving him.

Your senses sway as Marcus manhandles you off your knees and picks you up to be carried out of the cold shower.

Latching your arms and legs around him with a yelp, you wail, "M-Marcus, wha—?"

"No hurting yourself," he grumbles heatedly as he hurriedly stalks as best as he can, in the state he's in, to the bedroom with you. "M'gonna make you feel good so you don't hurt yourself by accident—"

You hiccup, "Hurt?! What's h-happening to us, Marcus?"

He makes it into the room and puts you on the bed. You're both still drenched from the shower, and he eyes you intensely as he peels your soaked panties off of you whilst trying to soberly explain, "The pink powder? It's a designer drug. The way you're feeling—that we're both f-feeling is because of it. You got dosed with way too much of it—"

You rear up onto your splayed hands and gape at him once he's tossed your drenched thong aside. "C-Can't they give us something to counteract it—?" you begin, but he shakes his head vigorously and sends water droplets to halo about before a shudder makes him wring his hands across his overly-heated features.

He's still rock-hard, and completely naked in front of you now, and the insatiable force in you is suddenly dismissing your panic to instead fixate on him.

"Marcus?"

"Hmmph?"

"Are we going to die?"

"N-No! Jeez—no, of course not," he begins to assure as he drops his hands from his face and rushes to convince you, but ends up avidly staring as you provocatively spread your legs to show him how needy you are for him, keeping your gaze fixed on his blown-out pupils. He watches you sit up and beckon for him to come to you while you shimmy backwards onto the bed.

"Ok then. Take your socks off and get over here, now."

Marcus looks down and realizes that indeed, he still has his socks on. They're sopping wet from the shower, and explain why he had such a difficult time getting traction over the tile and floorboards as he carried you from the bathroom to the bed.

Yanking them off with as much dignity as he can muster, with how worked up and ravenous he is, Marcus tosses them and clambers onto the bed after you. You admire the way his broad, muscularly toned physique looks under the bedroom's track lighting, thrill tangling excitedly in your core at how thick and hard his ramrod cock is as it bobs from his prowling towards you.

Once he's in reach, you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a rapacious kiss, wanting to have his weight on top of you finally.

His hands are warm and assertive as he pulls you into him while his tongue plunders your mouth, and yours encouragingly grope down to grab his ass when you mewl and roll your hips into his.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, as if compelled to keep his wits about him while he stammers, "W-We don't have to do this. I-I can just—"

You roll your positions so that he's on his back with you straddling him now.

"You said I could have you. I want you, Marcus," you husk silkily as you brace your palms over his broad chest and undulated your hips to grind yourself against his ramrod cock. He groans and grips your thighs, so you lean down to kiss him before you purr against his panting lips, "Now let me have you, handsome."

Marcus feels like you've hit the payload that is his stockpiled arousal he's been trying to keep buried deep in his gut, unleashing a feral desire he's never allowed himself to experience.

You gasp in surprise when he sits up and lifts you by your waist so he can nudge his cock between your soaked folds in order to notch the smooth tip at your dimpled entrance before plunging you onto him to the hilt.

The moan that falls from your lips comes out almost like an overawed wail at how amazing he feels inside you, making you arch into him and cling to his shoulders as he starts fucking up into you with bruising, ruinously precise thrusts that have him stroking nerve-melting pleasure to flare inside you.

"Oh my god!" you cry out when Marcus starts using one hand clutching the small of your back to slam you over and over onto his cock while the other squeezes one breast before pinching your nipple while he suckles the other into his mouth.

He barely registers the sting of your nails pinching into his upper back when you whimper his name after a particularly nippy suckle onto your pebbled flesh, and he doesn't realize how overcome you are with pleasure until you start begging in a frantic tone he's never heard you use.

"Marcus, I—I can't—oh Marcus! Please—"

His hand abandons your breast to instead grip the back your neck and anchor you to him as he nuzzles your cheek and soothingly coos, "Tell me, gorgeous girl."

You feel overwhelmed. The heat of it singed across your face. It has you sobbing against his jaw, "I want more – w-want you to use me. Please, Marcus. I need you—"

There's something primordial that you're both dialed into, and at your words, Marcus just knows what he needs to give you.

Pivoting up on the bed with you, he tosses you onto the mattress before manhandling you onto your hands and knees so he can possessively yank your hips to be positioned just right for him to spear his cock back into your molten pussy from behind.

"Fuck," Marcus grits between clenched jaw at how your walls clamp greedily onto his shaft while you let out a sound akin to a hearty cry of triumph. When he crowds you and starts to pound into you insatiably, he moans at how you rock back to meet his thrusts.

You feel like an animal in heat. Like all there is right now is his cock inside you and his body enveloping around you and his taste and his scent and his sweat and it all has your head spinning in the best way while you interlace your fingers in his and crane your neck out so his face can fit perfectly in the crook as he suckles on your dewy skin.

For Marcus, it's like something was turned on inside him – an undiscovered feeling of belonging and power and accomplishment was cresting free, and the more he reveled in you, the hotter and brighter it was burning in his chest.

It was so liberating that he let his feelings escape the hive-like place in his heart where he kept them trapped away.

"You make me feel things I've never felt before," is growled into your jaw, and you clench around his cock like a silken vise while you moan and arch into him.

"Marcus—"

"M'gonna protect you. Was scared—scared I'd lose you—"

You whimper, "Oh, Marcus—"

"Tell me what you want, wildcat," he gravels in a rough timbre that rakes exhilarated desire through you.

"Fuck me, Marcus. Want you to fuck me until this feeling stops—until I'm yours. M-Make me yours—"

All inhibitions are gone from him now.

Marcus fucks you with abandon, railing you with such ferocity that you're turned into an alight, moaning mess as bliss tears you asunder with a deliriously scorching orgasm that has you bowing down into the bed while Marcus pounds through your fluttering cunt flooding his apex with your climax.

His hands grip your hips as he pivots back onto his haunches and prolongs your ecstasy, eyes glazed with his lust for you and watching you continue to mindlessly rock back to meet his thrusts.

He's throbbing for release, but this heightened state of arousal caused by the drug has an insatiable, prolonging effect – extending his libido's hold-out like a refractory period.

When you dissolve into the bed face-first with an exhausted mewl, Marcus pulls out and marvels at how much slick coats his cock and drips down his apex.

The scent of sex permeates the once sanitized-smelling air that came from the filtered vent system. The room feels humid from how elevated your body temperatures are, blood pressure feeling like it's sky-high as your pulses race. He knows that's dangerous, and in the syrupy miasma of his sex-dazed mind, he remembers the instructions he was given.

You are a blitzed-out heap of tingling nerve endings. So much so, you barely absorb when Marcus rumbles, "Gonna get more water. Be right back, dandelion," as he rolls you onto your back and pets the damp hair sticking to your warm skin away from your face.

"Stay," you mumble and take his hand, kissing the inside of his palm.

He grunts a reassuring sound before kissing your forehead and promising, "I'll be right back."

You vacantly nod and roll on your side with a tired sigh.

Marcus strings together enough control of his fine motor skills to rush out of the bedroom and go for the closest source of water. He enters the bathroom and finds the shower spray still on – having not realized he'd completely forgotten to turn it off. After doing so now, he grabs the discarded glass and refills it in the sink. He guzzles several glass-fills down, feeling more clearheaded the more he rehydrates. His body is running hot, tremors of arousal like muscle spasms in his apex that leave a tingling throb in his loins and have him idly palming and stroking his erection – gauging the muted sensation compared to normal – as he chugs the last of the water before he tops the glass off to take back to you.

When he enters the bedroom, he finds you still on the bed, but you're now restlessly trying to get yourself off – hand between your thighs and panting harshly as you grind against it.

He goes to your side and places the glass down on the night table before wrangling you into his arms.

"No, you'll hurt yourself doing that," he protests while you whine and squirm in his embrace. "I'll take care of you, baby. Just settle down enough to drink some water—"

"I don't want water. I want you," you complain heatedly, slinging your arms around his neck to anchor him down into bed with you.

He picks you up to maneuver you both on the disheveled covers, attempting to appease you before pressing, "I know. I want you too, wildcat. But you need to get fluids—"

"Marcus, you need to keep fucking me until you give me those," is your raunchy counter, smiling when he gapes at you before you start kissing along his cheek and suckle on his earlobe. He groans and ruts up against you, so you purr, "Please, I need you inside me. All of you—"

"Alright, then sit on my cock, naughty girl," he husks bawdily and clasps his hand to the back of your nape to tow you back so he can stare intensely into your dazzling eyes as you squirm in excitement. "You can use me – ride me as hard as you want. But first, you have to drink the water for me."

You look sinfully delicious as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your brows to obediently nod while already reaching between your bodies to guide his erection to be aligned with your plunging undulation over his lap.

Marcus groans hoarsely and guides you to remain still – flush over where you're both now joined – before hurriedly reaching for the glass and offering it to you.

Compliantly, you drink, and realize how parched you are, so you end up chugging the water until you gasp in relief and uncaringly glide the glass back onto the night table before burying your hand into the back of his damp hair and pull him into a hungry kiss.

Your tongue flicks and twirls against his as you start to fuck yourself onto his cock, mewling heatedly from the effort while Marcus fondles his hands possessively over the globes of your ass before squeezing them when he bucks up into you.

After you reach bliss riding him, shouting his name and staring at him in euphoric satisfaction, Marcus rolls you onto your back so he can dominate you into the bed, spinning you up into delirium all over again as he snaps his hips into a devastating angle that has him colliding dead-center with your nested pleasure clustered deep inside your fluttering sheath.

Time is lost to you both as you couple like animals during mating season.

He can't count how many times he makes you come, nor keep track of all the positions he takes you in, and you're so far flung in the throes of insatiable need that you don't realize until he's just got you off after fucking you with your legs propped up against his shoulders, that he hasn't orgasmed once.

While he slows his barreling thrusts into you once you've melted breathlessly under him, Marcus kisses along the crook of your neck and relishes how you quiver from the aftershocks of your climax. He's just about to shift back and pull out when you clench your floor muscles suddenly around him.

"Oh fuck, mmph," he moans gruffly before maneuvering your legs off of his shoulders and hooking the backs of your knees at his forearms so he can rear back and haul you with him as he says your name warningly and growls, "—You keep doing that and I'm going to lose control."

Your pussy aches, every muscle is sore and protesting, but still the insatiable heat persists, so you stare sultrily at him under heavy lids and coo, "I want you to lose control, you dope. Want you to fuck me until you come, and then keep fucking me until we both can't move or think anymore—"

He swears gruffly, but you feel his cock throb inside you, clearly betraying how enticed he is.

"It's not like I've been holding back. The drug takes the edge off and changes our pleasure and pain thresholds; affects sensation. I don't think I could come even if I tried," Marcus admits lowly as he wrings his hand over his heated features, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, M."

"Hmm?"

"You're gorgeous when you're all flustered and naked and hard," is your silky murmur, smile cheeky when he pauses swiping the sweat off his brow to stare at you heatedly. Your smile sobers meekly as you admit in a mumble, "And, you're so sexy. Even when you're being maddening and all I want to do is wring your neck and run away…"

Marcus feels that incandescent pressure in the back of his sternum – the one that makes him feel like his ribs ache but feel full at the same time.

Overawed, he sits back on his heels and pulls out of you with a hiss before leaning over you to kiss a worshipful path up from your navel to your jaw. After he presses a kiss to your cheek, he nuzzles your ear before murmuring, "Don't run away. Stay with me, dandelion."

You feel stripped raw and soothed over at the same time by his words, and before you can stop it, your heart wrings in your chest as you confess, "I want to. I've wanted to for a while, b-but I can't help feel this way—"

He props up to gaze wondrously at you. "Feel what way?"

"Ugh!" you groan and cover your eyes with your forearm, too jelly-jointed to do much else to keep your frazzled guard up. "You know, M—"

"No, I don't," he firmly huffs and stretches out onto his side next to you in order to pull your forearm away so you have to look at him.

"…It doesn't matter. This is a mistake – a fluke accident and the weirdo horny mating drug doesn't change that reality—"

"What reality?"

"This!" you shout and weakly gesture between you and him. "Whatever this has become is a mess. I am a fool to feel this way, knowing how reckless you think I've been already and how badly you want to be done with the hassle—"

"…You're serious," Marcus deadpans, derailing your ramble, and when you focus on him, he scoffs and shakes his head, as if astounded, before rumbling in a honeyed baritone, "You don't even know, do you?"

You frown, confused.

Marcus sidles close, dark brown eyes softening as he exhales sardonically before caressing your chin between forefinger and thumb so you can't turn your face as he looks at you purposefully.

"I feel the same way," he tells you, smirking softly before professing, "I love you."

You can feel his body heat and see the unwavering truth in his handsome face, and your flustered mind is processing that this is real while you're carnally supercharged already for him.

"That's the drug talking—"

"No, it's not—"

"Marcus—"

"If you don't feel that way, it's fine—"

"That…that's not it. I'm saying we can't trust what we're feeling right now. We're literally in heat—"

"I fell in love with you before getting hit in the face with pink dust, wildcat—"

"Attraction is not the same as love, Marcus—"

"Oh trust me, I've learned that the hard way plenty already," is his deriding huff as he tucks his chin and smiles self-deprecatingly.

You pout and cup his bearded cheek, caressing it lovingly before mumbling, "You're too good for me. Literally – I don't think I can take how sweet and considerate and…and wonderful you are—"

He says your name huffily before caressing his touch along your side reassuringly, crooning, "—Don't be like that. A sexy little smartass like you can't be contrary all the time."

"Oh yeah? You're seriously not dying to unload me, after everything?" you mutter as you brush your lips along his bearded jaw and card your fingers through his hair. "It isn't just the libido drug making you talk crazy?"

"All the drug is making me do is stay rock-hard and be bold about saying how I feel," he says honestly, and smirks when you hum interestedly before palming his thick erection. When you trace your touch along the underside of the shaft, he husks throatily, "You've clearly grown on me, dandelion. P-Pressed all my buttons, made sport out of challenging me daily, and I hated it all…until I started liking it."

You feel your heart summersault in excitement at that, so you nuzzle his cheek after you carve your hips around his to nestle his throbbing hard-on against your warm, wet pussy, lightly grinding on it as you whisper, "Liking is not the same as lov—"

"Tell me how you feel."

You pause and stare into his eyes. Pressed this close together, you can see how brown his irises are, and how free of judgment they are twinkling soulfully at you.

"I—I care…care more than I ever have, and I feel things that I haven't felt—that I haven't felt in a long time. I just…" you trail off, huffing at yourself before admitting, "The way I feel about you is something I don't know how to manage."

Marcus keeps your hips rocking against him, all the while you flustered to the truth.

"That kind of sounds like the same thing I'm telling you I feel about you, stubborn girl," is his amused rumble. You can't help snort and bashfully curl into him. He doesn't let you hide your face in his neck, though. "C'mon, look at me."

You do, shivering when he cups your jaw and pins you into place with his passionate stare.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, feeling like you've just jumped off a cliff with no idea what's beyond the precipice.

But the look Marcus gives you – the way his handsome features brighten with delighted surprise, it makes something twinge warm and hopeful in your chest. You kiss him before girlishly scoffing, then stammering, "W-What're we going to do?"

"Right now?" Marcus sits up and caresses his hand down your body to touch where your warmth is flush up against his twitching member. You mewl and melt a little when he teasingly grazes his lips over yours before purring, "Right now, we're gonna keep fucking like rabbits until this damn drug is out of our systems."

You giggle enticingly before timidly snickering, "I'm exhausted, cowboy. I don't think I can manage doing anything but this right now," as you undulate against him for emphasis.

Smirking, Marcus hums, affectionately squeezing your thigh as he croons, "I got an idea."

He assertively rolls you over onto your opposite side and spoons up behind you while possessively fondling your curves. You mewl at the feeling of his warm body up against you from behind while his cock starts rutting against your pulsing womanhood.

Marcus lets you acclimate and simply revel in the feeling of being in his covetous embrace while you rock back against him lustfully. When he starts pressing his throbbing arousal into your pussy from behind, you moan an ecstatic little sound before whimpering, "More, Marcus. Please."

With a deft thrust, he gives you more, and more, as he cups your pussy and grinds his fingertips over the hood of your clit while grazing his teeth down your neck to claim it with a rough kiss at the base.

You reach your arm backwards to sling around his neck so you can keep his mouth on you while you both set a ravenous rhythm, bucking backwards onto him while he fucks forward into you.

The hand that cradles the curve of your waist tightens when you cry his name and desperately loop both your arms backwards to hold onto him as you're lost to the euphoric ecstasy of reaching bliss like this.

Marcus aches when you sob a gratified cry, and he feels pride crackle in his chest when your hands grip the hair at the base of his nape so you have leverage to pivot in his grip in order to kiss him passionately.

His cock pulses inside you when you break the kiss to lick at his bottom lip before you susurrate, "I want you to fill me with your cum, Marcus."

Incredibly turned on by the prospect, Marcus bucks into you with a gruff groan before gravelling tensely, "Now that's the drug talking—"

"No, it isn't," you contradict and look at him with sultry heat blazing in your eyes as you purr, "What's a girl gotta do to get you off, Pikey boy."

You feel him strain enticingly against your fluttering walls at the pet name, which has you shivering in delight just as Marcus growls, "Keep telling me what you want. Please."

That has you divulging things. Some seductive things, like, 'Want you to be all mine, cowboy,' and some salacious, authoritative orders, like, 'Fuck me like you want me, Marcus. I want you. I'll let everyone know you're mine, but only if you make me yours.'

The more you tell him what you want, the more worked up into searing arousal Marcus gets as he buries his moans into the back of your neck whilst he fucks you faster and harder – hands clutching you to him as your pitch gets more alight from your own pleasure cresting incandescently through you.

He's feral with need by the time he's got you on your stomach with your ass up for him to plunder his cock deep into your fluttering cunt. You're blitzed out – lasciviously keyed into the wild throes of carnal elation of being ravished by him. Sweat and slick and the heat of your flesh pressed together is making both your senses flare with rapturous yearning – panting breaths wild as you both are finally at the precipice of savage release together.

At his thrusts picking up frenzied pace that has your warm flesh colliding rhythmically over your hearty sounds of pleasure, you press the button he didn't know he had in him.

"Please, m-make me yours, sweet boy—"

The exhilarating, searing pleasure that snaps loose from Marcus at your airy mewl has him barreling ferociously into you while moaning in guttural, incredulous bliss just as you cry out and orgasm with him.

He buries his cock deep and clings over you as he shudders through the bursts of his climax that fill your rippling sheath while you exhale a rapturous, sated sound and melt under him, toes curled and arms draped around his as they clutch you to him. You feel made whole as the warm bloom of his spend filling you diffuses through you, and Marcus feels like lightning struck him and the electric buzz still scintillates through his sinew.

Reduced to trembling, breathless heaps tangled against each other, you and Marcus lay on the sullied sheets for a while. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, and he can feel your pulse against the hand pressed between the bed and your womb. Neither of you can think beyond the content reassurance that the other is still there, warm and safe.

Feeling returned to yourself a disorienting amount of time later, you shift clumsily under him to squirm around and face him. Marcus heavily rolls off of you and grunts from the effort, but groggily rubs at his forehead to get the matted hair off his skin.

You tiredly rest your hand on his tacky chest, caressing it along his broad pectorals soothingly.

"…You ok?"

"…Yeah…can't move."

"Same…you feel ok?"

Marcus snorts exhaustedly before lulling his head to stare with hooded eyes at you. "M'feelin' like I fucked a marathon. You?"

You snicker girlishly. "I'm feeling like the marathon you fucked."

His laugh is raspy, features dewy and relaxed from sweat and all the over-exertion. Your hand reaches up to trace his bearded jaw, affectionately caressing along it until he hums and closes his eyes contently.

"Do you still feel in heat?"

"It's more of an aroused little tickle now versus the raging inferno of insatiable mania of before," you answer as you continue to caress his handsome features. "You?"

With a cleansing exhale, Marcus rumbles thickly, "About the same. I'm gonna need a few before I can go again, though—"

"Oh my god. I just said I'm not in nymphomaniac-mode anymore, you dope—"

You catch his sly smirk when he cracks an eye open to goadingly peer over at you. "You're cute when you're all worked up, gorgeous—"

With a scoff, you silkily mutter, "You're so lucky I'm too wrecked to slap you around, hot stuff—"

"C'mon, wildcat. Wouldn't you rather just have your way with me instead?"

You laugh, as if intrigued, before sidling up to him and giving him an alluring look, purring, "Is that what you want, sweet boy?"

Marcus feels arousal skitter down into his loins, zinging pulsing want into his cock before he can even try to not react to the titillating pet name that was much of his undoing.

"Yes. That's what I want, wildcat," he husks, too tired to be timid about it.

Appeased, you slink up against him and loop your arm around his midriff. "Good," you lilt around a yawn before murmuring, "That's what I want too, sweet boy. After we conk out for a bit."

His chuckle is like rich honey to your senses, and the warm tingle that tickles down into your womb when he nuzzles a kiss to the top of your mussed hair has you shivering with delight.

"Sounds like a plan, dandelion."

_____________________________

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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

[lover-of-mine]

Your post about Buck needing to be the one who chooses got me thinking—it's not just that he's gotten into a bunch of relationships without really trying to initiate them, he's also needed his hand held through every single major milestone in those relationships. He was kinda shamed (lol) into asking Abby out on Valentine's Day, he needed Bobby to tell him to step in with her with her mom. When Taylor started acting weird, it didn't even seem to occur to him that something must be wrong—he just assumed that she was gonna leave him, and he literally had to be told by Bobby to at least talk things through with her. He would've never asked her to move in if not for the thing with Lucy. He wouldn't have attempted to reach out to Natalia again if she didn't come back. The only time I can think of him attempting to actually start something is in 4x12 when he's trying to flirt with Taylor and even that seemed kinda half-hearted and all over the place? He just doesn't even try! And look, it's one thing to need advice, and it's another to need an external push for literally every step of a relationship.

With Eddie, though, it's completely the opposite. From day one, Buck is all-in without needing direction from anyone—whether it's following him into danger, helping him with Chris, actually noticing whenever Eddie was not himself—especially in s5, where Buck panicked if Eddie got so much as a papercut, which really shows how apathetic he was with Taylor—and trying to help Eddie as best he could. And he's never needed anyone to tell him to do any of this. So, when it comes to choosing, there's already a precedent of Buck taking initiative when it comes to Eddie, as opposed to his other romantic endeavours. So, really, Buck being the one to finally initiate things between him and Eddie and choose him, is really the natural conclusion of all this.

Post in question

No but that's true, it's like Bobby says when Buck freaks out that Taylor is gonna leave him, he gets in relationships without having any idea how he got there or what to do when things get rough. He couldn't even figure out what to get Taylor for Christmas. And you're so right even his flirting with her was all over the place (how that man managed to sleep with as many people as the show implies is a mystery because he has no game, there's no way he was getting women on biceps alone but that's not the point now kapaka). He just goes through the motions with all of these women and keeps struggling because he decided love is work but cant see they it's work as in love won't just fall in your lap, you need to do something to get it, not as in I need to hold on to this forever and ever even if I don't want to be here anymore. And the whole thing with Natalia is that Buck was talking about wanting to pick the right person but she was the first woman we saw paying any attention to him all season and dude just latched on to that (don't blame would've also folded like a paper plane) but that exactly what he did to Taylor. While Natalia is miles better than Taylor for a lot of reason beginning with simply for the fact that she apologized for leaving when she came back, Buck is hanging on to whatever love is offered to him while failing to look around himself and see the connections he already has in his life. And the thing about Buck being attuned to Eddie since day one is so true, he never really hesitates with Eddie because the things Eddie needs seems to come on instinct to him. And he's so deep in his insecurities that he doesn't notice the way that Eddie keeps choosing to stay over and over again. Eddie picked Buck with the "you're badass under pressure" and has continuously picked Buck. Someone in the tags of that post also said something about Buck not realizing that Eddie misses him, and that's also true, I don't think Buck realizes exactly how big the space he has on Eddie's life is but since he always had to beg for love and Eddie has been giving it to him freely and without expectations he doesn't register that love as love. Like I said in my Eddie fell first essay, Buck never knew home as a place where he could find love. And that's what Eddie is, Eddie is a safe place to land no matter what. And I think in the end that's the thing, he never knew love with no strings attached so he doesn't know how to look for it. But he will never get the type of love he wants until he puts in the work to look for it. Because let's face it Eddie has been sitting around waiting for Buck to catch up for AT LEAST all of season 6.

Also if what Buck and Eddie have are not the exact opposite of the thing Bobby says "you just go with the flow and find yourself in a relationship with no idea how you got there or what to do when things start to go wrong" (went back to get the exact quote) because Buck made a conscious decision of inserting himself into Eddie's life. Eddie never asked for help with Christopher, Buck stepped up and offered because he could and that exchange tied them together. And contrary to every other relationship on Buck's life, Buck actually does know what to do when things go wrong with Eddie. But at the same time Buck didn't even notice. The man has a whole ass CHILD and he still hasn't realized what he has. I need to shake him around like and etch a sketch to see if stuff starts to register into that brain of his.

#anyway Buck dramatic speech about how Eddie is the one person who never left him before eddie grabs him and kisses hin 2024 #911 #buddie thoughts #i guess #911 meta #for saving purposes #i really need a tag for asks #anon 😌

[evita-shelby]

No one but you

Or Buck and Diane won't leave me alone and they demanded an au of them getting together.

Cw: unplanned pregnancy, mentions of illegal abortions, cheating, spoilers for Masters of the Air (and some for Peaky Blinders since Diane is a Peaky Blinders OC)

Link to No one has to know

They shouldn’t have let come this far, and yet they are meeting up in a hotel room because neither can stop themselves from this. They loved each other, they were each other’s peace in this hell and yet, there was no guarantee this would change for the better tonight.

She waits for him on the bed that might as well be theirs considering how often they come here. She’s nervous, she’d broken up with Tom last time he was on leave because she knew he would never raise a baby that wasn’t his. It had hurt, she loved him, but she loved Gale, and it was his baby she was having.

He didn’t know yet. He would leave this room knowing that but whether he is willing to leave his Marjorie to raise a child with her is another thing entirely.

Diane had known of someone here who could take care of it before it even showed, and yet, she hadn’t wanted to erase a future with a blond-haired baby boy that was a perfect mix of them both.

John Gale Cleven, blonde haired with his smile and her mismatched eyes. Conceived in love and sin under a tree.

“Are you feeling better, Di. Helen said you weren’t in today because of it.” He asks with concern as he left his jacket on the hook and, for a moment, became Gale Cleven, not Major Gale Cleven with a sweetheart back home.

“Yeah, just needed some time off.” She smiles nervously and hates herself for not being careful. This was the last thing they needed, but she doesn’t want to get rid of it, and it’s better if she tells him now. “Actually, I need to talk to you about that.”

Buck knows exactly what she means and goes through every stage of grief--- except anger----as he crosses the room and joins her on the bed. “How far along are you?”

“A month, maybe more.” Diane answered avoiding his eyes, she has no idea why she’s bracing herself? Rejection? No, Gale Cleven isn’t the type to do that. Shame? Actually, both were already keeping their entire relationship a secret because both had someone waiting for them, so it could be that.

“Does your Tom know?” Gale held her hand in comfort, and she shook her head. He knew she’d ended things with Tom, but never the specifics of it.

“He thinks it’s just the guilt of our arrangement that led to me breaking things off with him. I didn’t want to make it worse when I still wasn’t sure if I was pregnant.” Diane leaned against his shoulder knowing her fears about him tossing her out like last week’s trash for getting pregnant. “You don’t have to do right by me, I have enough money to not care what people think of me as an unwed mother,”

That is a lie, the word whore will be thrown around enough for Gale to feel the insult all the way in America.

“I’d marry you even if there was no baby, Diane. At least we won’t have to hide any longer.” A small consolation even if it means setting themselves on fire to make this wrong into a right.

“A small consolation, isn’t it?”

And it is.

While what men did off the clock was no one’s business, Gale’s reputation of an honest and principled soldier does take a hit.

Bucky is angry on Marjorie’s behalf, and angry at him for not listening to him. Even worse for not telling him.

“I love her, Bucky, and she’s having my baby. I feel terrible for what I did to Marge, but its too late for that now.” He can’t just abandon his own child, and even if everything’s gone to hell, Buck can’t regret choosing Diane over Marge.

She understands what he’s going through, she is here and perfect and this was their only chance to be together.

“Can’t argue with that, Buck. So, when’s the wedding?” he gives him a pat on the shoulder, still smarting for this betrayal of their friendship and yet still there for him as always.

“As soon as her folks come from Birmingham, and we get a license. I don’t want to risk the baby being born on the wrong side of the sheets if I don’t come back.” Buck answered getting to the good part. “I was thinking of you being my best man.”

“Only if I can sing at your wedding.”

Even with Bucky’s caterwauling and the night bombings, it’s one of the happiest days in his life.

It’s September, when Gale Winston Cleven marries Diane Elizabeth Shelby a month and two weeks since they made love under their tree.

She looks beautiful, in a plain white dress and whatever flowers the children at the base managed to make into a bouquet for her.

He gets three days in London as his honeymoon, three days and two nights in a townhouse owned by Diane’s father, a man who understands why he can never accept a medal in this godforsaken war.

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” He said before every mission and kissed her goodbye because now she was Mrs. Gale Cleven not the nurse he pretended was only his friend.

The letters from home had come, angry, disappointed, and resigned. Marge’s had tearstains from crying, his mother was happy for him even if she compared him to his father, but they understood why he did this and wished them the best.

If she makes you happy in ways I couldn’t, then I hope the two of you will be happy together, Marge had written and with that her letters ceased all together, her photograph sent back and replaced with Diane on their wedding day.

When he asked her what she thought Tom did with his picture of her, she shrugged and answered, Tom had torn it up, burned the pieces, and tossed the ashes in the shitter.

But Tom and Marge were their past, Buck and Diane were now each other’s present and future.

“I love you.” The words still come as whispers, and yet they no longer carry the guilt or shame they used to come with.

He has six more missions to go.

Six more and he will get to see the mysterious Arrow House before going to train boys in the States. They’d have to face his family and friends sooner or later, sooner seemed better if it took them away from the bombs.

Being Mrs. Cleven is great, they are out in public as husband and wife with nothing to stop them. Some dirty looks are there because everyone knew about Tom and Marge and yet none of them can truly judge them because everyone sought comfort any way they could.

They are given a tiny house on the base because, they do provide space for married couples serving together. She does her work he does his and at the end of the day they are each other’s peace here.

Gale kisses her hungrily when he comes back from his missions, seeking release from his torments in her and relishing having no reason to stop loving each other anymore.

“Twenty-two. Three more and we get to go home.” Buck trails his fingers on her arm and kissed her shoulder so sweetly Di wished he didn’t have to go.

She had a bad feeling; she’d seen the results in the cards and felt a stab in her heart when Gale’s card came next in the sequence and known this was a mission he wouldn’t come back from. The young witch had told him about it, but he assured her he’d always come back to her.

He loves her and she loves him even if death tries to part them.

“I know, can’t wait to see where you grew up.” She pushed back the preemptive grief and smiled through it. She has good news too, something that will give him some bit of joy before everything goes to hell. “The cards say it’s a boy.”

He smiles broadly, almost silent in his joy as he embraces her tightly as they lay in bed. “Would you mind if we named him John?”

“Not at all, love.”

They decided on John Egan Cleven when he leaves for Bremen. Bucky would be his godfather, of course, and the godmother would be Janey Dogs, one of Diane’s best friends who happened to be Romani as well. Janey’s father, Johnny, had two wives even if it went against tradition and the law, but he was the exception amongst the families they traveled with, something Buck still couldn’t wrap his head around.’

“I’ll come back; I promise. Take care of yourself and the baby, Di.” Those are the last words he says before he goes on the mission he did not come back from.

No one save for Bucky understands the pain she feels and promises he will be avenged when they part ways, Bucky to Germany and Diane to her parent’s home in Birmingham.

Bucky’s captured two days after.

She writes to his mother to comfort her; she promises to use her dad’s and her own money and influence to find out what happened and if necessary, demand they return his body home.

He's not dead, Di feels it in her heart that he’s alive and tells his mother so.

They begin corresponding, taking comfort, and learning every little thing they can about Gale’s life before the war, during the war and now as he is held in a German Prisoner of War Camp.

Diane writes letters to him the moment she learns where he is, assures him they are fine here in Arrow House. She tells him about the estate, the gardens, about her family and how well she gets on with his mother through letters.

All of them holding anything that can help them survive long enough to escape the Germans. It takes a while for him to write back and sends Bucky’s apologies for getting captured too and asks her subtly what they should do next.

“You used to do the same with Marge’s letters,” Bucky points out as Buck inhaled the still fresh smell of Diane’s perfume in her letters.

It was as comforting as Marge’s had been back at Thorpe Abbotts, he had almost forgotten that. He still felt guilt for hurting her that way, but Gale couldn’t say he regretted choosing Diane and his son that day.

“I know. If I hadn’t fucked it up, they could’ve been friends.” The blond admits to seeing the similarities in the two women.

“What does Mrs. Cleven say?” Bucky asks as the most trusted of their men gather pretending to listen go on about his wife.

News from the front and what her readings say they should do are hidden in meaningless phrases, made up gossip and anything she can make up under the guise of a lovesick young bride. He writes back in a similar code asking her to ferry the information they manage to hide in love letters to anyone important enough to be of use.

Gale sees his twenty-sixth birthday at Stalag Luft III. He doesn’t tell her what he did to stay healthy enough to live, as far as she knows he’s being kept well. She tells him his namesake, Winston fucking Churchill, has put her in contact with Allied Intelligence to come up with a fool-proof escape plan when the invasion begins.

Stay put, stay safe, we will be waiting for you as we always are, she wrote.

Winter of 1943 turns to the spring of 1944 and on May 14th of 1944, John Egan Cleven is born in great health contrary to the lie of him being premature like they told his family.

On June 18th of that year, as his Father’s Day gift, Buck receives a photograph of his son and a lock of blonde hair wrapped in a thin ribbon with a code.

While the invasion of Europe had begun that summer, they couldn’t escape safely until 7 pm, January 27th, 1945.

“Di says evening of January 27th of next year. Do you think we can stay put until then?”

“Gives us enough time to plan this shit right.” Bucky lights up at the news and quickly forgets all the times he doubted Diane’s abilities for telling them to stay put. “Nurse, heiress, psychic and spy, you sure know how to pick them, Buck.”

“Meatball picked her, if anything I should be thanking DeMarco for the mutt.”

Seven months to have the allies close enough for them to escape safely.

And they do, with minimal casualties they reach allied soldiers after escaping during the Moosburg March on January 27th of 1945 at seven in the evening just as Diane had said.

“I told you; I’d come back, I always do.” Twelve days later, on February 8, 1945, he is reunited with his wife and his son at the same tree they fell in love under.

#diane shelby #buck cleven #buck cleven x diane shelby #masters of the air meets peaky blinders #gale cleven #masters of the air fanfic #no one has to know fic #mota fanfic

[trashendence]

Yeah. Yep. Mmmhmm. Something about how Buck is increasingly desperate to find the secret to happiness.

How Hen "always has the answers" but she told him he needed to figure it out on his own. How Buck is — likely subconsciously — clinging to the fact that she didn't try to stop him, so he must be on the right track. (Not her responsibility, btw. She's trying to be a supportive friend.)

How that "infinitely beautiful and reachable thing" he's so desperate to find is inside of Buck. Buck himself is infinitely beautiful and worthy of love and happiness. He has been all along.

But he misunderstood the assignment.

It's so deeply ingrained in Buck that he does not exist for his own sake. His body was created — literally conceived — to save someone else. And he failed. (How deeply fucked up is it that his mother's one and only attempt at care and compassion for her son just doubles down on his trauma? That she and his father caused him? "You were born to save someone." Fuck.)

And the more he tries to find happiness, Buck "The Fixer" just keeps trying to save other people. The one and only thing he knows he's good at.

And he keeps saving people. He failed Daniel, but now he does save people. So many people. Strangers, his beloveds (especially Eddie and Chris), over and over again. But why does he still feel so empty and despairing?

He may not write them down, but Buck's got his own ledger of people saved, just like Bobby. If he saves enough people, maybe he can finally be at peace with himself. Except Buck doesn't even have a goal he's trying to reach. It — and he — by definition will never be enough.

Anyway. Evan Buckley misunderstood the assignment and is still stuck in this moment:

He will not find happiness until he 1) reckons with this right here and talks to his parents about himself, 2) realizes he deserves happiness, for his own sake, not as a reward for saving people enough / saving enough people, and 3) that the happiness he seeks is already right there, inside and all around him.

(This was a lot but I caught feelings from your tags.)

this ask is great and more coherent than most of my thoughts, my friend. thank you.

every time i think about hen and buck’s relationship, about him seeking her input, i always go back to the post-lawsuit days, when the rest of the team was still kind of giving buck the (rightful) cold shoulder and hen was the first to properly welcome him back. that “thank you, hen. for not feeling like you need to follow bobby’s lead” and hen’s “i march to the beat of my own drum, buck. always have. you should too.” because that’s exactly what she kept repeating him all those other times, and buck keeps coming back to her to hear it once more, twice more - to have someone tell him that his life is his to live, no matter how it started. no matter how it’ll end.

eddie announces he’s leaving the 118 and buck looks at hen, who’s losing eddie too; buck kisses lucy and tells hen, who gives him advice based on her past mistakes; “hen, you always have the answers” and she’s just failed a test by giving the wrong answers. buck not only thinks someone else can show him the way out of the woods, but he chooses someone who’s just as lost. he was told once that “you make it, son” and “there’s never enough time” and he convinced himself there are universal answers to universal questions, somehow. so he asks the smartest person he knows - who’s lost, still - and listens as she tells him he has the power here, he has agency, they both do. but hen’s way out is not buck’s, and it’s so significant in the frame of his storyline that she’s finally picked her happiness and how to get it without sacrificing herself more precisely when buck’s path is turning on itself over and over again.

the point is that he was conceived in pain and in pain he was every time he managed to be seen. there reside both his question and his answer. sacrifice is his act of rebellion - ‘buck begins’ and how he just doesn’t. listen. and “just breathe”//“how will you breathe?”//“i’m gonna hold it. for as long as i can.” - but it’s also his act of submission to those who have left him alone - “i’m really sorry about your dead son, but can we talk about me for a minute?” -. he can’t ask of his parents to put aside some of their pain for him, that’d be asking them to sacrifice something and they’ve suffered enough. everyone has suffered enough. maybe he hasn’t? maybe the next time he gets crushed or almost drowns, yeah, maybe that will be enough and he’ll be free.

the healthiest mindset he’s shown up until now is his desperate “love me anyway” because unconditional love is what he inherently deserves, just like everyone does, but at the same time there’s nothing worse than that ‘anyway’. anyway? despite what? what should his parents’ love forgive him for? there’s no fault - no original sin - to get over here, and he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know he can get to the core of his being and find the beauty and the happiness he spies in others, he doesn’t know he’s whole and not the sum of parts, he doesn’t know he can stop clinging to whatever he meets on his path if he’s stable and solid as marble himself.

“i hide my true feelings from others myself.”

(copy-pasting this fever-induced set i made for morgan once upon a time because i feel like it sums everything up quite well).

#oh look i’m done! who would’ve thought? #the use of tattoos for eddie/buck/buddie purposes always has me like 👀👀 #thank you for the always incredible asks friend! #iri got asked #evan buckley #hen wilson

[elvensorceress]

listen

buck/eddie | rated: T | 3.5K | ao3 

Death isn’t usually loud. 

The things around it can be. Gunshots. Bombs. The screaming. Buildings collapsing. Wells collapsing. 

Thunder. 

But death itself is quiet. Final words, final breath, last goodbye, everything ending fading disappearing. 

He’s seen plenty of death. He’s watched someone he once loved more than anything die right in front of him, her body too broken to function any longer. 

He’s had panic attacks and breakdowns, and he’s been devastated and terrified, and he’s been certain with absolute clarity that he was in his own final moments. 

None of it feels like this. 

The others are loud. Frantic. Buck told him there are glass doors and they aren’t supposed to go beyond them, that he was taught they weren’t supposed to. But Buck has always been one to break all the rules. 

His sister is here. With their team, their family. Everyone is here now. There’s nothing more they can do but wait. But they’re loud anyway. They’re worried, crying, praying. 

Maybe he should be praying. 

Eddie often stays quiet, see. He’s not a man of many words. The ones he does say— he’d like to think he chooses them well. He’d like to think they have meaning and impact. Even if it’s just silly, playful, nonsensical, teasing. 

He hasn’t said enough words. 

He knew it when he was bleeding and dying and staring frozen at the man who was his only wish when he knew he would get nothing else from this life. He wanted Buck’s arms around him when he died. That was all he wanted. All he could possibly ask for at the end. 

Buck isn’t in his arms. He can’t die because Eddie couldn’t hold him. He can’t die because Eddie needs him and can’t reach him. He can never reach. Buck was tethered to life by a single safety line. 

Maybe Eddie is, too. Because he’s quiet now. He can inhale, and exhale, and somewhere his heart is still beating. He’s still alive somewhere. Eddie can feel it like the magnitude of an ocean cut down to a single wave. But the wave is still washing through him. It’s still pulsing in his chest. 

His hands are trembling. In a way they never do. He’s steady and level. Expertly trainedbrainwashedtaught not to react in situations like this. Maybe his body doesn’t remember. Maybe it never knew exactly how to react to death, to a life with Ana, to his son’s fear, to losing everyone he served with. 

It doesn’t know how to react to Buck. 

It never has. 

His blood pours and it covers him. His skin craves but it burns, too. His hands ache to comfort, support, caress, feel. His body wants to feel. His whole entire being wants to feel. And then he thinks about the hand that pulled him from death being the thing that molds to his own flesh muscle bones and brings him back to life. He thinks of the way a smile lights up Buck’s whole face and how his mouth would feel, how his lips would feel pressed to Eddie’s. 

People say love can be physical through touch. Through embraces and kisses and reminders of connection. Through the heat of friction, the taste of someone else’s breath, the fluids of the body, the shared need and wash of happy chemicals that trigger pleasure. 

He never really thinks about the physicality of love. Not in that way. Eddie thinks of how he’d break and bleed and sacrifice and take any pain, any recovery to keep him safe. To keep him alive. 

How it’s reciprocal, synchronized. His heart beats a matching rhythm. The contraction, the release, the rushing, the flooding. 

It’s the only thing that’s loud. It’s the only thing he can hear. 

He’s alone. Somewhere in a hospital. Because Buck is in this hospital. But his heart is still beating. It hasn’t been strangled. It hasn’t been shocked out of synchronicity. 

When they tell him he’s sleeping, he’s knows it’s not really sleeping. 

He’s very still and pale. Pink lips are blue and pink skin is purple. But he breathes. 

Eddie rests a hand on his chest and he can feel it. The slow movement of air, the oxygen that will keep his body alive. The beat of his own heart echoing within Buck’s chest. It’s loud and it should be. Nothing should ever be quiet again. 

There are words he needs to say. He’s screamed all of them in a desperate exclamation, in his chosen name, but Eddie needs to scream them all over again. 

He needs the whole universe to listen. And give him back. 

(read ch 2 on ao3)

#buddie #jenwyn fic #buddie fic #911 spoilers #idk I had so many feelings #this is just word vomit but *shrug emoji* #Eddie and I are in pain okay #ficlet: listen #fic: listen

[tellthatbrokebitch]

i'm incapable of choosing a snippet of anything that isn't nearly 1k words lmao

from my buddie zombie apocalypse au that might never be finished, some buck and chris content

It’s been a couple months since Buck has been this close to another human, since before crossing into California at least. It hurts a bit, the skinny arms looped around his neck, his own hands holding onto skinny legs, the places where their skin touched. He knows what it is - has been touch-starved so often in his life, after Maddie left for college and his parents vacillated between ignoring his existence and letting him know just how much of a fuck up he was.

And it’s because he knows the pain so well that he’s able to put it aside and keep trudging on. They stop often, for Buck to catch his breath, for Christopher to rest his arms, to hide out from the occasional herd. Buck pushes his last bottle of water and the last of his granola bars on the kid and they chat as they rest. Christopher wants to hear all about his trek across the country, and Buck tries to answer his questions honestly while hiding the bleaker parts: the death, the assholes, the people he let down.

In return, Christopher tells him about life in the compound - what he knows of it, at least - and about his dad and someone called Carla. He tosses out a lot of other names, so many Buck’s head spins and he eventually stops trying to keep track. Buck doesn’t ask about Maddie - whether she’s there or not doesn’t matter right now, when Christopher is his number one priority.

The kid is adorable, with his bright grin and the way his eyes squint when he lets those pearly whites show. He laughs at all of Buck’s dumb jokes and always has something funny or sweet to say in return, and by mid-afternoon, Buck’s absolutely smitten. He’s always loved kids, but there’s something extra special about this one - maybe it’s the way his mood never seems to dampen, the way he’s taking all of this in his stride. Whatever it is, Buck’s a goner long before the topic turns to exactly why Christopher was really outside of the compound.

“My mom died,” he says, voice so soft Buck has to strain to hear him. “Two years ago. We were supposed to go see her today, but Dad couldn’t bring me.”

“So you decided to go by yourself?” Buck catches on. At Christopher’s nod, he sighs. “I’m really sorry to hear that, about your mom. But you know it was bad to sneak out, right? I bet your dad’s really worried about you.”

A tear rolls down Christopher’s cheek and he stares down at the ground. “I just wanted to talk to her,” he whispers. “I miss her.”

It’s absolutely not Buck’s place, but he can’t help it. He sweeps the kid up in a fierce hug, and when he finally breaks, sobbing with his face hidden in Buck’s chest, soaking the dirty fabric with tears and snot, Buck tucks Christopher close, hooking his chin over his head and keeping an eye out for trouble as the kid cries himself out.

Once the sobs have tapered off into loud sniffles, then trickled down into soft breaths interrupted by the occasional hiccup, Buck carefully draws back. Producing the sweat rag from his pocket, he uses the dry parts to wipe away the worst of the tear tracks and snot, then directs Christopher to blow his nose. Once his face is clean-ish, Buck tosses the rag aside and carefully cards a hand through Christopher’s sweaty brown hair. “You said you wanted to talk to your mom,” he says, waiting for Christopher’s nod to show he’s listening. “But you don’t need to visit her grave to talk to her.”

Christopher’s chin wobbles. “I don’t?”

“Nope. Let me ask you something, did you love your mom?”

“Yes! She’s my mom!”

“Exactly. And she obviously loved you very much. I don’t even have to ask if she did, because I just know. Do you wanna know a secret?”

Christopher nods slowly, his complete focus on Buck.

Buck lowers his voice, like he’s imparting an actual secret. “Because you and your mom love each other so much, you’re both bound together. Have you ever heard of the red string of fate?” At Christopher’s head shake, he explains, “It’s this string that connects people together. If you love someone, then the two of you are forever linked. And nothing can cut that string, okay? Not even great distances. Not even death.”

“Really? I’m still connected to Mom?”

Christopher’s voice is so hopeful it makes Buck's chest ache. “That’s right, buddy. You know what that means? It means that she’s always with you even if she’s far away. So you can talk to her any time you want.”

He’s not really expecting it when Christopher throws his arms around his neck in as crushing a hug as he expects Christopher’s capable of giving. When he tucks his face into the crook of Buck’s neck, a wave of emotion crashes over him so strong he has to close his eyes beneath the weight of it. “Thank you, Buck,” he hears, mumbled into his shoulder.

“No problem, Superman.”

#tellthatbrookebitch #911 #911 fic #buddie #because it is a buddie fic even if eddie isn't in this snippet lmao #buddie fic #evan buckley #christopher diaz

[girislovegirislife]

I kinda blacked out when I wrote this and woke up with puffy eyes so uh enjoy hopefully sorry if it's bad pls put constructive criticism in the comments also sorry for the shit ending

You were a wife a wonderful beautiful wife to a powerful emperor; you both lived luxuriously and loved each other very much. Too bad he had his concubine a gorgeous woman named Aiko. She was utter perfection from what one could tell. Probably better than you (at least thats what you think to yourself on those lonely nights where you have to listen to them giggle and laugh in the other room while you sorrowfully lay in bed alone.)

You dont know exactly when it happened really, just one day you two were introduced and the next it was like you were the concubine and she was the wife. Now don't get me wrong she was sweet, incredibly sweet, too sweet. Her stupid empathetic looks towards you. Her idiotic apologies when you two were alone in a room together. Everything she did pissed you the fuck off.

One day you couldn't bare it anymore. The heartache of seeing the man you love constantly choosing another woman when he married you too great for you to handle.

You write your Goodbye note and leave it plastered onto the vanity and you try to take your own life with slices to the wrists.

It didn't work.

You wake up in a hospital bed and Aiko standing right next to you sobbing out. Why? Why did she care? Why does she bother? Why isn't she happy you're gone and she gets your husband all to herself?

Then she says it.

Something you think you mishear but she says it. "Please I only got involved with him for you please. I'm sorry. Please."

You couldn't believe why would she a perfect gorgeous woman get involved with someone else for you?

You get better no thanks to your husband who suspiciously had "Too much work to visit you." Complete bullshit. Bullshit you should've expected at this point.

You lay awake in bed alone. Again. Waiting on him until you hear the door open. You excitedly sit up expecting your husband only to see Aiko. Again. You look confused until she says, "I know you probably despise me and think I ruined your marriage but please listen,"

You get confused as you hear the shameful tone in her voice and quickly understand as you see blood on her hands as she continues on, "He can't hurt us anymore I did this for us. I've wanted you since forever. Everything I did was for us. I tricked him into making me his concubine just so I could see you. I forced him to grow distanced from you so I could get closer. And I know that didn't work quite the way I wanted but please I love you so much I never wanted you to hurt yourself I just wanted to get you away from him so we could get closer."

You slowly back up her crazed eyes practically staring through your soul as she gets closer, and she climbs onto the bed still in her nightwear and gets closer to you kissing you softly. "I've always only wanted you," she says in between kisses and continues on "I had to stop myself from throwing up everytime he kissed me cause I knew it would never be as heavenly as your kiss."

She begins grabbing your hands sliding them up her nightgown and to her breasts. "Go on touch me please I know you want too."

You feel something snap in you and can't hold back as you both begin roughly making out your hands both exploring both of each others bodies as you lay her underneath you. "Fuck please touch me please I'm so wet for you please I'm NGH~ AH~" she says as you begin roughly teasing her clit rubbing circles on it. "PleeAase I need more~" She says in between whines.

Her eyes widen and you pull off her soaked underwear tossing it somewhere else and begin roughly eating her out forcing your tongue into her hole. "SHIT~ ahh Ah~ pl~please more PLEASE~!" She desperately whines out bucking her hips onto her face.

She grips your hair desperately her eyes rolling back and her tongue lulling out as she squirts right into your mouth.

"Finally you're mine forever~"

#dom reader #sub bottom #light angst #tw sui attempt

[canonicallyobserving911]

Eddie Diaz:  The Family He Chose

Eddie's going to El Paso, TX which is where his parents' home is located.  He lived there too when he was growing up but he no longer considers that place to be his home.  His home is now in Los Angeles, CA and that's where his family resides.  While he does have blood relatives there like his Abuela and Tia, the family he chose is there as well.

As a part of his therapy, Frank suggested Eddie have a conversation with his father.  Of course his mother will be there too but a separate conversation will need to be had with her in the future since his issues with her are very different from the ones he experienced with his dad.  There's a family celebration that's already scheduled so Eddie decided to make the trip in order to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.  It’s possible that Christopher could be staying in L.A. with Buck but Eddie's Abuela and Tia are going to Texas.  Eddie's already preparing for several questions from his parents regarding why he didn't bring Christopher but is he ready to answer them?

Will Eddie tell his parents about the family he's chosen, i.e., not just the 118 but his small Buckley-Diaz family of three? If so will he elaborate on who he chose to co-parent Christopher? If these topics come up, will he be willing to go into detail about why he chose this family and what it all means?

Eddie started building his self-made family more than four years ago when he first met Buck and he introduced him to Christopher.  In 2x1 "Under Pressure" Eddie met Buck for the first time and even though their initial meeting was strained, it didn't take long for them to get past their differences.  Eddie showed Buck a picture of Christopher in 2x2 "7.1"and by the end of 2x3 "Help is not coming", Buck met Christopher face to face for the first time.

In 2x4 "Stuck" Buck met Eddie's Tia, Pepa, and by the end of that episode Buck introduced Eddie to Carla. That was it, their little family was “made” and it only took four weeks to construct it.  There weren't any panic attacks (foreshadowing to the beginning of 5A when Eddie had 3 panic attacks related to the “ready made family” everyone outside of his self-made family saw) or freak outs by anyone involved because this was exactly what Eddie and Buck had been searching for.  Buck wanted a family and Eddie wanted someone to have his back, hence the way they easily compliment each other.  They support each other and they both love and care for Christopher in the exact same way.

In 3x1 "Kids Today", Eddie took Christopher to Buck's loft to cheer him up and later in that same episode Eddie's heart (Christopher and Buck) would be put in danger when they were engulfed by a Tsunami.  Eddie showed Hen and Chimney a picture of his heart in 3x2 "Sink or Swim" and in 3x3 "The Searchers" Eddie came face to face with a battered and bruised Buck.  Buck had the difficult task of telling Eddie that Christopher was lost.  His panic only lasted a few seconds because Christopher appeared with a woman who had been carrying and caring for him the whole time he was separated from Buck.  Later in that episode Eddie took Christopher back to Buck's loft and reassured him 'there was no one in this world that he trusted more than Buck with Christopher'. 

There were disagreements and silent treatments within their little family but they made up and became even stronger than before.  Eddie and Buck built Christopher an adaptable skateboard to prove that he could still participate in activities albeit differently from other children.  Even though Buck was starting to suffer from separation anxiety, he overcame his fears and agreed with Eddie to let Christopher go off to summer camp for two weeks. 

Eddie's little family had its fair share of tragedies too.  Eddie was buried in a well (3x15 "Eddie Begins"); Buck had a ladder truck fall on top of his leg (2x18 "This Life We choose"), Buck and Christopher were caught in a Tsunami (3x1-3x3); they had two shared traumas, one happened when Eddie got shot by a sniper (4x13 "Suspicion" 4x14 "Survivors") and the other was when they were both held hostage by escaped convicts (5x6 "Cell block 9-1-1").  After Eddie was buried in the well that's when he decided to change his will but he didn't tell Buck about it until one year later.  He chose Buck to be Christopher's legal guardian for a reason but is Eddie ready to explain why Buck was his only choice?

They've all struggled with their shared and individual traumas causing all three of them to seek therapy.  Christopher experienced nightmares after the Tsunami (3x4 “Triggers”).  Buck quit firefighting in 3x1 but returned a few weeks later and Eddie quit firefighting in 5x10 "Wrapped in Red" but as of 5x16 "May Day" he hadn't fully returned to the 118 yet. 

While Eddie's in El Paso, will he tell his parents about his will and who he named to be Christopher's legal guardian? What will be there reaction?  Will they be happy or upset?  Will they belittle him or try to convince him to change his will and replace Buck's name with theirs?

This is the family Eddie chose and Buck is the person he chose as a co-parent for Christopher.  They aren't perfect but they all love and support each other.  When Eddie left Texas, he left all his parents' negativity behind.  He started a new life in L.A. and it's unlikely they will be able to convince him to change his mind.  Eddie no longer allows his parents to make his decisions for him so they will have to understand they don't have a say in his life anymore.  He chose his family and he's getting closer to solidifying everything he's every wanted which includes a happy home surrounded by his chosen family.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #the buckley diaz family #buckley diaz family #buddifer #buddipher #911 season 5 #911 speculation #911onfox #911 fox #911 on fox #911 s5 #911 spoilers #THEAUDIENCEWILLALWAYSREMEMBER #eddie diaz is BAE #eddie diaz's parents 911 #eddie diaz character study 911

[quinnpriv1]

RS: flrd, pussy riddle, no powers AU, aged-up characters — full fic also below the line!

Riddle is not a slave to his pleasure.

He’s not—he assures himself for umpteenth time, waiting outside of Floyd’s apartment with a scowl. His arms are crossed. He’s angry, or good at pretending he is anyways. Everything is fine. It’s normal.

Floyd likes him like this anyways, stubborn as hell and unwilling to concede that he’s a filthy, needy little slut deep down, the type of guy who needs someone this shameless to make him admit it, to break him down.

They left the pretenses of drugs and alcohol behind months ago. Riddle talks a lot of shit, but the truth is that he came here of his own volition and he knows exactly what he wants.

Feverish rutting turns into passionate kissing. Floyd practically has him glued to the wall, nipping on Riddle’s skin like he might die if he doesn’t get another taste. It’s heady and delicious, depraved and wild.

“Bed,” Riddle snaps, remembering how horribly he ached the last time he let Floyd take control.

His hookup, his rules. Floyd grumbles but ultimately obeys, following Riddle down the hall, hands still roaming. He’s sweaty and hard, eager for more. Riddle is in a good mood today. He won’t make Floyd beg for it. (Yet.)

He climbs on top, effortlessly rolling a condom over Floyd’s shaft. He rocks against him first, whining when Floyd slips a finger inside.

He bites his bottom lip. The thing that sucks about fucking Floyd like this is that his chest, bared exactly four minutes after he crossed the threshold, is neglected.

His nipples are hard, exposed to the air and flushed from their exertions. Riddle rocks himself to his knees, guiding Floyd between his lips with a self-satisfied groan, and then he touches himself.

Floyd laughs. Riddle clenches around him, more aroused by the sound then he will ever admit. “I knew it,” he rasps, voice thick with desire.

“Knew what,” Riddle gripes. Floyd is such an annoying piece of shit, but in a long history of shitty one-night-stands, he’s the only person Riddle even considered reaching out to. They’re exceptionally sexually compatible—if Floyd could oblige by Riddle’s rules, Riddle might deign to keep him around, think about giving this permanence.

“That you like havin’ your tits played with,” Floyd slurs, grinning like a fiend. Riddle glares, tamping down on a whine as Floyd bucks, teasing his fingers up Riddle’s spine. “Be honest. You like it when I make you feel small.”

Riddle curses, back arching. He tells himself he’s getting tighter just to make things painful for Floyd, that the heat he feels burning to the core and his added dampness is just a response to stimuli. It’s nothing special. Floyd isn’t right.

“You always like it missionary, like a virgin. You only pull this kinda thing when you want me to fight. It makes you feel powerful and pretty—and you are—but sometimes you like feeling like shit. Gives you more reasons to say you don’t like me.”

“You’re giving me plenty of reasons not to like you all by yourself,” Riddle groans, carefully choosing not to refute Floyd’s claims. Slippery slope.

Acknowledgement would be akin to admittance. He refuses, putting a hand on Floyd’s throat in warning. His adam’s apple bobs. Precome leaks down his shaft.

The talking stops for a while, mostly because Riddle whites out with pleasure. Orgasm as he plays with his tits and Floyd spews profanities.

Maybe he feels a little pretty right now, but that is absolutely none of Floyd’s concern.

He snarls when Floyd flips them over, when Floyd bucks without missing a beat. “You can be a pretty l’il slut with me. I don’t mind,” he purrs, huge palm engulfing Riddle’s tits, possessively splayed there like both of them are his to own. Riddle writhes against the sheets, coming with a shout as Floyd pinches him, making an unholy mess.

They’re both panting by the time he’s finished. Riddle gives him earful for failing to follow protocol, but his words are halfhearted. He’s dizzy and sore but in a good way, a way that makes his skin tingle and his head hurt.

He despises it when Floyd is right.

#txt #twst #flrd #retro fills