#Work place theft investigation

[privateinvestigatorsuniverse]

The Background Check Australia: Know about the role played

Hiring employees for an office is an intricate process. These days the hiring process is too different from the past. Usually, parameters like character skills, talent or creativity, and problem-solving skills are essential. Any organisation would want to have human resources that would offer excellent performance but will also showcase reliability and integrity. Therefore, background check is the game changer when hiring employees. Hence, this article explicitly discusses background check Australia and how the methods can bring change.

The purpose of conducting Background check Australia

Do you want to know why Background Check Australia is considered an indispensable part of the hiring process? Well, it helps companies to understand the candidates who are honest, trustworthy and won't jeopardise the company's reputation. You can say that background check is like a lens that offers a panoramic picture of the candidate's qualifications, history and character. Of course, any employer can make out an inclusive image of the candidate from information regarding education, criminal record, and previous employment details.

Methods used in the process of Background Checking

Background check Australia follows a meticulous scrutinisation process. It is designed in a way to unveil hidden facts that might not surface easily to the bare eyes. Private investigator companies with experience in background checks often carry out the process that considers checking the legal records of the candidate. It also discloses beliefs that might seem to put the safety of the workplace at stake and even can destroy the ethical balance. Background checks involve checking credit history to ensure the employee's fianncial liabilities. Also, it shows whether the candidate is not accused of any monetary scam.

Academic verification of the candidate is obvious

Many times it has been seen that candidates do claim their alleged degrees as original. But later on, when found, that might turn out wrong. Honestly, that again puts a question mark on the credibility and qualification of the company's work office. In that case, background check Australia is crucial in preventing whether The acclaimed stuff is right or wrong. And warns the company about the wrong credentials being produced. Employment history checks even show the career journey of the candidate in a larger context. Apart from that also conducts drug checks to ensure the workplace is free of illicit substances.

Final Say

Therefore you can see that these are the various ways the Background Check Australia carries on work. So employers can also Avail the criminal check service for detailed insight on the suitability of the candidate

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

[darthannie]

kinktober day two: somnophilia with raymond leon

pairing: Raymond Leon x f!reader word count: 712 warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, somnophilia, basically dbf (dad's business friend) a/n: Writing somno is a challenge for me but I'll accept it every time. Enjoy!

Kinktober Masterlist

Your father had more than enough time to set you up for centuries. He gave you 50 years as a gift for your 25th birthday. That was around the time you met Raymond Leon. He was a timekeeper hired by your father to investigate a string of time theft going on in his company.

He spent a lot of time at your house, working out of one of the offices your father had set up on the estate. He was never home, so the house was completely void of anything stopping you from being with Raymond. 

You and Raymond had set up an arrangement. Not quite a relationship, but you were his and his alone. He wasn’t the doting man you’d always wanted, but there was a thrill that ran through your body whenever you were around him. 

His dark hair and light eyes did a number on you. The first time you felt his hands touch your smooth skin was a day you’d never forget. Since that day, he had you, hook, line, and sinker. And because of you, he had all the time in the world. 

On one particular day, he found you asleep in your bed under a fleece blanket. That’s a shame, he thought. He had expected you awake and waiting but, making the most of it, he thought he’d play a little game. He wondered how long it would take for you to wake up. 

He removed his trench coat and reached for your blanket. He dragged it off, slowly revealing your naked body. He breathed out and blood rushed down to his dick. He took this as an invitation, a bright green light telling him “go”. 

He started by softly grabbing your breast, feeling your soft skin in his hand. He pulled down his pants and started stroking himself, contemplating his next move. You breathed out softly and hummed. She must be dreaming, he assumed. 

You rolled over onto your side, arching your back and making your ass more prominent. He would’ve thought you were awake if it wasn’t for the way your wrist went limp when he picked up your arm. 

Now with the assurance you were fast asleep, he got bolder, and spread your ass so he could get a better look at you. He laid on the bed next to you to get in the just right position where he could put the tip of his cock in you. 

He hummed at the feeling of him stretching you out ever so slightly. He tried his luck and pushed in slowly. He got as far as he could before stopping as you began to stir. 

You stretched out your arms slightly and yawned. Raymond felt you clench around him. You were in a daze and unaware of what was going on. He pulled out and slowly, slowly thrust back in. That earned him a soft moan from you. 

He shifted his body in such a way that he was now over you, watching your face as he fucked you. You were coming into consciousness as he picked up speed. You breathed in, about to say something a little too loud, and Raymond put his hand over your mouth.

“Shhhh. Go back to sleep,” He cooed.

He removed his hand and laid down behind you, lifting your leg, and spooning you as he thrust deep inside you. He held your arms close to your chest.

You moaned quietly and he placed his hand over your mouth again. You didn’t know if what was happening was real but you didn’t want it to stop. You let him fuck you in your drowsy state, not opening your eyes again. 

He pulled out and came on your thighs. He looked down at the mess he made and was satisfied. He laid with you for a while, dragging his thumb back and forth on your arm.

After a few minutes, he got up and got himself put together again. He threw a washcloth on the bed and checked his time. He walked over and grabbed your arm, giving himself an hour for good measure.  

He leaned over to your ear and said, “When you decide it’s time to wake up, clean yourself up and get dressed. Your father’s here.”

Taglist:

@devotedlyshadowytheorist, @dxnger-dxys, @tommyshelbywhore, @quinnlilias,@madnessandobsession, @mvpr-moon, @nela-cutie, @faebirdie, @charmed-asylumm, @anasanthology, @ilikefictionalmen, @akanne-aka, @no-fooking-fighting, @queenofstresss

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[deliciousangelfestival]

The Pearl's Secret - Bucky Barnes

Character: Bucky x female!reader

Summary: After a traumatic night at the Celine Mansion, young Bucky grows up to hunt stolen art tied to his past. His investigation leads him to a high-stakes auction, where a dramatic theft uncovers new clues. A chance encounter in a park propels him closer to unraveling long-hidden secrets.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

It was the coldest day Bucky could remember. Heavy rain lashed against the windows, the wind howled through the cracks, and darkness enveloped everything outside. He couldn't believe how the warmest place he'd ever known could turn into something so bleak and terrifying.

Ten-year-old Bucky hid inside the fireplace, tucked tightly into the small space. He hadn't known about this hiding spot until the owner, Mrs. Celine, had shoved him in there. "Don't come out until I say so," she had whispered urgently, her voice quivering with fear.

Despite her own terror, she had saved him from the intruders, protecting him as if he were her own, even though he was just an orphan—a nobody. She looked different now, her face pale and eyes wide, unlike the calm and gentle woman he used to know.

"Where is Y/N?" Bucky asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"She's safe," Mrs. Celine replied, her hands trembling as she grabbed a long sword from a knight sculpture standing near the fireplace. She paused for a moment, then looked back at him with a fierce determination in her eyes.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” she said, her voice steadier now, though still edged with fear.

“Yeah?” Bucky replied, his small hands gripping his knees tightly, trying to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space.

“Protect my daughter,” she said, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him shiver more than the cold. With those words, Martha turned and rushed out of the room, leaving Bucky alone in the shadows.

Today was supposed to be a day of celebration. Every year, the Celine mansion hosted an Easter event for the local children and those from the orphanage.

The owner, Antoine Celine, a French aristocrat, and his wife, Martha, an American socialite, were known for their generosity. They were wealthy and loved to do philanthropic work. Every holiday, the Celine mansion was filled with laughter, food, and games, and the children always went home with gifts.

The reason the Celines opened their home was for their only daughter, Y/N. Bucky had heard from the older kids that she was too weak to play outside or go to school. Her parents invited other children to the mansion to ensure she had friends and didn't feel isolated.

The first time Bucky met Y/N was when he was trying to catch a white cat, which had climbed up a tree. He looked up to see a girl dressed in fine, porcelain-doll-like clothing with the cat nestled comfortably in her lap.

“She’s afraid of strangers,” the girl said, her voice soft yet confident, as she jumped down from the tree with surprising grace.

Bucky stared at her, quickly noticing how different she seemed from the other kids. "Are you the owner of this house?"

"Yes," you answered simply, a small smile playing on your lips.

"They said you're weak, but you could climb and jump from the tree. I couldn't do that," Bucky said, his tone filled with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

Hearing his words, you extended your hand to him. "Let me show you. It's not difficult."

From that moment on, Bucky and you grew closer. You would call for him, and he would come to the mansion, welcomed with open arms by your parents, who were thrilled to see their daughter finally making friends.

While playing at the mansion, often playing hide and seek with you, Bucky would explore every corner. The place was filled with paintings, artifacts, and old weapons—like a treasure trove. One room that particularly caught his interest was a gallery with three large paintings, each depicting a woman wearing pearl accessories. He wondered what the Celines had done to accumulate such wealth.

But perhaps it was this very fortune that brought about the tragic events of that day. After most of the children had gone home and only he remained to play with you, the lights suddenly went out. Darkness fell, and chaos erupted. Intruders burst through the windows. Antoine, your father, was quick to act, ushering everyone to safety.

You were panicking, struggling to breathe. Bucky helped you use your inhaler, his hands shaking as he held it to your lips. Your body was weak because of your asthma, and you were clearly frightened.

“Bernard, take Y/N to the safest place,” Martha ordered, handing you to the elderly butler. Bernard quickly scooped you up, moving as fast as his old legs could carry him.

Then, a scream pierced the air. Everyone froze, terror written across their faces. Martha's eyes widened with fear; she knew that voice—it was her husband.

"Go!" she yelled at Bucky, dragging him towards the fireplace. "Hide, and don't come out, no matter what you hear."

Bucky nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He squeezed into the fireplace and tried to control his breathing, making himself as quiet as possible. He stayed there, trembling, until he heard the distant wail of police sirens.

Finally, he crawled out, his legs numb and unsteady. A policeman he recognized, Jack, was standing in the foyer, looking around with a grim expression.

“Bucky?” Jack said softly when he saw him, quickly taking off his jacket and draping it over the boy's shoulders.

“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Celine? Where are Y/N and Bernard?” Bucky's voice was a mixture of fear and desperation.

Jack sighed, hesitating for a moment before replying. "I'll tell you when the time is right. For now, you should go home."

“But where is Y/N?” Bucky insisted, his eyes searching Jack’s for any hint of reassurance.

“She’s not here,” Jack said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

The next day, Bucky learned the truth: there had been a burglary at the Celine mansion, and a murder had taken place. Your whereabouts, along with Bernard’s, remained unknown. He also found out that the stolen items were the three paintings of the women with pearls.

Bucky realized, as he stood outside the now-empty mansion, that he was still just a kid who couldn’t do anything to help that night. From that day on, he vowed to become a police officer so he would never be helpless again.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

15 Years Later

Bucky had made it his mission to find you and Bernard. Growing up, he had followed the news of the Celine Mansion murder closely. The case had garnered international attention, primarily due to the mansion's extensive art collection. Despite the media frenzy, the three paintings of women adorned with pearls—the ones that had captivated him as a child—were never mentioned among the stolen artworks.

Determined to uncover the truth, Bucky joined the White Collar Crime Unit, specializing in art theft. He hoped that recovering the stolen art from the Celine Mansion might also lead him to you and Bernard.

He felt a deep sense of obligation to the Celines; their charity had provided him with an opportunity to attend college, and he was driven to repay their kindness.

In his office, Bucky was a whirlwind of focused energy. His desk was cluttered with files, photographs of artworks, and leads on various stolen pieces. His eyes, sharp and intense, scanned documents and screen after screen, piecing together clues with relentless dedication.

His fingers tapped rhythmically on the keyboard as he pulled up images of art pieces and cross-referenced them with the stolen inventory.

Most of the time, Bucky encountered counterfeit artworks. When a seller insisted that a piece was authentic, Bucky’s expression turned skeptical. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed with irritation as he examined the so-called masterpiece, especially when it's related to Celine.

“This is fake,” Bucky said decisively, his voice steady and unwavering as he handed the appraisal report back to the seller.

The seller, visibly uncomfortable, stammered, “But how can you be so sure?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. 'Because when we were kids, we have our own little marks on those paintings and artworks. Little signs only we knew about,' he thought.

He glanced down at the art piece, his eyes narrowing in recognition. “And this,” he said, pointing to a specific detail on the painting, “is not one of them. It’s fake.”

Bucky’s confidence came from the mischievous games you used to play together, where you both secretly marked the paintings with tiny, almost imperceptible symbols—proof of authenticity known only to the two of you. Those childhood secrets now served as his key to identifying the genuine articles from the forgeries.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Back at the office, Bucky was engrossed in his work, his eyes scanning through a new batch of leads when a snippet of conversation from a nearby cubicle caught his attention. He leaned closer, straining to hear the details of the conversation between two colleagues.

“…I heard from my informant that there’s going to be a big auction soon,” one of them said, a hint of excitement in their voice. “Apparently, a major painting is going to be featured—one of a woman wearing a pearl necklace.”

The mention of the pearl necklace made Bucky's heart skip a beat. He straightened in his chair, his pulse quickening. The painting described matched the ones he had been searching for, the very ones that had been stolen from the Celine Mansion.

He immediately reached for his phone, dialing his friend and fellow investigator, Mark. As the phone rang, Bucky’s fingers drummed impatiently on his desk, his mind racing with possibilities.

“Mark, it’s Bucky,” he said as soon as his friend answered. “I need you to pull some strings for me. There’s an auction coming up, and I need to attend it. It’s about a painting with a woman wearing a pearl necklace.”

Mark’s voice crackled through the phone, a mix of curiosity and concern. “Are you sure it’s one of the Celine paintings?”

“I’m positive,” Bucky replied, his voice steady but filled with urgency.

There was a brief pause on the line before Mark responded. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do."

Bucky hung up, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this auction was more than just an opportunity—it was a chance to finally uncover the truth and perhaps, after all these years, find the answers he had been longing for.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The auction hall buzzed with excitement. Guests in sleek, tailored suits and elegant evening gowns filled the room, each one wearing a mask to maintain anonymity. The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation and whispers of the extraordinary painting set to be revealed.

Bucky, his own mask fitted securely, scanned the crowd. The guests chatted animatedly, their voices rising in a cacophony of admiration and speculation. The painting, a masterpiece by a renowned artist, was highly coveted due to its association with the Celine family. The prospect of owning it was thrilling, especially given the painting’s rumored price.

“Did you hear? It’s supposed to be worth a fortune!” one guest exclaimed, adjusting his mask with a gleeful grin.

“Absolutely,” replied another, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s related to the Celine collection, and with the owner’s death, the value has skyrocketed. It’s going to be a high bid for sure.”

Bucky could barely contain his frustration. The chatter was deafening, but he needed to stay focused. He knew that the value of the painting had increased significantly because of its connection to the Celine family’s tragic fate.

Finally, the auctioneer, a distinguished figure in a sharp suit, stepped up to the podium. He raised his hand to silence the crowd, his voice commanding attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “it’s time for the highlight of tonight’s auction. We are pleased to present an extraordinary painting, a masterpiece that has captivated collectors and historians alike.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with anticipation. The auctioneer pulled away the cover, revealing the large painting. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight.

The painting depicted a woman adorned with a pearl necklace. But what struck Bucky most was a single pearl that was a deep, unmistakable red. It was unmistakably one of the paintings created by you—its distinct mark making it immediately recognizable.

His shock was palpable. The painting was genuine. The mark of the red pearl was a detail only you would have included, a personal touch from his childhood friend.

Suddenly, the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. The sound of gasps and frantic murmurs filled the air as guests scrambled in confusion. Bucky’s heart raced; he struggled to make sense of the chaos around him.

When the lights flickered back on, the painting was gone. A wave of panic swept through the crowd. The auction hall erupted into chaos as guests shouted and tried to make sense of the theft.

Bucky sprang into action, pushing through the crowd. He searched desperately for any sign of the painting or the thief. Amidst the confusion, he spotted a figure in a full-face mask moving swiftly towards the exit. Without hesitation, he pursued her.

The confrontation was fierce. Bucky tried to grapple with the masked woman, but she was swift and skilled. Before he could gain the upper hand, another masked figure appeared, and together they overpowered him. Bucky was forced to retreat, bruised and breathless, as the thieves escaped into the night.

The next morning, the news headlines were dominated by the heist. The stolen painting was a major story, but for Bucky, it was a clue that brought him one step closer to finding you.

Sitting in a park, Bucky sipped his coffee, the warm cup a comfort against the chill in the air. The stolen painting felt like a breakthrough, bringing him one step closer to unraveling the mystery he had been chasing for years.

The scene was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous night. He was lost in thought when he saw a person with a yellow umbrella approaching. The umbrella’s bright color was a stark contrast to the grey sky, catching his attention.

As the figure stopped in front of him, the voice that came under the yellow umbrella was heavy but familiar. “You want to climb the tree?”

It was like a thunderclap in his ear. The voice was the same as it had been fifteen years ago. Bucky looked up, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw you standing there, grown up and with a knowing smile.

“Hi. It’s been a long time,” you said, your eyes shining with recognition.

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Author's Note: Hey everyone, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this! I’m currently grappling with a writer’s block and have tried various methods to spark new ideas, but nothing seems to be working.

Any feedback or suggestions you have would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for your support!

[joelalorian]

Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, could be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly realized why that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rich for a Night

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!detective!reader

Summary: To catch a thief targeting wealthy couples, you go undercover with your husband Deacon.

Warnings: fluff, Deacon & r are held at gunpoint, a Bugatti gets wrecked :(

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (1x19 "Source")

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you lament. “The robberies always occur after big events, dinners, charity galas, but there’s no other connection.”

“Catering company?” your desk neighbor suggests.

“Different for every event. No one worker has been at every event. Planners have alibis, there’s no similarity in looks or where victims live, even banks. The only lead we have is wealthy couples getting robbed, sometimes at gunpoint, after an event.”

You drop your head into your hands as you reconsider the entire case. You’ve looked through every guest list, and everyone has alibied out, even though only a few couples overlapped and attended every event. They got robbed, too, as it turns out. The first two robberies had a connection: they both banked at the same place, but after that, the connection disappeared.

“It has to be someone near the events,” you murmur. “Maybe it’s someone who has access to Los Angeles socialite calendars and is just hanging around the events and picking people at random.”

Your phone rings, and you sigh before you answer, “Detective Kay.”

“Detective, there’s been a murder,” the caller says.

“Let me get you someone in homicide.”

“No, this is related to your burglary case. Or at least that’s what the homicide detective thinks. It looks like a robbery gone wrong.”

“What’s the address?” you ask as you pick up your cell phone and keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

On the drive into the hills, you add this new twist to your thoughts on the case. You agree that this location, the schedule, and everything about the setting of the crime match your investigation. The murder is either a progression or a mistake. Maybe the burglar was interrupted, or the victim tried to stop him. Before you can create too many theories, you arrive at the scene and flash your badge to enter the house.

“What have we got?” you ask the homicide detective surveying the scene.

“Forensics is going over everything now, but it doesn’t look like anything was taken. Single gunshot to the chest was our cause of death.”

“Nothing was taken?” you repeat. “Then why do you think this is related to the thefts?”

“Because of that,” he answers, squatting as he points under the makeup vanity. “A bag filled with jewelry pushed just out of reach. Almost like a dying woman was trying to protect herself and her home.”

“What else did you find?”

“Not much. Seems like this happened pretty quickly. Alarm was disabled at eleven-oh-five p.m.”

“After the murder mystery theater on the yacht,” you add. “Date night gold for the rich.”

“Hence, why we think this is your case, not ours. They’ll try to recover the bullet during the autopsy and run ballistics.”

“Until then, it’s mine to decipher. Thanks, detective.”

“Could I make one suggestion?” he inquires as he removes his gloves. You nod, and he says, “This seems like the perfect opportunity for a UC. Even if you don’t come face-to-face with the burglar, you get to know a bit more about the victims.”

“Even more if you go undercover yourself,” your partner adds as she walks into the house. “Progression or accident?” she asks, pointing to the victim.

“I can’t go undercover,” you argue.

“Why not? You get to play dress up. Plus, you’ve got a tactically trained and incredibly attractive husband you could take with you. No one would question your right to be there with Deac’s old money vibe and your, well, everything.”

You look around the scene, a luxury environment as an outward acknowledgement of all the victim worked for, or as it may be, didn’t work for, and decide it truly is your best option.

“I need a Rolex.”

Browsing the rows of the evidence locker with a small box in your hand, you wonder why so many rich people get arrested. So far, you’ve gathered a Rolex Daytona worth at least $100,000 and three pairs of sunglasses from Cartier, Ray Ban, and Dolce and Gabbana.

“Perfect,” you whisper as you find an envelope with a Tiffany ring and a pure obsidian band.

With these accessories and the dresses your contact who works with the UC division is procuring for you, you do not doubt that you will fit in. You still need a car, but you know just the people to ask about that.

“I need to check these out, Ally,” you request as you slide the evidence onto a desk. “For case 9212024.”

“No problem,” she answers as she begins logging case numbers and photos into her computer. “Who’s the ring for?”

“My husband.”

“I pity the criminals you’re after.”

“At least they’ll get a nice view while we put the cuffs on.”

“What are you doing here?” Rocker asks as you enter SWAT HQ.

“Lovely to see you too, Donovan,” you reply with a smile. “Do you greet your wife like that?”

Rocker shrugs and hugs you quickly before he directs you to where 20 Squad is reviewing warrants.

“Sergeant Kay,” you call as you enter.

“Oh, hi!” Street greets.

“This is a surprise,” Deacon says as he moves around Street to hug you.

“I have something for you,” you begin. You pull the obsidian ring from your pocket and lift the Cartier aviators from your side. “A proposal.”

“Is this a married couple thing or am I just confused?” Street whispers.

“You don’t want me to answer that, playboy,” Luca replies, slapping his back.

“Why?” Deacon questions, smiling even as he narrows his eyes at you.

“It’s just a date,” you promise.

“To do what?”

“I’m still working the string of burglaries targeting rich couples. We’ve got tiny leads that add to enough of a clue that I want to go undercover at the next big event to try to find something. I have to work faster because a woman was killed during a robbery last night.”

“Why not take someone more familiar with the case?”

“Do it, Deac,” Street whispers. “Just for the watch.”

“What watch?” Deacon asks.

You lift your hand to show the Rolex Daytona hanging loosely around your wrist. “There’s a look to people like this. I’ve got everything except a date right now, and you’re the best option for more reasons than I can list, Deac. If you can’t, I get it.”

“No, I want to,” he states, taking the sunglasses from your hand and sliding them onto his face. “Let’s catch a burglar.”

“Oh, that’s just not fair,” Street complains.

“Street,” you call. “I need something from you and Luca too.”

“Alright,” you announce after you secure your earrings. “We just moved here from New York, have our accounts set up, moved into a newly renovated house in the hills and are scoping out the local charities because we’re budding philanthropists.”

“And luring a thief,” Deacon adds as he gently tugs the strap of your dress to straighten your neckline.

“Mostly that.”

“I’m following your lead tonight, detective.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Your ride is here,” Street says on the other side of your door. “And you’re welcome, but don’t get used to it. Luca and I may be brilliant, but we’re not get a free Bugatti loaner every week brilliant.”

“I never said it had to be a Bugatti,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I can hear you, ya know,” Street calls. “You are wearing a wire. So, keep it PG, Deac.”

Deacon smiles as he leans toward the tiny microphone hidden in the seam of your dress strap and answers, “10-4, good buddy.”

Street groans, and you gently push Deacon’s shoulders to straighten his tie. He looks good, though you expected no less.

“Let’s be rich for a night.”

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Napier,” the chauffeur greets as he opens your door. “Beautiful car. It's number 17,” he adds as he hands Deacon the card to pick up the car after the event. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Deacon answers, nodding as he shakes the man’s hand and passes a $50.

You wait on the curb as Deacon rounds the back of the Bugatti and wraps his arm around your waist.

“If he scratches that car, Street will kill me,” you say through your smile.

“Good thing it’s not Street’s car,” Deacon replies. “Let’s go, Mrs. Napier.”

You smile while you loop your arm around Deacon’s bicep and follow him into the concert hall. Innumerable couples are finding their seats and milling around the open area of the hall as they discuss charities, recent events, and bank account balances. With Deacon, you have no concern about looking out of place, and your confidence is assured when three different women look over at him. One of which looks away from her husband to do so.

“Good evening,” a woman greets, smiling as she approaches you. “My name is Andrea Campbell and I’m hosting this evening’s event. Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t recall meeting you.”

“No, ma’am, you haven’t,” Deacon says, carefully extracting his arm from your hold as he offers to shake her hand. “I’m Dan Napier and this is my wife. We just moved here from upstate New York and wanted to see the charities of Los Angeles.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Mrs. Napier, I am an advocate for women in philanthropy, so if you have any questions please do not hesitate to contact me. I truly hope you enjoy this evening’s show and the presentation.”

“Thank you,” you offer before Andrea is called away. Once she’s out of earshot, you stifle a laugh and whisper, “I’m surprised she even saw me.”

“Mrs. Napier, is it?” a man asks, allowing as he pauses directly at your side, out of Deacon’s reach. “My associate Andrea mentioned that you were here. I believe you recently opened an account at my branch of United Banks. Hopefully you can spare some time soon so I can show you around LA.”

He walks away before you or Deacon can speak, and you’re left to watch him and wonder why he chose to acknowledge you.

“Think he’s a suspect?” Deacon murmurs into your ear as you turn toward him.

“No,” you answer, moving your professionally styled hair as you shake your head. “Just a man with a roving eye. We have no evidence that our guy goes after women any more than men.”

“But he killed the woman last night.”

“The husband called it in, though. He was in the house when it happened. Said they were both tied up and she managed to get free and went into the bedroom to confront the thief. He’s scared, he doesn’t like being watched. Nothing like that guy.”

Deacon nods and pulls you close, smiling before he kisses you quickly. You slide your hand into his and follow him to your seat.

During the concert, nothing of note occurs. Even after it ends, you’re welcomed to Los Angeles by several couples, but no one sticks out as a possible suspect. So, disappointed and back at square one, you exit the concert hall and stand at Deacon’s side as he asks the chauffeur to fetch the car.

Just as the Bugatti pulls up, the man who parked your loaner car moves behind Deacon and presses a gun against the small of his back.

“Get in the car, Mr. Napier. I’d hate to shoot through your wife’s pretty dress,” he demands quietly. “Now.”

Deacon moves his hands slightly to show the man that he’s unarmed and mumbles, “Okay, okay.”

“In the car, Mrs. Napier,” he demands, jerking his head toward the passenger door.

You nod quickly, wearing faux fear on your face as you get in the front seat. Deacon sits in the driver’s seat beside you as the armed man slides in behind him.

“Nice car,” he applauds. “Now drive to your house. Either one of you moves for a phone… if you even adjust the air vent, I will shoot you both.”

You don’t think he will, not somewhere as noticeable and closed-in as the car, but you nod and pretend to swallow a sob as Deacon pulls the Bugatti out of the short driveway.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man begins as Hondo speaks into your earpiece to alert you that he’s behind you in an unmarked car. “We’re going to go into your house, you’re going to turn off the alarm and get out of my way, and I’m going to take whatever I want. Understood?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Deacon replies.

The man presses the gun against your temple and yells, “Understood?!”

“Yes,” Deacon answers quickly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as his hands remain firmly at 10 and 2. “Understood.”

“I trust you, Dan,” you whisper as his left hand shifts slightly. “And everything you’d want people to do.”

“Shut up!” the man demands, lowering his gun slightly as he looks between you and Deacon.

“I trust you, Daniel,” you repeat softly, hoping your wire picks it up.

“I hope you don’t regret that,” Hondo answers in your ear. “Turn one light too early if you mean it, Deac.”

Deacon’s jaw clenches as he approaches the last light before your turn.

“This way is faster,” he tells the thief as he hits the blinker but doesn’t move.

Hondo’s engine revs as he increases his speed, steering his car to the right to perform a PIT manoeuvre.  When his front bumper collides with the side of the Bugatti, Deacon releases the wheel and turns toward you. He grabs the man’s forearm and hits it against the passenger seat as you retrieve your service weapon from your ankle holster. The car slides to a stop against the curb, and the man drops his gun, then begins crying as you level your aim at him.

“You’re under arrest,” you tell him, panting as you try to catch your breath and lower your heart rate.

“Who are you?” the man whimpers as Deacon holds his arm between the front seats.

“Detective Kay, LAPD,” you answer. “This is Sergeant Kay. And the man about to pull you out onto the pavement is Sergeant Hondo. LAPD SWAT.”

“Wait,” he interrupts, sniffling. “You’re actually married?”

Hondo rips the door open before you can answer and grabs the back of the man’s shirt collar to haul him out of the car. He looks through the open back door to check on you and Deacon, then clicks his tongue.

“Luca and Street are not going to be happy.”

You tip your head back against the headrest and groan.

“Congratulations, Detective Kay,” Deacon says.

He smiles as you turn in the seat to face him.

“I love you,” you tell him softly. “Even more without the expensive jewelry.”

“But I look good in the sunglasses, right?”

You laugh and nod but point out, “We didn’t need them for a concert at night, though.”

Deacon laughs with you, and as the approaching police lights reflect around you, you know your life is richer with Deacon than with any material belongings you could ever borrow or earn.

[spencerreidswhore187]

Night Shift

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: In the pursuit of an audacious art thief, Spencer Reid and you engage in a thrilling cat-and-mouse game.

Word Count: 1.2k

In the dimly lit room of the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit, Special Agent Spencer Reid meticulously studied the pattern of a notorious art thief. Known for their audacious heists, the thief had been stealing famous religious paintings, leaving behind little evidence but a trail of intrigue and frustration. As Spencer delved into the case, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this thief than met the eye.

It was another morning at the BAU, and the team gathered around the large round table, ready to discuss their latest case. Spencer adjusted his glasses, flipping through the files and crime scene photos, attempting to find a connection that eluded even the most seasoned investigators.

"Alright, team," Hotch began, his voice steady and authoritative. "We've got a new case. The thief has struck again, stealing 'The Madonna with Child' from the St. Augustine Museum. Reid, what have you found so far?"

Spencer looked up from his notes, his mind racing with information. "The thief seems to be specifically targeting religious paintings. There's a pattern in the choice of artwork, and I'm working on identifying any potential religious or symbolic significance."

As the team continued to brainstorm and strategise, a mysterious figure lurked in the shadows, watching them from a distance. You, the infamous art thief, observed the investigation unfold with a mix of amusement and fascination. The challenge of outsmarting the brilliant minds of the FBI excited you, and you relished in the chase.

Over the course of the investigation, Spencer's intellect and determination began to catch your attention. You found yourself drawn to the enigmatic agent, intrigued by the way his mind worked. As the thefts continued, the cat-and-mouse game between you and Spencer intensified, each move more calculated than the last. Each heist brought the two of you closer, like chess players engaged in an intricate dance, each move calculated and deliberate. Spencer found himself captivated by the mystery that surrounded you, your motives, and the brilliant mind that orchestrated these audacious thefts.

One day, after another successful heist, you received a mysterious message. An encrypted note left at the scene of the crime, challenging you to a meeting. Intrigued, you decided to take the bait.

The moon cast a soft glow over the secluded park where the meeting was set to take place. Spencer stood in the shadows, his eyes scanning the area. Suddenly, you emerged from the darkness, your face obscured by a hood.

"Special Agent Reid," you greeted, your voice low. "Impressive. You managed to find me."

Spencer's gaze was unwavering as he replied, "I'm not here to arrest you. I want to understand why you're doing this. There has to be a reason behind the choice of these paintings."

You chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "Curiosity killed the cat, Agent Reid."

But Spencer wasn't deterred. He continued to engage you in conversation, unravelling the layers of your motives and the intricate web of your past. As the night wore on, an unexpected connection formed between you and Spencer, a bond that transcended the roles of detective and thief.

The echo of footsteps resonated through the quiet museum as you emerged from the shadows, your face still concealed by the hood of your cloak. Spencer's gaze met yours, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

"You're quite persistent, Reid," you remarked, your voice laced with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

"I need to understand why," Spencer replied, his tone earnest. "There has to be more to this than just stealing paintings."

A spark of curiosity flickered in your eyes as you engaged in a battle of words, each probing the other's vulnerabilities. The conversation danced between danger and desire, the line between captor and captive becoming increasingly blurred.

The stolen artworks were not just random targets; they held a deeper meaning, a connection to your past that even you hadn't fully unravelled. Spencer, with his keen intellect, became the key to unlocking the mysteries that shrouded your motives.

The heists continued, each one revealing a layer of complexity in the relationship between the art thief and the profiler. Spencer found himself torn between duty and an inexplicable attraction that defied logic. You, in turn, struggled with the emotions that surfaced as you got to know the man behind the badge.

In the quiet moments between heists and investigations, there were stolen glances and fleeting touches. The air was charged with unspoken words, the tension simmering beneath the surface. A slow burn, like a fuse inching its way toward an inevitable explosion.

One night, after the recovery of yet another stolen masterpiece, Spencer found himself standing in front of you, the weight of the investigation heavy on his shoulders. "Why did you choose me?" he asked, his eyes searching for answers in the depths of yours.

You hesitated, the vulnerability in your gaze betraying the walls you had built. "Because you see beyond the surface. You see the person, not just the criminal.”

The admission hung in the air, a silent acknowledgement of the connection that had formed between you. As the investigation intensified, the line between right and wrong blurred further. Spencer found himself grappling with the realisation that the art thief he was chasing was not just a criminal but a complex individual with layers of pain and redemption.

In the midst of a high-stakes operation to recover a stolen painting, the unexpected happened. A moment of danger, a shared adrenaline-fuelled escape, and the realisation that the lines between love and justice had become indistinguishable. The slow burn ignited into a fiery passion that neither of you could deny.

The aftermath of the operation left you standing in the dimly lit room, surrounded by recovered artworks. Spencer approached you, his gaze intense yet tender. "I can't just let you go, but maybe there's another way. Join us, and work with the FBI. Help make amends for what you've done."

And so, the notorious art thief became an unexpected ally, a consultant to the BAU. The slow burn of your connection continued, navigating the complexities of love and redemption. Spencer and you found solace in each other's arms, the weight of the past gradually lifting as you embraced a future that defied expectations.

The dance between the art thief and the profiler had evolved into a love story, a journey that transcended the boundaries of law and order. As the days turned into months, the BAU faced new challenges, but with the strength of an unexpected bond, they confronted each obstacle together.

In the quiet moments, between stolen glances and whispered confessions, Spencer and you discovered that love, like art, was a masterpiece that took time to unfold, layer by layer, brushstroke by brushstroke, in the canvas of their intertwined lives.

A/N: Thank you for reading ◡̈

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Introduction

The world of Eureka is, for the most part, just like our own. Its history is our history. Its people have families, friends, jobs, struggles, and flaws. It is a world that those who inhabit it think they know well, trusting science—or at least headlines about science—to tell them all the answers. We all learned that there were no monsters under the bed when we were six years old, and everyone knows force equals mass times acceleration, right?

Theft, disappearances, murder, conspiracy; in the world of Eureka, there are mysteries to be solved, and investigation will lead to answers–sometimes inexplicable answers, but answers. Perpetrators can be punished, victims can be rescued - but the dangerous and unexplained do not confine themselves to the mystery at hand. There's always another mystery to solve. Perhaps one was at your side the entire time….

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is a role playing game for veterans and newbies alike about mystery-solving detectives (amateur or professional) using their different sets of knowledge, personalities, and unique gameplay mechanics to sleuth their way through a challenging world. Roleplay and mechanics are tightly bound together, supporting rather than resisting each other, and your character’s unique personality and traits will ensure a totally different gameplay experience from your fellow players’. Eureka supports and rewards real-time deduction from the players and gives you the power to build drama, suspense, and excitement around every corner! (You can also get the latest PDF for FREE for a limited time by joining the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club!)

Elegantly designed and thoroughly playtested, Eureka represents the culmination of three years of near-daily work from our team, as well as a lot of our own money. If you’re just now reading this and learning about Eureka for the first time, you missed the crowdfunding window unfortunately, but our Kickstarter page is still the best place to learn more about what Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually is, as that is where we have all the fancy art assets, the animated trailer, links to video reviews by podcasts and youtubers, and where we post regular updates on the status of our progress finishing the game and getting it ready for final release.

Beta Copies through the Patreon

If you want more than just status updates, going forward you can download regularly updated playable beta versions of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy and it’s adventure modules by subscribing to our Patreon at the $5 tier or higher. Subscribing to our patreon also grants you access to our patreon discord server where you can talk to us directly and offer valuable feedback on our progress and projects.

The A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club

If you would like to meet the A.N.I.M. team and even have a chance to play Eureka with us, you can join the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club discord server. It’s also just a great place to talk and discuss TTRPGs, so there is no schedule obligation, but the main purpose of it is to nominate, vote on, then read, discuss, and play different indie TTRPGs. We put playgroups together based on scheduling compatibility, so it’s all extremely flexible. This is a free discord server, separate from our patreon exclusive one. https://discord.gg/7jdP8FBPes

Other Stuff

We also have a ko-fi and merchandise if you just wanna give us more money for any reason.

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[writegoblin]

Michael Myers Headcanons

----

I've super been in the mood to write lately :3c I've been pressuring myself to come up with like. Something cohesive. But nah. I just wanna get a lil silly.

SFW

- When you first meet, it's because you moved into Haddenfield. Illinois has like, three cities everyone moves to, so for you to pick a tiny town-- and Haddenfield of all the tiny towns? Something had to be wrong with you. Something Michael needed to investigate.

- In reality, you worked for a niche company that signed a contract with a Haddenfield hospital. It wasn't anything complex. But you're complex to him.

- He just quietly breaks into your home every once in a while if the mood strikes him. He's not always out murdering-- he's gotta case the houses, too! So, of course, he's taken the opportunity to break into your house the ONE night you had to do overtime.

- If you have pets, he mostly avoids them. If they're aggressive, he'll find a way to lock them up. It would be a shame to hurt you so deeply this early on after all. So Brutus can get locked in a closet for now <3

- You become more aware of his presence because he starts taking items. In a weird way this is also how you get to know him. A lot of old out of state memorabilia or souvenirs go missing. Pictures of strange places. Anything that's odd or unique looking. He might start taking hobby items just to see how frustrated you get.

- Once you two actually confront each other, it's a little bit like those old movies about the wild animal getting adopted by a human? Where at first it's like "oh god oh fuck big scary!!!" And then you flash the light on the silhouette and you see "oh you're actually just a pathetic little meow meow." That's him.

- The reason he's so meow meow is for the first time. His curiosity is winning over his blood lust, giving him sort of a clear head. He likes spending time with you cause it lets him actually think about things. You don't rush to judge him, so he experiments with himself more. (And also with you, in a way. It's how you bond!)

- I mentioned this in a previous post but I'll say it again here: he's the type to do something for you if he can reason that it benefits him. He puts you to bed because if you don't sleep early, you can't make him breakfast. If you don't eat, you get moody and THEN who will drive him to the weirdly 24/hr thrift store?! Fucked up.

- He's weird about physical affection. Some days are better than others. Some days, he's very cuddly, actually. And by cuddly, I mean leaning against you in a bid to get you to crawl into his lap or put your arms around him. On his bad days though, he gets flashbacks to the hospital. He feels like a wild animal in a cage.

- Speaking of, his bad days are when you don't see him. You're a safe space. He can't defile a sanctuary like that. If he's approaching a bad day, he might be more distant, standing in doorways and halls just. Staring. From then on, it's a matter of time. All you can do is fix whatever breaks in the aftermath. If you try to touch him, he'll leave.

- Quickest way to his heart is food and nursing. Did you just feed him pancakes after patching up his gash? Oh, heavens--

- He doesn't fall in love easily per say, more like he will trust you a bit more willingly. The love part comes FARRR later when you've seen his worst and his best, not to be corny.

NSFW

----

- Before y'all met, between Halloweens, he's doing petty crime. Lots of theft. He steals magazines. You know where I'm going with this.

- He knows what he likes and he doesn't like. He has an idea of stuff he'd like to try. Lots of fantasies, not much experience save for the occasional vouyer moment.

- When you come around though, and you become sexually comfortable with him, he wants to experiment. That's kind of his other way of saying "I love you."

- Loves. Rope. Frog tie is best because he can kinda make a show of lifting you in front of a mirror and the face you make when that happens is-- *chef's kiss*

- Sadist, naturally. But I think he likes both pleasure and pain. A bit of a darker headcanon but sometimes he feels like he's stabbing you when thrusting. Your cries and mewls and erotic hollers spurring him on. Your orgasmic cries bring him back down. His own orgasm brings him back. He's him again.

- He loves intimidating you. If you're shorter or weaker in any way, he loves backing you into corners and making you feel small.

- If you're aggressive, he loves a challenge too. In fact, if you're into play wrestling he might be down sometimes. It wakes up this primal instinct in him that needs to pin you down. And he likes a good challenge.

- He's very thick. Very long. I'm thinking 8", uncircumcized, upward pitch. Bit veiny too if im honest. His first load is always stupid big.

- If you're a squirter, 🫡 it was nice knowing you Mr. President--//shot

- Once he gets the basics down, and you two start experimenting, and that happens for the first time, it is his goal. His duty. To make sure it happens every time.

- He has a third dense for your arousal. He's good at reading body language (he scares you sometimes, with how easily he can read your thoughts), so sometimes he'll wait until you're subtly showing signs without knowing. Wiggling your hips, sighing, taking off layers of clothes. And when you least expect it, that's when he'll get you.

- Low key has a thing for pheromones, I think. Like musky scents n all that. The scent of arousal. He loves eating for that reason among other more obvious ones.

- If you want him to be submissive, it will take lots of convincing. You'll have to catch him when he's in a more receptive state-- when he's reflecting on himself. He'll be more open to the idea then.

[uwuyangeppie]

the quiz outcome drabbles

as requested by @anonboyhalo now with formatting! yippee!

take the quiz here

stalking

Whether you're with no friends or ten, Gepard is undeterred. You are important to him. Words don't even begin to DESCRIBE how important you are to him, so he dedicates every resource he has to keeping an eye on you. Be it criminal or monster or even just a creepy man on the street, your every move is recorded, etched in his mind.

Bronya can't keep an eye on every command he gives to the guards, but he still chose his words carefully. After all, even the slightest hint of suspicion could make everything go very wrong, very fast. Even if he can't watch you personally, you rarely, if ever, go outside the city limits, and so you're always in the gaze of his guards, all who will report to him at the end of their shift.

Gepard is still trying to work on fixing the broken bonds between them and the Underground though, so don't go there just yet, okay? He has no idea what he'd do if he couldn't see you anymore.

killing

Oh dear… another one has acted out again, huh?

Not flirting with you is an unspoken rule in the Silvermane Guards. It only took a couple of them to start putting the pieces together. Anyone that spent their time touching you, making you laugh, making you blush, just going a little too far… all ended up mysteriously dead. Well, it isn't mysterious- the blame is always, ALWAYS placed on the fragmentum monsters.

Another man that Gepard Landau just couldn't get to in time.

It's starting to wear on his performance record a little, but some men swear they've see a satisfied smirk on his face after the cause of death has been announced. This silent rule that they all follow, even going so far as to drag new recruits away from you.

Nobody wants to end up as the next victim to a "Fragmentum Monster".

theft

His work keeps him busy. Whether he's in a meeting, poorly drawing wanted posters, or spending time in the Restricted Zone, he's always busy with something. It's a miracle that Gepard managed to fall for you in the first place, given that he barely sees you to start with. But damn, he does, and he just keeps missing you, again and again and again.

So whenever he gets a chance, something of yours will disappear without a trace. He's partial to your clothes; things that smell of you the best. Something that'll bring your smiling face to mind. That'll make him feel like you're there with him, be it in his bedroom or his tent. You'd ask the guards to investigate, but it's embarrassing to share, especially when most of it seems to be your dirty underwear…

This can't go on forever, though. At some point, he'll have to move on from stealing your things to stealing your heart. You know, as long as you don't figure out the culprit behind all your missing stuff first.

kidnapping

Look at you, getting into scrapes and accidents all the time. You would've broken your wrist if Gepard hadn't been there to catch you! And as much as he reminds you to be careful, his touch lingering on you a little too long every time, you never are. He follows the path of Preservation. His job is to protect- and there will never be a safer place for you than his house.

His breaking point is when you go down the Underground. Sure, you came out fine, but what about next time? The time after that? He can't keep you safe if you're down there, and don't think he hasn't noticed that you're avoiding him.

There's no place better than with him, he tells you upon your awakening. This does not soothe your emotions as much as he hoped it would.

manipulation

For generations, the Landau Family has been tasked with serving the Supreme Guardian. This path was laid out for Gepard before he was even born, and so of course he's always followed it. This has come with some benefits- He's seen as trustworthy, as strong. He comes from a reputable family, he has a high rank, and he's kept Belobog safe for years on end. He's clever with his words, finding loopholes in order to get what he wants. And he wants YOU.

He mentions you to Serval a couple of times, who concocts her own plan to hook you two up. You fall prey to his image and his sweet talk, brushing off your friends when they say there's something off about him. How could there be? It's Gepard!

It's easily the safest way to enter a relationship with him, but you can't help but think that there might've been some truth to your friends' concerns when he tries to convince you that spending time with that black-haired boy from the Astral Express is bad.

[brittle-doughie]

How will the cookies Reacted to finding out Y/N have been frame for a crime they never committed and was jailed and was traumatize by the incident leading to Self Doubt and Trust issues and the Yandere Cookies met the culprit who cause Y/N Misery and Arrest

Antagonized

Innocent until proven guilty, that’s my take.

You looked down to the floor of your jail cell, hands cuffed together as you sat in silence, trying to take in what had just happened that led to you winding up in here.

You were arrested for the theft of Cheese Stones in Pumpkin Cookie’s Appraisal, being the only Cookie at the scene when alarms were raised. You swore up and down that you were only there to have Melon Bun’s stones apprised for her, but cops at the scene didn’t want to hear it. Cheese Stones were stolen, you had a bagful of them, and you were a new face around these parts, you had to be the crook.

You never would’ve expected to find yourself at the back of a police car today, getting your mugshot, then placed into a cell as they started their investigation into the matter. You again swore that you had nothing to do with this matter, but the guards putting you into your cell could care less for what a crook had to say.

So here you were, sitting in silence within your cell, awaiting your sentencing. Your hands were shaking, you’ve never been arrested before, let alone about to be prosecuted.

It was made worse based on the fact that you didn’t anything…

————————————————————————

Almond Cookie wasn’t buying any of this. YOU, Y/N Cookie, known for your benevolence and being an all-loving friend to fellow cookies, is being arrested for theft?

No.

He’s investigating further, he’s going after the rookies who were at the scene for doing such a sloppy job and making arrests before the facts were in. They couldn’t even be bothered to get your account on the crime before they threw you in the back of a police car. Almond Cookie couldn’t bear to see your mugshot, that look at sorrow in your face and the sadness in your eyes..Almond couldn’t stand it.

Solving this case was the least of his worries. Word had gone out about your arrest and now Almond had to deal with a number of cookies expressing their outrage and sympathy for you.

What a calamity, Truffle Cookie thought. To think that you of all cookies would be arrested came as a surprise to her. She’d politely request Almond Cookie to solve the case, but that polite tone contrasted her shadowy eyed look. He BETTER find the true culprit, she refused to accept that you were the felon, and Almond might just have to accept what comes to him if you’re put away for good. His closets or under the bed will never be safe.

Almond Cookie, the Cookie that helped her with the painting affair in the past, has now decided that you were to be locked up without even an investigation on who did it in the first place? Talk about shotty detective work, Butter Pretzel Cookie thinks. Her frustration is more personal on the fact that she wanted to unveil a portrait of you when you were free, so being arrested really put a damper on her mood.

Lollipop Cookie didn’t understand. You, a cookie she’s known for a while, arrested? But…you never showed signs of being a criminal, she was having to be consoled by Butterbear after a bout of crying. You said that you would visit the shop the next day to spend time with her and Butterbear, she was really looking forward to it and was saddened that it couldn’t happen now. She’ll plead with Almond to set you free, you haven’t done anything wrong!

Melon Bun herself showed up to the witness testimonies and gave her account that you really were just doing an errand for her! She was worried when you didn’t return after a few hours and was caught off guard when Pumpkin told that you were jailed! She felt guilty for what happened and will personally see to it that you were freed! She only hopes you don’t hate her after this…

————————————————————————

Almond was done gathering testimonies and started to lay out the pieces together.

You started the day by visiting Truffle Cookie to have tea time together, having pleasant small talk with her. (Truffle Cookie did have to pause her testimony as she held her blushing cheeks, ah, you said so much sweet things to her, she felt like a highschool girl with a crush.)

You then visited Butter Pretzel to help with her paintings, she needed more materials and she’s worried that stepping away will make her current work dry out before she can get more. She wanted you to stay and draw you a portrait, it was a long task however. She grew frustrated that she couldn’t perfectly replicate you in art form, she had to throw away so many drafts before she finally got one to satisfy her standards. Oddly enough, she closed her shop for the day right around when she started to work on your portrait.

Finally, you visited Melon Bun, who wanted your help to get her cheese stones appraised, but couldn’t leave the mine. She didn’t want Goblin Cookie running off with the haul she had right now! You agreed and Melon Bun promised that when you got back, you two were gonna have a pizza date! Looking forward to it, you grabbed the bag of cheese stones and made your way to the Appraisal.

Unfortunately, this would be right around the time that the Appraisal would be robbed of their array of cheese stones, done by a currently unknown Cookie. However, the pictures at the crime scene left details that Almond Cookie knew all too well.

This…felon was the one that had done this, this crook had always been a thorn to Almond Cookie’s side. The more Almond Cookie pieced together the evidence, the more guilty he had got.

Almond made his way to the jail cells, moving past the four cookies who went after him, ignoring their questions as he reached the cells. You plagued his mind, the look of sorrow on your mugshot coming back to him. That only made his pace faster.

He had to get to you.

————————————————————————

The weight was finally lifted off your shoulders when the fell opened and your cuffs were unlocked, Almond Cookie knelt down to meet your gaze.

He…wanted to apologize for every mistake this station had done to you. It was a mistake to have arrested you blindly, to have you even jailed here, Almond wanted to personally meet the officer that made the arrest and give them a reminder of why you don’t arrest innocent cookies.

He guided you out of your cells, to meet the four cookies that had arrived after hearing the news.

Lollipop wanted to hug you and ask if you were okay, but you rejected her attempt. You..wanted to be alone right now, get some coffee, and just shake off the day. Lollipop understood…but that tear that came out betrayed her words.

Truffle held your arm and expressed relief that you were innocent, would you…care for some tea? She wanted to help take your mind this whole incident, she’ll make yours especially sweet! You shrugged off her hold and told her some other time. To Truffle Cookie’ her heart shattered as she let go, looking down somberly.

Butter Pretzel caught your attention and asked if you wanted to see your portrait! She finished it and hoped that she captured your sweetness, she really wanted you to like it and to an extent…like her. You did your best to be polite and turned down right now, but you promise to look at it some other time. She says it’s fine…but the thoughts of striking Almond over the head with the painting say otherwise.

Melon Bun wanted to apologize big time for getting you into this mess, she didn’t mean to get you arrested, she didn’t mean for you to go through this experience, she hoped this whole thing was scrubbed off your clean record. Please don’t hate her

Almond was the same, he wanted to apologize for the station’s mistakes and responded to Melon Bun’s worries that this incident will be removed and wiped off, he’ll see to it personally that it does. He hopes that this situation doesn’t make you afraid of him or any authority, but when you couldn’t make eye contact with him, his fears might have been realized.

You announced your departure with a strained smile as you went home. As soon as you were out of view, the four cookies quickly turned to Almond Cookie, their glowing eyes shadowed in darkness, brimmed with murderous intent.

Almond defended himself, stating that was this crooked cookie that was responsible for this crime, let’s go after them instead of bickering here. Almond himself was incredibly angry too…the mere possibility that this cookie can get away with possibly ruining Almond’s relationship with you…enrages him.

————————————————————————

The next day’s news covered a brutal attack on a now jailed cookie, their dough bruised and cracked enough to leave noticeable injuries. Almond expressed no sympathy for the criminal, saying they deserved what they got. He shrugged off and disregarded the traces of butter, spiders, and cheese found on the perp, and especially the black eye the cookie had.

Butter Pretzel hummed as she painted a new portrait of you, who knew that bits of jam could really bring out the eyes.

Melon Bun whistles as she cleaned her pickaxe, watching over her shoulder every now and then. She didn’t want others to see the strawberry jam on it.

Truffle sipped on her tea as she heard the news over radio, giggling to herself as a shadow was casted over her eyes.

Lollipop wasn’t that invested into the news, she was busy spending time playing with you in the workshop, with Butterbear watching over the two of you with a laugh. As long as you were here, Lollipop didn’t really care what becomes of that thief.

All of them wouldn’t mind if this criminal was put away for good though. Because getting out meant facing these cookies again…and they can hold a grudge.

[hrts4hanniehae]

clutch || three

there are written parts :)

note that the timeline or educations may not add up but just ignore it because i don't have the brain power to sync up THIRTEEN + 1 's education schedules

also!!!! the story begins in the christmas period of 2022!!!! IF THERE ARE YEAR ERRORS IM SO SORRY!!!! i legit can't change it omfg

okay if we were being very honest, e/n was an attractive guy. well-liked by everyone, especially yn's parents -- mother. he had a good office job, loved the idea of starting a family and was rather... old-fashioned in his thoughts.

e/n had asked her out 2 years prior. she agreed because she was desperate to please her mother. but it wasn't as if she didn't like him. she did. just... not as much as she would have preferred. he was all those good things, but he didn't let her be free. he always talked her down when she brought up her art or passions. but he made her parents happy. so she suppressed it.

when he cheated on her, she didn't feel any sadness. not much resentment either. but when he stole her apartment from her, she lost her shit.

"what do you mean i can't take my apartment back? MY NAME IS ON THE LEASE!!"

"i did not sign that! that's a forged signature! how many times do i have to tell you, i have no recollection of EVER signing my apartment off to him! god why won't you even investigate the signature!"

not only did she have to deal with this bastard's theft, but now she had to deal with him at work too.

"do you know where's the bathroom?" (random museum goer)

she kindly pointed her in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

"oh yn! I didn't know you worked here." - e/n

"hi e/n. what do you need. and where's your side chick." - yn

"she went to the bathroom. i wanted to see you." - e/n

"when the fuck are you going to leave me alone? you already stole my house. what else do you want?" - yn

"yn, you're being ridiculous. just come back to me. i'll ditch her for you. i just wanted to try someone new. you're not exactly a... fun partner you know? fun in that way." - e/n

"leave me alone. i already have a new apartment. just please. i don't fucking like you anymore. just leave me alone. stop harassing me, okay? your idiotic excuses and reasonings don't make ANY sense at all. just go." - yn

"so why haven't you told your mom about our breakup? hm? do you really not like me anymore?" - e/n

"i've told you time and time again. i don't talk to my mother. at all. if you care so much, just tell her yourself. why we broke up. hm? or do you want me to get byeongho to tell her. because I will. i'm not telling her because i'm trying to help you save face. if i tell her, your father will know. and he will not be happy. i'm trying to do one nice thing for you despite you fucking another girl in OUR BED." - yn

and just like a saviour, minghao was running up to her.

"yn, your boss told me to look for you about managing my exhibit. oh. hi e/n. get lost, thanks." - minghao

"mind your own business, [redacted slur]" - e/n

security kicks him out.

"thanks, hao. my day has been ruined because of him." - yn

"i'll buy you lunch? i don't think you've had lunch yet." - minghao

"thanks but i'm good. i don't usually have lunch anyways. i'm going to head home. my shift is over." - yn

"did wonwoo tell you our friend was staying over at your place today?" - minghao

"huh. who? he didn't tell me." - yn

i guess he forgot - minghao

"lee chan, or dino. the soloist. so don't be too shocked if you see him walking around." - minghao

"right. i'll see you tomorrow for lunch, minghao. go hang out with jun." - yn

"he's filming a movie right now. how am i supposed to go see him?" - minghao

"figure it out!" - yn

she forgot about dino and walked into the bathroom not knowing he would be there. luckily, he was half-clothed.

ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

synopsis: wonwoo is a popular streamer known for his incredible gaming skills and good looks. He turned heads. but he hates the attention. he just wants to play games and earn money. one day he receives a letter. his apartment’s rent has almost doubled. no warnings at all. his current paycheck from streaming can’t shoulder those bills. he has no choice but to rent out his spare room. to who? a fresh art university graduate who has… 1. a stable job ✅ 2. talent for art and sculpting ✅ 3. many friends ❌ 4. social anxiety ✅ 5. no filter ✅ when his iconic cat logo gets copystriked, she comes to the rescue with a new logo for him. when his apartment’s walls start peeling, she fixes it. whatever he used to struggle with… the empty space... was now filled by her. so what does he *last player standing* do when her ex *enemy spotted* tries to take her back? heh. *clutch* he clutches.

inspired by wonwoo's gam3bo1 streams, falling into your smile & gogo squid (has hints of valorant)

pairing: streamer!jeon wonwoo x fem!artist!reader (ft. jeongcheol, soonhoon, junhao, seoksoo, verkwan)

genre: fluff, comfort, slowburn, comfort, pining, bestfriend!minghao

warnings: stalker ex, toxic ex, mentions of abuse, guns (game), cursing, hate comments, panic attacks

started: 28.12.23

ended: ?

taglist: join from my masterlist

main masterlist

smau socials

previous I next

tags! @fairyofhour @megseungmin @sun-daddy-yoriichi @woozixo @euphoric-univers @christinewithluv @haowonbins @ocyeanicc @asyre @cynthiaaax13 @superhoshisvt @bangantokchy @chimmy-bts @angelarin @daisawa @writingbarnes @jeonghansshitester

@belladaises @wonwootakemyheart @wonwooz1 @luchiet @kookssecret @caratsland @peachescreamandcrumble @thepoopdokyeomtouched @isabellah29 @leah-rose03 @yandere-stories @coupshour @heesbees

[spiderbeam]

So what im getting is that in your heist au Carlos/Alex/Lando have been arrested but Max/Reader/Charles have not❗️Is there any more info we could get on that maybe………

definitely!!!!!! for the ones that have been arrested:

lando was arrested once for illegal street racing. he’s done street racing for a while and actually did pretty well for himself until cops showed up once and he got caught. car engine failure. now he’s careful so it doesn’t happen ever again.

alex was arrested for several cybercrimes when he was in college. he didn’t serve time due to administrative issues apparently someone screwed up while processing him and he got out on a technicality. pity. since then, he’s become a lot more careful with the traces he leaves behind.

carlos has never been busted for anything actually relating to his less than legal activities. just fights and bar fights mostly. but charges are always dropped before he can be properly processed. maybe something to do with friends in high places that require his work. investigators suspected he might be involved with illegal fights, but nothing ever came up.

and the ones that haven’t been arrested:

charles has been a suspect before for a series of thefts involving priced jewelry and paintings but no charges ever came up against him. he was brought in for questioning though and didn’t seem to know much of anything!!!!! a safe, officer? but how would i get into a safe that’s not mine? isn’t that the whole purpose of them?

reader has not been arrested!! she’s just a girl with an art degree and a totally normal day job at a corner flower shop. she has however been spotted going to art galleries and museums with charles definitely looking at art pieces with completely normal and innocent purposes and has also been spotted with lando in public. all circumstantial though

max has no arrests, no record, not even a traffic violation. cops don’t even have his name. what can he say? he’s good at what he does

[i-guess-im-into-this-now]

The Apothecary Diaries

S1E19 First Watch

Here's where I watch The Apothecary Diaries for the first time and give my thoughts, analysis, predictions, and occasionally I stumble into a joke.

To start at the beginning:

Episode 1

My character/locations cheat sheet

Suiren - Jinshi's attendant

Lakan - strategist. Maomao's biological father.

Lihaku - the military officer who took Maomao out of the Rear Palace

Jinshi is thinking about the conversation he had with Maomao about meeting Lakan. He looks so concerned; he can't stop thinking about that look in her eyes. Things are in such an uncertain place between the two of them. The gulf has widened, and threatens to widen further.

Jinshi is hiding so many things from Maomao, he likely thinks he's protecting her, but what he must do to keep those secrets threatens to drive the two further apart. Sharing his secrets would also drive them apart. And the current situation is not tenable. Disaster looms for Jinshi and he knows it.

Gaoshun tries to redirect Jinshi's focus to a ceremony that he's required to perform later that afternoon. Maomao figured out Jinshi has been doing something ceremonial during her time here, a purification ceremony, I think she said.

Lihaku has learned to turn to Maomao to solve mysteries.

Lihaku: We've got a problem on our hands.

Do we? It's funny that he thinks she has any responsibility in this. I mean she will certainly step up to solve this, but she in no way is obligated to.

Something about the Maomao-Lihaku dynamic is really entertaining to me. Maybe it's because their interactions are so transactional. They are each a little disgusted by the other, even if they sort of respect one another. But they can really only connect on their desire to solve a mystery, which Lihaku presents now.

Various seemingly unrelated misfortunes have befallen the palace in the last year. Everything could have been leading up to the theft of some ceremonial items, and the only clue is the presence of a tall court lady (or man).

Maomao: When many coincidences manifest one on top of the other intent emerges in the overlap.

I happen to remember the presence of a suspicious man who was around at the death of Sir Kounen and the poisoning of the court official who oversaw the warehouses. So perhaps we will get some answers about who this man is soon.

I also can't forget that Lakan investigated the warehouse fire and found that ivory pipe that started the explosion. He also was the one who got Gaoshun to look into the poisoning case of the palace official who ate toxic seaweed. Given how astute he is, Lakan is either involved, or has this mystery figured out and is letting things play out for some motive that I can't determine. Also, it seems that Lakan would like Maomao to solve this case. But why? What does he gain from that? Having her involved puts her in danger. Is that what he wants?

Because Maomao is stepping into a real conspiracy now. It's about as dangerous position as she has ever been in this show.

Jinshi shows up. LOL. He's scary when he's jealous, and Lihaku has no trouble reading the situation, so he books it out of there. Maomao on the other hand doesn't bother to try to read into Jinshi's behavior and proceeds as normal.

And it occurs to me now that the storytellers are being a bit meta.

Maomao: When many coincidences manifest one on top of the other intent emerges in the overlap.

Because they gave us this quote from Maomao right after they just got done telling us Jinshi is about to perform a ceremony, and that someone has stolen some ceremonial items. A coincidence? Not likely. The larger conspiracy that Maomao is trying to solve right now, was all for the purpose of getting to those ceremonial items. That's a whole lot of work to do if you aren't setting up something big. Something like trying to murder a prince maybe? And I may be back on my bullshit again, but I don't think so. I don't know who or why or how, but I can feel it in my story-loving soul, someone's aiming for our beloved male lead!

Actually there are any number of people who could be after Jinshi. He's in a terribly vulnerable position. By birth he is in the line of succession to the throne, but due to some deception he was removed. Anyone who discovered his identity and wants him out of the way could be behind this. He's got all of the vulnerabilities of being a prince, but not all of the protections. Or this could have to do with his duties as the palace manager. He presides over cases and hands out judgements, perhaps someone feels he did so unjustly and wants revenge? Or it could be anything, this is a fricking palace intrigue story, after all!

Lakan is an obvious suspect, but I don't think it's him. He maneuvered Maomao to get involved in this. Why would he do that if he were behind it all? It's more likely that he wants her to unravel it. Why not just expose this conspiracy himself? Is he actually trying to help Jinshi? This is such a twisted up tale.

Jinshi: What was the nature of your rendezvous with that office?

That Jinshi sees Lihaku as a romantic rival will never not be funny to me. There is just nothing at all between the two.

Maomao offers to tell Jinshi about what she discussed with Lihaku. I'm so glad she offered! Last time she solved a mystery she didn't share it with Jinshi, and they've been in such a weird place, I really wasn't sure she would want to do this. Is she taking pity on Jinshi because he's acting jealous, or does she want his thoughts on this mystery?

Actually, I think Maomao does her best mystery solving when she works with Jinshi. He is encouraging and supportive, and she thrives with that. Perhaps, this mystery has her really stumped or worried, and so she's relieved to bring it up with Jinshi. And it feels so good to watch these two working through this together! It's like watching a simpler time from and earlier episode.

After presenting the facts to Jinshi, Maomao quiets. Jinshi thinks it's odd that she isn't eager to solve this case. I do too.

Jinshi: You're not excited by this?

Maomao lets out a frustrated sigh, like he's not picking up on something, and gives the following explanation, though it sounds like a begrudging recitation, rather than honest:

Maomao: I am but a humble servant, I fear. I exist only to do as I'm told.

Jinshi gives an almost exasperated response.

And then Jinshi seems to have an "a-ha" moment right after that, and offers her an incentive for taking the case... I'm thinking Maomao is angling to get something she wants out of this. Perhaps Maomao took Suiren's words to heart last episode.

Suiren: You may appear apathetic, but you're keen. You know where you stand, and how to play the game. Suiren: If you view everything in terms of status, then you'll miss opportunities.

It seems Maomao is eager to solve this case, but she's not going to do it for nothing this time. It's an opportunity for her to gain something she wants.

And Jinshi is almost giddy to make an offer to Maomao. He knows she's going to love what he has in mind. Maomao is comically over the top when it comes to her enthusiasm for medicinal ingredients, and she freaks Jinshi out when she climbs up on his desk and laughs maniacally in his face. Gaoshun has to pull her off. Jinshi and Maomao are so delighted with themselves and each other, it's a beautiful moment of harmony, which Gaoshun isn't sure is better than having them at odds.

Serendipity (coincidence or something more?) has landed Maomao in the records archive with exactly the person who can help her solve her mystery. Because this particular court official knows all about the Board of Rites that oversees ceremonies, he used to work on that board. Yet another one of the "coincidences" that Maomao is looking into has a connection to ceremonies. Seriously, that's a lot of foreshadowing, something bad is about to go down at this ceremony, huh?

It seems that someone went to an awful lot of trouble to take out two officials who oversee the ceremonies and stole some of the ceremonial equipment. Plus this official in the archives was demoted when he raised questions about the safety of these ceremonies. "An accident waiting to happen," is how the official described it. What a convenient way to take out an important person and make it seem like a coincidence. Maomao remembers yet another coincidence that involves the three brothers who work at the metalsmith that creates ceremonial items. This has to do with that ceremonial tool that had me worried from a couple episodes back no doubt. The one Lakan made sure to bring up to Jinshi. I don't have the details figured out, but Maomao does, and she's starting to worry now.

No, she's not worried, she's terrified. Someone has had a plan in the works for over a year, to assassinate a high ranking noble Jinshi (she, like me, already knows it's him, even if she won't admit it). And Maomao only just figured it out. She's not sure if she will be able to get there in time to stop it, but damn it she's trying! Girl is about to bust open a huge conspiracy!

Run Maomao! Run! Go save your prince!

Ah shit. Her status means she can't enter. But! Jinshi is in danger, right now! She can't back down.

Maomao: I'm just a servant with no authority to speak of. But if something happens it'll be too late for anything but regret!

Oh brave Maomao! This guard is threating her with his giant cudgel but she's not giving up. And what an image! Little Maomao on the steps standing up to the big armed guard who looms threatening above!

She accuses him of being in league with the saboteur. And that does it. He bashes her in the face! Oh shit! That guard comes down the stairs and I'm pretty sure he's trying to kill her. The other guards think so too, because someone is able to stop him. Maomao meant to provoke him, as a means of creating a commotion, but it's not enough to disrupt the ceremony. And Maomao is pretty messed up from that blow to the head.

Maomao is pushing through by sheer force of will, unconsciousness threatening to take over. She ignores the pain, and the danger, and stands back up because she needs to save someone's life.

Maomao is a goddamn hero, y'all. This persistence in the face of overwhelming odds, in pursuit of a noble purpose; it makes for great characters. And in a love story it's romantic as fuck.

But no matter what she says or does, it's not enough. She doesn't have the status to disrupt this ceremony.

But Lakan does.

Friends. I can't breath. This is peak drama.

Lakan is pretty intense for a moment with the guard, when he says:

Lakan: You have hurt her.

Maomao doesn't turn around, claims she doesn't want to see who it is. But she knows it's Lakan. And she knows his presence here is not a coincidence, as nothing in this episode has been. But there isn't time for that, she needs to move quickly. She is permitted past the guards, but how to stop the ceremony without being executed for it later?

There isn't time to think it through, she sees the disaster is moments from happening and she simply runs and tackles the officiant of the ceremony out of the way, as the giant apparatus comes crashing down.

I am so here for this moment.

Maomao realizes that she made it in time. Realizes her leg is injured. But she is addled from the blow to the head, because as soon as she sees Jinshi she asks for the ox bezoar that he offered. Girl, this guy is going to give you his whole life.

And of course it's Jinshi. It had to be! Maomao looks a wreck, with her face swollen, her nose bleeding, and her leg broken. But she's alive, and because of her brilliant mind, and bravery, so is Jinshi.

Jinshi is in shock. Trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened. Perhaps only moments from losing his shit, once he knows which direction to lose it in. He sees the state Maomao is in and he's on the verge of tears. So am I.

Maomao: I don't understand. Why is Master Jinshi here?

I'll allow her this confusion right now because she just got smashed upside the head, but later when she's recovered, she's not allowed to deny who and what Jinshi is any more. It's too fucking much at this point.

Maomao is disoriented, but she's done what she came here to do, and now she can let herself fall unconscious. After all Jinshi is here, he looks awfully sad, but he's capable and kind, he'll take care of her.

Jinshi is so distraught to have her fall unconscious in his arms. He does call her "Maomao," this time, as he begs her to stay with him. That lost little "please" at the end is going to stick with me for a long while.

Every person in this room, is useless in a crisis. There are at least a dozen people standing around doing nothing.

Jinshi leaves with Maomao in his arms. He doesn't acknowledge anyone, including Lakan, who looks rather shocked. Shocked because Maomao got hurt, when he didn't intend it, or shocked because Jinshi responded differently than Lakan expected? Or did he think she died? In any case, one of Lakan's well planned strategies didn't work out how he intended. I don't know if Jinshi is even able to spare a thought as to why Lakan might be here, or what his role in this whole event might have been. To me it seems, Lakan knew what was going on, but that he wasn't behind it. Perhaps his interest in bothering Jinshi was to try to help him? I don't know. I'm sure we will find out more about Lakan's role soon enough.

There are a lot of people that saw Maomao force her way into the building and save Jinshi's life. And a lot of those same people saw Jinshi walk out with her in his arms. And everyone of them showed Jinshi deference as he left. Too bad that Maomao missed it. Will it matter that people saw this, does it mean anything in this setting?

Is there symbolism happening right now? Probably! I also wish I knew what the lyrics to this song were.

Maomao is bleeding and broken, unconscious, but without her actions, it would be Jinshi who is hurt, or more probably dead. A trail of Maomao's blood trails behind as Jinshi leaves with her in his arms.

Jinshi has to be thinking about how Maomao ended up being there just in time to save him. If it truly were just an accident, then there would have been no way for her to know about it, which means the crashing apparatus was planned. That someone tried to kill him. Jinshi has to know that there are people who would like him dead, perhaps people have even tried to come at him before. And for much of this show we have seen Jinshi try to keep Maomao away from the more dangerous parts of his life. Today, what he feared has happened. Maomao was injured, because she got tangled up in the danger that is Jinshi's life. But if she hadn't he would have died.

So what will Jinshi do? Will he push Maomao away to keep her safe, so she doesn't get hurt again like she did today? Or will he let her in now? Tell her his secrets and keep her close? How can he best protect Maomao, by pushing her away or pulling her close?

And what will Maomao do when she wakes? She can't deny who Jinshi is any longer.

Also, will whomever is behind this be discovered? Will they try again?

To start at the beginning: Episode 1

Next episode: Episode 20

[totowlff]

the encounter

➝ a painting, an agent and a crime. sounds good, no?

➝ word count: 3,9k

➝ warnings: descriptions of crimes, reader being clumsy

➝ author’s note: i finally felt safe enough to post this story. it's a more or less alternative universe, since it has some real things (i'd love to know your bets). hope you like it.

It was an ugly, gloomy day in Vienna, and you found yourself sitting in the cafe you tended to frequent these days. As far as anybody knew, and as far as you told anybody, it was a nice place to come and work during the day, so almost every day for the past few weeks, you sat in your usual seat by the window and sipped coffee as you ostensibly worked on something important on your laptop. As far as anybody asked, the cafe was comfortable enough and it was fairly close to your apartment, and you simply weren’t quite as productive when you were working at home. That’s what you told people, along with the fact that you worked in finance.

You weren’t working on anything at the moment, because your mind was elsewhere, and your eyes were fixed on something across the street from the cafe. You were staring at an old antique shop, with a dark green facade and gold lettering across its front window. You were watching the people inside, talking animatedly, trying to imagine what they were speaking about.

— Maria — you heard someone say. The name was familiar, after all, that was the name that was listed in the identity documents that your boss handed to you in a manila envelope a few weeks earlier, along with an investigation report. Hearing the name brought you back to when he was briefing you on the operation, which had been named “Królowa”, a reference to the object of the investigation. You had been assigned to search for information on a triptych painted by the Polish master painter, Jan Matejko, that depicted a procession accompanying the Virgin Mary and the Baby Jesus to a cathedral in Kraków.  

The triptych was considered a lost Polish national treasure, stolen from its most recent owner during the Nazi occupation. Previous investigations into its whereabouts dragged on for years, buried in the files of the Europol, based in The Hague, in the Netherlands. When you started working there, almost a decade earlier, the case was stuck on a cold lead about the piece's last owner, Count Hieronim Tarnowski, a Polish aristocrat.

The last documented whereabouts of the triptych was within Montelupi Palace in Kraków, which was owned by the Tarnowski family. However, the palace and all of its contents were expropriated by Nazi command in 1942, before the interior of the Palace was consumed by fire. From then on, there was nothing further documented about the of the painting. It and some other cultural treasures seized by the Nazis were long considered lost by the Polish government and Europol. That is, until one day, you found something that made you dig deeper into the case.

You were doing some research for another art theft case when you found an open thread about Matejko on an art forum. While you were reading praise for the painter's work, you came across a photo posted by a user called Piter1974 that caught your attention.

It was a photo of the triptych, clearly taken with a modern camera given the quality and colors of the image. They contrasted sharply with the images attached to the investigation that you had as reference, which had been taken from pre-war catalogs. The only existing photos of the work were all in black-and-white, taken with early 20th century cameras. You did some cursory checking on the authenticity of the image, and didn't hesitate to print it out. You placed it on your boss’ desk with an air of confidence. 

— What is that? — your boss, a burly, perpetually grumpy Frenchman named Romeo, asked.

— It’s Matejko’s triptych.

He looked unconvinced as he cocked an eyebrow. 

— Came to show me your Photoshop skills? The colors look nice, but…

— I didn't color this photo.

Romeo blinked.

— Do you mean…

— It's a recent image — you said, proudly — The EXIF data shows that it was taken on October 6, 2022.

— Where did you find this?

— On an internet forum. A user posted this in a discussion thread about Jan Matejko's works.

— You…

— It’s not AI or Photoshop. I checked, Romeo — you replied, smiling — The triptych still exists!

Your discovery led to the case being reopened, with the image being examined pixel-by-pixel for any inconsistencies, and your findings being verified. The EXIF data buried in the picture not only showed the date, but it showed what kind of camera the image had been taken by, which was a high-end professional model popular with archivists and museum curators for taking high-quality images suitable for cataloging. 

You felt frustration wash over you. The trail seemed to have gone cold again, after all, how many art galleries were there in the world? It was like you were looking for a needle in a haystack.

But again, fortune smiled on you. While analyzing an old catalog of Jan Matejko's works written by a Polish author, you came across new information about the triptych's whereabouts. According to the catalog’s author, after being confiscated by the Nazis, the triptych briefly reappeared in the 1960s, in the inventory of a well-known antiques shop in central Vienna. Your relief was short-lived when you saw the name of the shop’s owner. 

“Of course Bednarczyk is involved in this”, you thought to yourself, letting out a long sigh.

Czesław Bednarczyk was an old acquaintance of the Polish justice system. He had been a notorious smuggler, taking vast amounts of Poland’s cultural treasures and gold abroad, most of it to be sold in his antique shop in central Vienna, on the Dorotheergasse. 

Despite the mountain of evidence against him, the antiquarian never faced justice for his crimes, nor did his reputation within the art world suffer. When he died in the late 90s, the funeral was attended by great figures from the industry, all paying their respects to the patriarch's family, who worked to preserve his legacy to this very day. 

Bednarczyk's antique shop was taken over by his eldest daughter, Elisabeth. She was known for being one of the leading experts on Viennese porcelain, which kept her from being a major suspect. However, you thought, that didn't mean the place couldn't be involved in some way, as other Matejko pieces had been sold by the Bednarczyks over the years. And so, you went to Vienna with a false identity and a single objective: find the triptych.

After arriving in the city and settling into the apartment that would be your base, you tried to investigate the surroundings of Dorotheergasse, the narrow lane where the antique shop was located. In short order, you found the perfect place to monitor movements in and out of the shop without raising any suspicion — a cafe next to the Jewish Museum across the street. — Maria — the voice repeated, making you wake up from your thoughts. You glanced over your shoulder, finding the friendly smile of Kristina, the cafe's barista — Is everything okay?

— Yes, everything’s fine — you replied quickly, fumbling to hide the fact that you had forgotten that was the name you’d given to the waitress — Why?

— Oh, you… Called me over to place your order, but when I asked you what you wanted, you didn't say anything...

You felt your own cheeks heat up.

— Sorry, Kristina, I was distracted…

— By the antique shop?

You were apparently being too obvious. You wished the ground would swallow you whole.

— Well, no… Not exactly…

— Oh, I’m not surprised.  — Kristina laughed — When you said you had just moved to an apartment nearby, I sort of figured you had an eye for art and antiques.

— But, how?

The barista chuckled.

— I mean, you’ve seen the kind of people that come in here. It’s only old people or people that are crazy about art, and you’re obviously not old.

You smiled, trying to hide your discomfort at feeling so transparent.

— I do like art — you lied — My parents had a lot of pieces at home, like sculptures, porcelain...

— Oh, that shop has a ton of those things.

You raised your eyebrow. 

— Have you ever been inside?

— Yes. I got curious about it and went after work one day.

— Did you talk to anyone there?

Kristina was clearly taken aback by your interest.

— Oh, yes, I talked to a man, he…

— Alexander? — you asked, taking a few seconds to realize that, in your eagerness to find out more about the Bednarczyks, you were close to showing your hand.

— No, his name was something else — she replied, with suspicion on her face — Who’s Alexander? 

In truth, you knew that Elisabeth had a son named Alexander. According to the case’s dossier, he was a specialist in contemporary art and responsible for numerous sales of works to foreign galleries and museums. If the triptych had left the antique shop heading abroad, it likely would have passed through Alexander's hands.

— Well, like I said, my parents like art and I remembered they bought a few pieces from a shop in Vienna run by a man named Alexander — you said, trying to cover your tracks  — I thought it could be him, but I think it's unlikely, come to think of it. After all, how many art and antique shops are in a city this size, right?

After staring at you for a few seconds, Kristina smiled.

— Unlikely, maybe, but not impossible. I imagine the art world isn’t a very big one, after all. 

You went back to focusing on the antique shop. You had noticed some movement near the door and you were trying to pay attention to whoever was leaving, when Kristina cleared her throat.

— Yeah? — you muttered.

— Do you still want something?

Looking at the table, you noticed that your espresso cup was empty, as was the plate full of crumbs from the chocolate cake you had devoured after lunch.

— I think another espresso — you replied. With a nod Kristina walked away from your table, while you looked again at the door of the antique shop as two blonde women came out of the shop’s door. Both of them were talking animatedly and had boxes in their hands.

Just then, you’d decided you’d spent enough time over the past few weeks watching and waiting — you had to see what was inside. 

The next day, the plan was already drawn up in your head. You would go into another antique shop in a different part of Vienna and buy something made of porcelain, something that seemed to be antique. And then, you would go into the Bednarczyk’s shop to try and have it appraised. It belonged to your mother, you would tell them, and you wanted to find out what they could tell you about it and see if it could be restored. Anything to buy more time.

You’d let the staff at the shop talk to you, you knew what questions to ask to not seem like you knew nothing about the pieces, but what to avoid asking to not show that you knew too much. While you were talking to them, whoever they were, you would try to work in a way to ask about any Matejko pieces they knew of.

Your plan was hastily arranged, but it seemed like it should be perfect.

You found another antique shop in Ottakring, across the city, and bought the first porcelain piece you spotted that you knew was old enough to seem like a treasured family heirloom. You thought it would be a good idea to stop by the cafe first and have an espresso to settle your nerves before heading into Bednarczyk’s.

You walked down the street to the direction of the antique store with the box containing the little sculpture in your hands, confident this would be a big step forward in the investigation of the tryptich’s whereabouts. 

As you were glancing toward the shop’s entryway, you let your attention slip for a moment, crashing into the back of the man who was walking ahead of you. The box in your hand slipped and fell toward the ground, the muffled tinkling of shattering porcelain coming from inside the box. You immediately sank to the ground and lifted the flaps on the top of the box.

— No, no, no, fuck — you said, seeing the ballerina you bought reduced to a pile of shards.

— Shit — the man said from above you. When you looked up, you realized that you had stumbled into a man with dark hair and brown eyes, who were fixed on what was once a small porcelain statue — I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming in behind me…

— No, it's okay — you murmured, trying to hide your displeasure at having broken the piece. You had chosen the porcelain ballerina precisely because you knew that it was old enough to be of interest to Elisabeth. However, you couldn’t exactly get her to appraise a pile of dust — Isn’t a big deal...

— From your reaction, it seemed like something important — the man said, as you closed the box quickly and stood up — I’m so sorry. I hope it wasn’t a family heirloom.

You looked up at him, pressing your lips together as you realized how tall he was. “Focus… Maria”, you thought to yourself, feeling your face heat up. You couldn't let your cover identity slip.

— Yeah, it was. I had brought it to see if there was somewhere that could appraise it, maybe restore it, but… I don’t think there’s much to be done about it now.

Looking at the box, the man seemed to think for a few seconds, before looking up at you again.

— Well, if you want, I can find something else to give you instead. I’ll pay for it.

— I don’t… 

— That won't replace the sentimental value, no, but it's the least I can do, considering your little ballerina is broken because of me.

You hesitated for a few seconds. You didn’t want to involve another person in your investigation, especially an innocent bystander that made you feel a strange heat in your chest and a strange flush in your cheeks. However, before you realized it, you were following him down the street, the box with the porcelain shards in your hands, into the front door of the Bednarczyks' antique shop.

He opened the door and motioned politely for you to walk in first, which you did, unable to hide the shy smile on your face. The man closed the door behind him as you approached one of the shelves. It was stocked with a huge assortment of miscellaneous knicknacks - silver candelabras, ceramic vases, sets of different glasses and jars, all polished and carefully arranged. Your eyes landed on a velvet box on one of the middle shelves, and you couldn’t resist the compulsion to step forward and carefully tilt open the lid, trying to see what was inside.

— It's a set of silver flatware — a female voice said behind you. You turned around with a start to see a short, blonde woman with kind brown eyes staring at you. She smiled — Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Mr. Wolff asked me to come assist you.

— Mr. Wolff? — you asked, confused.

— The gentleman who came in with you.

You were still confused, wondering how she knew the other customer’s name. 

— By any chance — you started, stopping when you felt someone touch you shoulder.

— Ah, you found Petra, excellent — the man, apparently Mr. Wolff, said — Petra, could you show us the porcelain?

The woman nodded and directed you to another set of shelves, chatting about , the woman guided you between the shelves, chatting about the store's new arrivals. However, your mind was occupied with trying to remember if you’d ever seen the name Wolff anywhere in the case files. The man seemed to be too familiar with the staff to be just another customer. You remembered reading about Elisabeth, her son, Alexander, and Alexander’s wife, Amy. However, you didn't remember any man with the surname Wolff.

— Here is our selection of porcelain. I'll leave you to choose what you would like — Petra said, with a smile.

— Thank you very much, Petra. As soon as we choose, we will call you.

With a nod, Petra walked away, leaving the two of you alone in front of the shelves filled with figurines, cups, teapots and porcelain vases. After a few seconds of silence, you finally looked at the man next to you.

— Mr. Wolff, is it? — you asked, the tone of your voice causing a smile to appear on his lips.

— Well, yes. Torger Wolff. But you can call me Toto.

Something about what he said made you smile.

— Toto, like the dog in The Wizard of Oz?

— I would say like Toto Rina, the Italian mafioso, but most people think of the dog first — Toto said, without taking his eyes off you — And you, what's your name?

You hesitated for a few seconds.

— Maria.

— Just Maria?

— Maria Bauer.

Toto chuckled.

— Ah, a fairly common name, no? — he asked. “It had to be something from the idiots in the operations department”, you thought to yourself, giving a wry smile.

— My parents weren’t the most creative…

— In my case, they were too creative — he said, looking at the shelf again — I suppose you’re not not from Vienna?

His question made you swallow hard.

— No, I'm not. I moved here not long ago. How did you know?

— Your accent — Toto replied — I'd say you're from the south, maybe. Graz?

— Klagenfurt — you said. That’s what was in your identity document. You hoped he wasn't familiar with the accent there, since you were sure that the Dutch and English you were used to speaking on a daily basis with your co-workers was present in the way you slurred some syllables.

— But you've lived abroad, haven't you?

— Why do you ask?

— Your accent doesn’t sound like a Southern accent. I have an acquaintance from near there, but his accent is a bit different. 

— My mother is Dutch — you lied, almost in an attempt to stop that interrogation — So, I grew up listening to her accent and ended up picking it up.

— Ah, yes, I understand — he said, giving a gentle smile.

Turning your attention to the shelf, you tried to focus on the china in front of you, trying to decide which piece would be the most similar to the one he had broken. Not that it mattered much, but one did catch your eye. It was a figure of two people - a man and a woman, sitting next to a column, with the woman holding a rose and the man holding a basket of flowers on his lap. It was romantic, and oddly endearing.— Did you like this one? — Toto asked.

— Yeah — you replied, your fingers brushing the top of the porcelain column, where there was a small hole to hold a few flowers  — It's very beautiful.

— I agree. 

— With such a renowned expert curating the collection, it's not surprising — you said, taking the porcelain figure in your hands.

— Oh, do you know of Elisabeth? — he asked. You glanced over to Toto to find that he had a curious expression, like something you said made an impression.

Maybe you’d already said too much.

You’d betrayed the fact that you were not from Vienna and had recently moved to the city, leaving you no acceptable excuse to explain how you knew who owned the shop you were in. It wasn’t as if she was well-known outside of very specific Viennese society and academic circles — No, I don't know her — you said, giggling nervously.

— So how do you know she curates the porcelains here?

— Well, like I said, I recently moved and I'm still cleaning up my apartment, so I'm working from the cafe across the street — you lied, trying to sound as calm as possible  — And, one day, I noticed the antique shop across the street and looked up some information about it online. My parents collect art - mostly these porcelain figures, so I thought I’d bring in one of their older pieces to have it appraised and restored, since she seemed like the best person to do it.

— Of course, the internet — he said, laughing — What's not on the internet nowadays, right?

— Right? You can find anything — you smiled, feeling your heart pounding. He seemed to buy it, but you couldn’t guarantee that you’d be so lucky next time. 

After asking if you liked the piece you were holding and calling Petra to confirm your choice, Toto asked you to stay there, before heading towards the counter at the back of the shop together with Petra.

Watching him talk to Petra, you started feeling guilty. You had only just met Toto and you already felt terrible about lying to him, which made you feel even worse, as feeling such strong emotions about telling lies was an occupational liability for you. But still, he had nothing to do with the investigation beyond knowing who Elisabeth was, and ostensibly frequenting her family’s antique shop. He certainly wasn’t a person of interest, so you could only conclude that he was one of her wealthy patrons. “He must be rich”, you thought, watching him scribble something on a piece of paper and hand it to Petra.

Perhaps, in other circumstances, you could get to know each other better. It was crazy, you thought, to be imagining a future with a man you knew nothing about and had just met mere moments ago, but you couldn’t help it as you looked at the way he smiled at you. It was a sweet, warm smile, and you’d never met anyone else you felt a connection with so immediately. It was the same smile he gave you once more as he handed you an elegant box that Petra had given him. “What a handsome son of a bitch”, you thought, giving him a small smile.

— Here — Toto said, handing you the box — I know it's not a one-for-one replacement, but it's my way of apologizing for the accident earlier.

— It’s no problem, really. You could very well have ignored what happened and kept walking, so…

— No, I don’t think that would have been — he murmured, eyes fixed on yours. That intensity of his gaze on you made your own cheeks feel hot.

— What do you mean by that? — you asked, giggling nervously.

— It would be impossible to ignore you — Toto said, seeming to realize the effect of his own words on you — I could never just walk past you.

The room filled with silence that stretched out long enough for you to think of a million scenarios in which you would end up with your lips pressed against his.

— Well, I'm going to take this home — you finally said, taking a brief look at the box — Thank you for your kindness, Toto.

— It was the least I could do, Maria — he replied with a smile, putting a peculiar emphasis on your name.

Giving one last wave, you turned around and left the antique shop feeling like you were floating. However, nothing compared to the feeling that came over you when you opened the box and found a note on the bubble wrap that surrounded the delicate piece of porcelain.

— I'd love to see how it looks on your shelf — you read quietly, realizing that Toto had written his phone number below his message while Petra was wrapping the figurine.

You dug into your purse and pulled out your phone, but started feeling guilty again. You were in Vienna for work, not to flirt with strangers. You were dealing with dangerous people and getting involved with more people meant additional risk, not only for them, but for you and your career.

“Well… one photo of my bookshelf probably won’t hurt anyone”, you thought, before saving the number on your cell phone.

[missionkitty]

Feeling Safe - My Adventures With Superman

i am a big sap!!! i love romance and i love fluff and i lois and clark!!! i just needed to write something soft and fluffy (and a little handsy) and low stakes because we don't always get moments like that in the series proper (more episodes for season 3 please????)

---

Lois let out a low sigh as she watched the darkening city through the window of her apartment, stars poking their way into the night and lights from buildings and cars flickering on.

Clark had flown off right as he arrived at her place, hearing a cry for help in the distance. He looked guilty as Lois opened the door, but she could only smile and wave him off. He didn’t seem too worried, just apologetic that their evening together had already hit a snag. She would find out who needed his help once he got back.

Clark being Superman was almost as normal as anything in Metropolis. Helping him maintain his lives as the gentle reporter and the powerful hero was kind of like getting groceries now.

Before Lois could find herself too lost in her thoughts, she opened her window to allow Superman’s easy, swift entry to her apartment. She wasn’t too sure when he would be done, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t be too much longer before her boyfriend would be back.

And with a whoosh, there was a rush of wind and the sound of her window closing again.

“Sorry about that,” Clark said gently. “It was a purse theft…”

She turned around to see him, hand still on the window. He also still had the apologetic look on his face.

Lois smiled and gave him a small chuckle, walking toward him. “Just another moment in the life of Superman.”

“Oh,” he looked down at himself, dressed in his now-iconic blue and red. “Let me change.”

Something quickly welled up in Lois’ chest as she saw Clark move to whiz past and she let out a quick noise to stop him, putting up a hand to get his attention.

He looked back at her, tilting his head curiously.

Lois felt her cheeks heat up, her mind now putting words to the sudden feeling she had.

The suit made it clear just how powerfully-built Clark was, and being alone with him dressed this way…Lois felt her ears start to burn now. She saw him like this all the time, it wasn’t anything new, and with his hair pushed back the way it was, it suited him perfectly somehow.

She could see Clark’s cheeks start to flush now too, and she let out a loud sigh, vigorously shaking her head. This was a silly train of thought to follow right now–they were going to settle down and watch a movie together, Lois doing her best to point out inconsistencies or potential plot holes and they would have a nice, quiet evening together, snuggled up next to him. Now was not the time to ogle him, body built by hard, honest farm work…

“Lois?” Clark’s voice shook her out of her once-again-racing thoughts.

She looked up at him, his smile as kind and sweet as always.

“Sorry, I just…guess I realized that I…” She paused as the heat in her face was becoming uncomfortable. She stepped even closer to him, gently running her hand across the emblem on his chest. “I don’t really see you dressed in your suit unless you’re flying me somewhere or catching me in midair.”

“Oh, uh, well, I can put off getting changed for a little while,” he replied with a low, nervous laugh, his voice shaky.

The feeling of the suit under Lois’ fingers was mesmerizing. There was no danger and nothing to run from or investigate, so her hands carefully traced back out from the emblem and onto the rest of his chest. It was smooth, somehow simultaneously hard and soft, unlike any material she had felt before, but Clark’s warmth underneath made it feel familiar.

Lois was caught off guard by the feeling of Clark pulling her closer into him, gently resting his hands on the small of her back.

“How does it feel?” His voice was quiet, blush still coloring his cheeks. Lois could see the sincerity of his question in the way his eyes darted along the ground.

“Like nothing I’ve ever felt before, honestly.” Lois let her hands wander from Clark’s chest to down his sides, solid like the rest of him.

Suit and person, Lois admitted to herself.

Would the suit feel the same without Clark underneath? Or did he make the suit special, feeling the way it did? She smiled, feeling him tuck some of her hair behind her ear.

His bright blue eyes were focused on her, his gaze soft and somehow intense.

Maybe this wasn’t the time to get philosophical about a superhero’s identity, much less someone she already knew the answer about.

He made it special. He made everything special.

And she had him all to herself right now.

Lois smiled, taking Clark’s hand in hers. It was large, soft, and warm–much like the rest of him.

She pulled him along to the couch, his steps quiet and careful. As if he had read her mind, Clark laid himself down on the couch, now gently pulling Lois down on top of him.

Lois rested herself comfortably on his torso, pressing her cheek to his chest. The material had its strange, alien-yet-familiar sensation on her skin. But it was warm, and she slid her arms to wrap around his chest as best as she could.

She felt safe. That was the best word to describe the feeling.

She knew it wasn’t an adjective you’d necessarily use to describe fabric, but that’s all it could be to her. Anytime she had felt it against her hands, she felt safe.

Pressed against his wide, strong chest, his warm hands holding her close…

Lois chuckled, snuggling herself further into his chest–soft and gentle in this moment. She could feel Clark running his fingers through her short hair, tenderly tracing a line down her neck and resting on her back.

“Did you…still want to watch the movie?” Clark asked, his voice resonating from his chest into Lois’ cheek.

She smiled, shaking her head.

“Not yet. I like what we have going on right now, Smallville.” Lois moved her head to look up at Clark’s face. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. “Still enjoying the way you feel.”

It was a bold way to answer, but something about the way she rested on him gave her courage. He gave her a bit of a surprised, bashful look, but his eyes softened on her again. She closed her eyes and let out a content sigh, rubbing her cheek on his chest.

Clark let out a low laugh, his hands gently rubbing her back.

“I’m glad.”