#writing challenge 3.0

[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

[iamasaddie]

time of death: 5:14PM

cause if death: THIS FUCKING FIC OH MY GOD MILLA HOLY FUCK

this was an INSANE, DEPRAVED ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFULLY FUCKED UP RIDE

i swear this made me tingle in all the good places, i chewed my lip fucking BLOODY! and to be honest i’d love to see another encounter of these two, almost looks like they were made for each other by some depraved goddess (you)

the moments that made me do a double take:

1. it’s in moment like this that i understand that i am indeed no better than a man.

2. 🧍🏻‍♀️…🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️…🐩 ✨bark bark woof✨

3. OH SO YOU LIKE ME LIKE ME

thank you my little sweet baguette for participating and for giving all of us depraved sluts this beauty 🫨😍😵‍💫

The detective

2k6 | Tim Rockford x fem reader | ao3 | Masterlist

Summary: being a suspect in a theft case, you get interrogated by a handsome and dominant personal investigator Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon. power imbalance, brat tamer, humiliation, degradation, sir kink, spitting, spanking, oral (m), cockwarming, piv, cum eating No age specified. Pic in mood board for mood only

a/n: this is a contribution to @iamasaddie writing challenge 3.0 💛🫶 prompt: humiliation/Tim Rockford Dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏 @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing and for being you 💕 🫶

“That’s all I have to say, detective,” you concluded with a not so subtle sigh.

You were sitting in front of a desk and the detective was facing you. Rubbing his beard with his thumb. He smiled when he heard you say "detective" in a condescending tone.

“You know ma’am, there is some inconsistency in your testimony.”

“Excuse me? You’re just a private detective. I don't think you have the qualifications to presume any of this.” You had a hard time hiding your annoyance at being there, summoned by that detective to that dingy, dust-covered office. When he asked you to go to that room, you pointedly rolled your eyes as you passed him.

“Well, sorry ma’am, but the information you’re giving me is clearly imprecise. Seems like you’re forgetting some important details.”

“I already told you I have nothing more to say, detective.” He smiled again, and you rolled your eyes even harder than when you had entered the room, then you stood up.

“Sit down.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘sit down’. I’m not finished.”

The tone in which he talked to you sent a deep shiver down your spine, and you sat back. 

He stood up and took off his black suit jacket, and hung it on the back of his chair. He was wearing a holster over his white shirt and for a moment your eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and neck, then his tie. He walked around the table, passing behind you.

“I need you to be a little more collaborative. I need to see that you are making every possible effort to help this investigation move forward.”

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his tanned forearms with multiple veins, and your eyes lingered on his body again.

“I already—,” you paused when he took out a tape recorder and pressed ‘play’, leaning towards you from across the table. One palm resting on it. You frowned, annoyed by his behavior. When you heard the moans, the frown turned into shock, then embarrassment.

“Oh, fuck…fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Come on, soak my cock. Yeah, just like that.”

Only your moans were now audible. Then, the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“You like to be fucked like a whore, uh? Bent over a fucking table?”

“Yes, yes! Fuck me! Harder, please. Please…”

The detective pressed ‘stop’, and put the tape recorder on the table. 

“So, ma’am. I’m afraid I’m going to have to repeat myself. This recording was made the day before the jewelry robbery. In his apartment, where the jewelry was kept in the safe. No one else entered the apartment except you and him.”

“Detective, I... I don’t know what happened to the jewelry.” Hearing the recording had disoriented you, and your tone was much less confident and arrogant. You felt vulnerable. He felt the change in your voice immediately and his smile turned into a grin. He was clearly enjoying the situation more and more, and you, less and less. But his firm tone awakened something in you and you squirmed in your chair.

“Well… Where has your attitude gone, ma’am?” he asked, walking again, and then stood near your chair, arms crossed. Way too close to you.

“I don't allow you to talk to me like-” You started to say in an unsure voice, totally disoriented by the recording and by him, but you stopped again when you saw his bulge, and looked at him, eyes widened.

“Ok, that’s enough now”, you said as you stood up, trying to regain some control, but he grabbed your arm, bringing his face closer, his brown eyes fixed on yours.

“I have enough to call the police, you know. All your little games are gonna amuse them, for sure.”

“Shit”, you said, dropping your gaze to the ground.

“And the problem is that you wasted my time, right? With that tone of yours… how do you plan to fix this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“You came here with a very unpleasant attitude, for someone who doesn't understand things quite well”, he said, stepping back from you, before grabbing his chair and placing it against the opposite wall. He sat there, manspreading. 

“What do you want?”, you asked in a low voice.

“You're really not the smartest, are you? Pleasant to look at, for sure, but a bit dumb, poor thing… Come towards me”, he added. 

You took a step forward, hesitant.

“No”, he said abruptly. You looked at him with confusion, and he added "hands and knees. Like a whore."

The reminder of the recording, his firm voice, the way he was sitting, everything about him exuded dominance and confidence, and you felt your own self-assurance crumbling ever more.

And you don't know what happened in your brain, if his attitude made you short-circuit, but you sure felt the desire soaking your panties. You looked at him, eyes widened. Shocked by his order and by your arousal. By his smirk. As if he knew you wouldn't say no. Your cheeks heated up thinking that he surely had listened to the whole tape. Hearing you being submissive, ready to do anything to have more and more of the cock that ruined your throat and pussy that night. 

He was waiting calmly for you to process what was happening. And what would happen next. He saw you hesitating, and added “unless you want me to call the police? I'm sure they'd love to play “good cop/bad cop” with a brat like you. In your pretty little skirt. So short, it doesn’t leave much to the imagination, mmm?”

He paused, then added, “do as I said. Now.”

And that was it. You knelt down, in your tight skirt and heels, and advanced slowly towards him. Both humiliated and horny. Your back arched and your clit was twitching. Eyes fixed on him. Ashamed to bend so easily, but eager to learn what would happen next. How far he would go, as if you were not in charge anymore. 

When you reached his lap, you sat back on your heels. You looked down at your knees, covered in dust, then looked up at him. Waiting.

“Are you gonna be a good girl?” he asked in a husky voice. You swallowed loudly. It was like he knew exactly what you'd easily dive for.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes…sir?”

“I'm gonna accept it for now. But you will call me "sir" with no hesitation before I'm done with you.” Wetness ruined your panties a little more.

“Follow me. The same way.”

He got up and went to sit at the desk, gathering the entire file in front of him.

“Come here”, he repeated, pointing at his crotch with his chin to show you exactly where he wanted you. And you obeyed, slavishly, as he undid his leather belt and placed it on the table. You slipped under the desk, between his knees.

“Unzip.”

You opened his suit pants, and grabbed his cock. Half hard. Even now, his cock was big, and you tried not to moan. But it slipped from your lips nevertheless.

“In your mouth. Keep me warm while I check what to send to the police.”

A part of you still couldn't believe you were in this situation, in this dingy office, and that the detective was ordering you to act like that. And you couldn’t believe you were about to submit again. To be humiliated again. And that it was turning you on to the point that your pussy was dripping. You even wondered if you would have submitted, even without his threats to call the police. He was hot, way too hot, and everything in him exuded natural dominance. And you didn't really know how to resist all of it. In that office or elsewhere.

So you submitted, and took his warm, thick, heavy cock in your mouth, its weight pressing down on your tongue. You waited and didn’t move, feeling used and dripping for it.

You heard him sorting the papers, keeping some in hand longer. Sometimes you would hear the tip of his pen scratching the paper. You heard him rub his beard. You felt his cock twitch sometimes, but he had impressive self-control. He never got fully hard between your lips. 

Minutes passed and your jaw was getting sore. Your saliva was now running down your chin, as your wetness was flowing from your pussy. Your knees hurt as you were standing on the cement floor, and when you tried to change the position he put his hand on the back of your neck, and told you not to move. His warm skin on yours made you shiver and you didn't move. Letting your knees stiffen in the imposed position.

“Ok, that’s enough”, he said, pulling back after a time you couldn’t evaluate.

You heard a clicking sound when he told you to come out from under the desk, but to remain kneeling. You felt the handcuff bracelets on your wrists, behind your back, then the sound of metal being tightened. “Don’t want your dusty hands on my cock”, he added.

You were facing the table, and he leaned on it, his cock out of his pants. 

“You want that cock?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Suck it.”

Upright on your knees, he grabbed his cock and held it towards you. Unable to hold back a moan when you felt it again between your lips, before you started sucking him, applying yourself. You loved his taste and loved blowing him, to be on your knees for him, handcuffed, in that room.

“You’re being filmed, you know. And it’s a shame you’re so bad at sucking a dick.”

Petrified, you stopped for a few seconds. But there was no way he was going to make you doubt yourself. You pulled back and placed your tongue flat just above his balls, then licked his shaft towards his tip, twirling your tongue on it. You leaned down again, and licked his balls. They were big, resting heavy under his cock. You thought they must be full of cum, and you couldn't wait for him to fill you with it. Your tongue lapped at their barely hairy skin. He got hard immediately. You looked at him, a slight smirk on your face.

“Open”, he said. “Tongue out.” Then he leaned down slightly, before letting his saliva fall down your chin and into your mouth.

“Swallow. Like a good girl.”

You swallowed, then stuck your tongue out again to show him.

“Suck.”

You approached him and licked the precum that was beading on his tip. Then rounded your lips, trying to take as much of him in your mouth as possible, until your nose brushed against his hair.

“How do you feel, sucking a detective’s cock in his office?”

You looked at him, not daring to stop.

“I kinda like it, when a brat is on her knees for me. Mouth full of my cock.”

He thrust and hit the back of your throat, making you gasp and pull away, coughing.

“Damn. You’re so pathetic.” You stared at the trickle of saliva that linked you to him, the only link between you and his cock, which your mouth was already missing.

“Desperate, mmm? Say “I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to get filled by your dick, sir.” He was right. No hesitation in your voice this time.

“Bend over the desk. Lemme see that cunt.”

You rested your chest against the wooden surface, your hands still bound by the handcuffs behind your back. He placed his hand on your ass, caressing its roundness. Gently, so gently that you closed your eyes for a moment and held your breath.

You didn't see the first spanking coming, and you let out a cry. Then the second, just before he unzipped your skirt. Sliding it slowly from the small of your back to the bottom of your buttocks. The third spanking made you moan, and ruined your panties a little more.

The mixture of sweetness and pain turned you on. Standing behind you, he pressed his cock against your ass. His manwood pressed against you, you only wished to feel his cock in your cunt, pushing your walls.

He grabbed the hem of your skirt and slid it down your hips, then your thighs, through your ankles. Your tights followed. He knelt down to remove these pieces of clothing from your feet. Your ass, covered by your panties, was at his eye level. When he slid them slowly down and your folds got exposed, he hissed softly.

“Alright. I hope you're better at taking a dick than at sucking it.”

He stood up and glided his cock along your soaked folds, making you moan.

“Your cunt is dripping for every man? Or you just like to be humiliated by a detective?”

He slipped his tip into your dripping hole, making you gasp, and stopped.

“Answer me.”

“I… I like to be humiliated and degraded.”

“Beg me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me, sir. Please, please… need your cock.”

“God, you’re so pitiful.”

He sank without stopping, bottoming out, and you whimpered. Full of his cock. He pulled back and thrust all the way in again, then started fucking  you hard and fast, making you moan with every thrust of his hips. Hands clinging to your hips, yours cuffed behind your back, you could only take his cock. Let him use you freely. The desk shook under his thrusts. Tears were beading in the corners of your eyes, as he was growling, spreading your pussy with his shaft.

“Yeah, make a show for the camera. Maybe you’ll have an Oscar for the best drama queen.”

He grabbed your shoulders for more leverage, and was fucking you deep and slow now. His cock was brushing your g spot at every move, and you quickly came on his cock, trembling.

“Such a slut, coming that fast on my cock, uh?”

You were unable to answer, and he sneered, adding “so cuckdumb”, pounding you faster and you were moaning continually, feeling your wetness trickling from your cunt.

He pulled back and looked at your soaking pussy before thrusting in again. “You're so wet, my cock and balls are covered in white, Jesus.”

He grabbed your hips and railed you, chasing his orgasm.

“Say “I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

“I’m a whore and I just want to be full of your cum, sir.”

He sneered again, as if you just said the most stupid thing in the world. “Your pussy isn’t good enough to make me cum, I’m gonna have to jerk off,” he spat, before pulling out of your pussy. He grabbed your elbow and made you kneel in front of him.

“Tongue out, open wide.”

You stuck out your tongue, eyes staring into his. He looked at you from his height, eyes frowning. His hand tight on his cock, he jerked off. Strong, slow jerks on his hard, thick cock. And you had already forgotten your pussy clenching over nothing. Now you wanted his cum. So you waited, tongue out. Until he groaned, and the white ropes of cum hit your tongue, your cheeks, your chin. Covering your face with his seed.

“Swallow.” Of course you obeyed.

“Say ”thank you sir.”

“Thank you sir.”

You were exhausted, a little part of you was ashamed. And another part missed feeling him in you already.

He rubbed his tip against your chin, your lips, your cheeks, then he tucked his cock into his clothes.

“So. About the jewelry. Let's start from the beginning. I might need more time to investigate and I'm afraid we’ll have to work closely together again”, he said, and your pussy clenched, begging for more.

***************

Thank you for reading 🙏

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[iamasaddie]

craving

paring: Ezra x f!reader

rating: explicit summary: he knew about you something that you refused to know about yourself warnings: CNC; explicit sexual content; dark until it’s not; no use of y/n, UNEDITED a/n: oh wow who would've thought i finally posted my fic for my own fucking challenge, ta daaaaa word count: 2.6k masterlist

You felt the air sticking to your lungs like honey, thick and almost burning, making each labored breath harder and harder. You didn’t know why you tried to run; you didn’t know what made you feel that his lack of hand somehow would affect his running skills. It didn’t. He had a nose like a dog, sniffing out your trail almost immediately and catching you by the neck. You would try to scream, but the honey-thick air was still filling your lungs. He dragged you by the hair through the mud of the long-forgotten planet, filled by barbarians, killers, thieves, and you, an unfortunate traveler. He didn’t say a word, out of breath himself, the cursed place was slowly killing each inhabitant who tried to breathe its thick, almost liquid air for too long.

At one point you started helping him drag you; there wasn’t much you could do, but at least his cabin had an air filter. The man threw you to the wooden floor of his little shack while he fumbled with the door. Turning back to look at you, he threw his hand above his head, leveraging himself on a wooden plank. You had dirt under your fingernails, your hair a tangled mess, and when you lifted your eyes you saw his condition was no better. Perspiration covered his face in thick droplets, dirty hair sticking to his forehead and temples, three days worth of stubble smudged with some dirt that could also be seen on his cotton coverall. His eyes weren’t angry; they never were, but there was a distinct dark look that always told you there was nothing good ahead for you.

“Oh, my dumb little birdie, don’t you know how much you disappoint me when you try to run away like that? I warned you not to do that, told you it was dangerous out there. I told you to stay here and I’d make sure nothing bad happens to you.” He lowered himself on his knees, almost crawling to you, getting so close you could hear the smell of his sweat. Closer, closer, his knee between your spread legs, too close. Not giving it a single thought, you spat in his face in anger, a fat glob of your saliva landing on his cheek.

“You’re the worst thing that could’ve ever happened to me, you sick fuck.” 

Ezra’s eye twitched a little and he let out a long breath, wiping off the remnants of your spit with the corner of his sleeve, the only one that was filled out. 

He tilted his head slightly, so that now his thick eyebrows cast a shadow over his brown eyes, turning them into an impenetrable blackness. It always seemed to you that there was great power in his eyes. How a one-armed thief with a specific manner of communication could live in this place for so long was still a mystery to you, but if you could look deeper into his eyes, you would definitely find the answer. Even if it's not the answer that would make you breathe a sigh of relief.

His heavy hand fell on your leg, squeezing your shin to the point that you were ready to squeal, but did not give him such pleasure. The man's voice remained sweetly insinuating, discouragingly calm. That voice made the blood in your veins thicken, the beats of your pulse became almost painful.

“Now tell me, is this an appropriate way for a young lady like yourself to talk to her caregiver?” You could hardly believe your ears. What the hell was he talking about? The psychopath took advantage of your desperate situation months ago, and now you were literally his hostage.

“Caregiver? Did you drink your own piss this morning? You’re nothing more than a slaveowner.”

Your grin was ferocious, harsh words flying from your lips like knives, only to miss their mark. Ezra smiled indulgently, the way a parent laughs at their child's silly tantrum. His palm slid higher, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, and his knee almost pressed into the heat of your core, where the pulse beat was particularly intense.

“It is all right, my little feathered monster. I know you're upset, frustrated. All these big feelings don't let you see straight,” he said with a smile, as if he expected you to try to escape again and was calculating your steps in advance. Instead, your eyes wandered over his body, which gradually began to press you to the floor, without noticing it, you were already in thrall to his hips, buttocks covered only with the thin material of his clothes confidently pressed you into the hard wooden floor. And, his hand, for the umpteenth time that day, it became difficult to breathe. You felt a smooth movement, Ezra was pressing his groin against you and where your blood was beating the hottest, he had a furious vulture ready to rip open your skin to get drunk. While your eyes were tied to the place where your two bodies touched in a very understandable dance, Era watched as the anger on your face was replaced by embarrassment and fear, he literally heard the blood running to your chest and neck, making your skin burn.

“Wha-- What are you doing?” You asked, your voice lacking any hint of the previous arrogance. It was nothing like the familiar melody of rage you had played for him at every opportunity. Your words were timid, almost afraid of what was happening.

Ezra smiled indulgently, as if he was watching a child's tantrum, his hand sliding up and lightly pressing the palm of his hand on your neck. He squeezed your jaw with his index finger and thumb, making it difficult to take your eyes off him. The sound of his voice was hardly louder than your own, as he spoke softly. “I am going to help you, sweet creature. I won't let the mundane feelings of a weak body torture your soul.”

It all sounded ridiculous, nonsensical, and full of the fear that came from the unknown. What the hell was he talking about? Why couldn't he talk like normal people, why all those curly expressions and mixed signals? However, from the movements of his tense body, it was not difficult to understand exactly how he was going to "free you from torment" and it scared you the most.

One might have thought that a classic maniac or kidnapper, who had been alone in the middle of nowhere for a long time, would first of all try to take advantage of all the physical pleasures that the body of a young and quite pretty girl could provide, but there was nothing ordinary about Ezra, for all the time he was forced to be in his company, he never I touched you in that way. You had spent the first two weeks of your captivity locked in a small, sparsely furnished room, before making your first escape attempt - something that ended in failure the moment you opened the door, only to find your kidnapper waiting just beyond it with the corpse of some mutated creature on his shoulder. Another week passed in tearful grief over your naivete, a couple of days of anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance. Ezra kept saying that he was only trying to help and that everything he was doing was for your own good. When asked why he chose you as the victim of his care, he only said that he saw a sign. You never found out what kind of sign it was.

Not for a single day did the idea of running away leave you, even when he gave you your own room, thoughtfully plugging up the windows with wooden boards beforehand. He placed his battered sofa in front of your door. Even when he trusted you to keep an eye on the house, wash the dishes, including the long, always sharpened knives, the thought of escape still lingered in your mind. You've always wanted to escape, but you've never wanted to kill him. Ezra made you keep an eye on the house; if reading out your to-do list in the morning could be called that. At first, you rebelled. You sat in the center of your room and stared at the wall. However, when he stopped bringing you portions of food, and your stomach began to hurt so much that it wouldn't even let you fall asleep, you gave up. You were the mistress of the house, he would leave and lock you in. Your life had become a rusty but still working mechanism. This went on for several months while you hatched a new escape plan, your next failure, but you could not imagine what it would entail.

“No, no, Ezra, please, not this. I promise I won’t try to run away anymore, I promise I’ll stay with you.”

You tried to wriggle out of the grip of his body, but it seemed the harder you tried to slip away, the tighter his grip was. The metal cage of his body belied the suffocating tenderness in his voice.

“Shhh, of course you won’t run, silly, you won’t ever want to.” His voice paralyzed your body, your attempts to escape became weaker and weaker, you knew that you had no more chance of escaping now than the first time. And maybe ten times less, because now he wants something from you that he can't get from others. Now he wants you from you. To some extent, his insistent hand that moved from your neck to the rope of your sweatpants was soothing, understandable. There was no catch in what he wanted to take, there was no mystery, and it was as if it allowed you to relax. For the first time, you didn't have to hide from the hundreds of questions and riddles that sting your daily existence, painful from the fact that they always remained unsolved.

“Come back to me,” a light slap on your cheek brought you back to the present, to the present where your sweatpants were pulled off one leg and dangled on the ankle of the other. The present, where your abductor's intimidating and unnaturally hot cock rested in the slit of your pussy lips. “I'll take care of you, my bird.”

He was kneeling between your spread legs, his cock shining with moisture, either from the undying heat of the room, or from the growing excitement of his body. A hot palm touched your skin, exploring new expanses, new curves and bulges, new textures.

As if he’d done it a thousand times before, the rough pad of his thumb found your clit, giving it a barely-there touch first, and then pressing harder, just stating the ownership over this part of you in a couple of strokes. 

You didn’t understand if your body wanted to betray you or save you, the growing slick between your thighs became more than obvious, you knew he could see it, feel it. Ezra didn’t say a word. He just let the slow, lazy strokes of his thumb ignite the fire you were unable to put out. Skin-to-skin friction created sparks that you were sure you would have been able to see if your gaze had not been sewn with strong threads to your tormentor's face. Your savior's face? His mouth opened in awe, brows knitted together with concentration, Devil’s flames in his dark orbs. He was beautiful in his wickedness. You felt your hips move up, trying to make the pressure more prominent, make his fingertip leave a print on the most sensitive part of your pussy. You gave yourself up to him too easily, submitting your defeat with a hollow moan.

“There you go, my little rebel,” his face was turned to where his fingers were straining pleasure out of your body, “you should’ve told me what you needed, you know I’d give it to you.”

“I did not need it.”

“You can lie to yourself, birdie, but you can’t lie to me,” his voice barely above whispering synched with your weep of a ruined upcoming orgasm when he took his hand away. “Tell me.”

“No.” You clenched your teeth, refusing to let him see the pain of the denied pleasure.

“Tell me that you needed it.” 

His palm enveloped the thick shaft distracting you for a moment with the primal beauty of the scene; he scooted closer to you and slapped your throbbing clit with the angry tip of his cock. 

Your moan still sounded like ‘no’, so he kept slapping your sensitive pussy over and over again, repeating the same demand. 

You had lost count how many obscene wet sounds you’d heard, how many smacks landed directly to your clit until you had finally given up.

“Yes! God, yes, I needed it, I needed it,” you kept crying, turning your head from side to side with vigor, ignoring the strands of hair tangling and sticking to your face.

He didn’t laugh, not at all, just let his cock lay in the crevice of your labia, as his hand, soaked in your mixed smells and liquids, gently cupped your sweaty face. “I know, my little feather, I know," his thumb traced your lower lip and you had won over the desire to bite into his flesh.

Instead of swallowing his finger with your mouth, your pussy generously swallowed his cock, stretching with every inch he pushed inside you. At that moment, it began to seem to you that you were lying through your teeth before. You did need it, how could you not have needed this painful stinging of your insides molding to fit him inside you? How didn’t you beg for the beautiful weight of his body that was pressing your shoulder blades into the floor so hard you knew they’d start bleeding soon? 

“Fuck, heaven and all the sacred places, I needed this, too,” he whispered in your ear wetly, and you felt the press of his full, hairy balls into the skin of your ass. 

With a painful bite, you drew blood from the lip he was just caressing as he started slow, but deliberate thrusting. The curve of his cock made sure that with each thrust he was hitting your g-spot, and it was way beyond your powers to stay quiet. Each push and pull of his hips were experienced musician’s hands on a well tuned guitar, you sang for him, his silly songbird. Ezra didn't hesitate to sing along with his moans, heavy breathing, and perverted compliments. 

Your bodies were tense, yours in search of orgasm, his in an unquenchable need to give it to you.

Thrust and pause and thrust again. Ezra’s body was practically laying on top of yours, his hand unable to hold his weight much longer. The coarse cubic hair around the base of his cock tingled and irritated your delicate, hot skin at first. But the harder he pressed into you, the more this feeling grew into the inescapable pleasure that, in tandem with the precise movements of his cock, became your undoing.

Or maybe a rebirth.

“It is still unfathomable to me as to why you’d want our first time to happen in such an animalistic and violent way,” Ezra’s lips pressed to your temple and you felt the tip of his tongue stealing a tiny drop of sweat from your skin.

“Maybe I am just as insane as you are,” you whispered out, your lids were too heavy to keep them open. Fat globs of his cum were leaking out of your stretched pussy, tickling the skin of your ass.

“You definitely are, my little psycho, who else would fall in love with their slaveowner?”

“Caregiver,” you smiled, pressing your body harder into the man.

[goldcleaver]

I'm gonna put my two thirds of a classics degree to work here

When I said Phaidei can be seen as an allegory for Odysseus and Penelope, I meant it

Penelope encounters the returned Odysseus posing as a beggar. From a mural in the Macellum of Pompeii

Spoiler warnings: 3.0, 3.1, 3.2, as well as leaks towards the end.

TL;DR: Mydei is Penelope, Phainon is Odysseus.

Mydei and Penelope

Now, I know it may seem tempting to say that Mydei, being the big, strong, burly man that he is, is a parallel to Odysseus, but he’s actually Penelope! This whole fever dream of a "theory" actually stems from the parallels between Mydei and Penelope, specifically. Phainon was a secondary thought lmao.

Point 1) The theme of buying time

It cannot be understated just how much of Mydei’s core themes center around buying time, not just for others, but also for himself. 

On multiple occasions, he goes to some pretty extreme lengths to do so, namely in 3.0 when he offers up his own immortal body as a means of keeping Nikador occupied in Castrum Kremnos. In that moment, he completely puts his own safety on the back burner – the team needs to hold Nikador off long enough to render them immortal once more, and Mydei has the solution, no matter the personal cost of dying a couple of times. Later, in 3.1, he puts his own personal feelings aside to shoulder the divinity of Strife, despite the fact that he was hesitant to do so in 3.0, simply because it would be for the best. Then, at the end of 3.1, he completely disregards his own wants and fears, and takes the fight to the Black Tide on his own because he is the only one capable of doing so. By sacrificing himself in this manner, he can buy his fellow Chrysos Heirs enough time to usher in the new dawn, and the miracle of Genesis.

But Mydei doesn’t just buy time for others, he also does so for himself. Throughout 3.0 and 3.1, his story leads up to one massive decision: what to do about the Kremnoans. He is torn between claiming the crown – his birthright – and leading his people back to Castrum Kremnos, or leaving them in Okhema. 

However, to the Kremnoans, Nikador is synonymous with kingship, judging by Krateros’ reaction to Mydei surrendering the Coreflame to Phainon. In Krateros’ eyes, Mydei giving up Nikador’s divine power is the same thing as him “giving up the throne of Kremnos and forsaking his people”. 

As previously stated, Mydei is hesitant to claim Nikador’s coreflame for fear of ending up like his corrupt forebears and leading his people down the wrong path, so obviously he wants to put off that decision for as long as possible. First, he enters a (frankly, pointless) competition with Phainon just to decide who gets to deliver the final blow to Nikador, and gives up his win ridiculously easily if Phainon loses. That way, they can ignore the decision they have to make for a while longer. Then, when Nikador is dead, he is quick to surrender the Coreflame to Phainon, and promptly shuts down Phainon’s attempt to discuss the subject any further. So, by sending Phainon to the trial of divinity, Mydei can avoid making his own decision regarding the fate of the Kremnoans, if we take Krateros’ words about kingship and Nikador’s powers into consideration. Effectively, Mydei makes sure the decision is out of his hands – he didn’t technically reject the Coreflame, after all. 

So how does all of this connect to Penelope, exactly? 

Well, Penelope’s themes also center around buying time – for herself, and for Odysseus. She also has a big decision to make: who should succeed Odysseus as the king of Ithaca, and just like Mydei, she wants to put it off for as long as possible. Naturally, she doesn’t want to choose, and comes up with increasingly desperate ideas to keep the suitors at bay. In the end, she does succeed; she buys Odysseus enough time to return home, and as such she never has to choose a new suitor. Unlike Mydei.

You see, Mydei actually fails in avoiding his decision. In the end, he is forced to take on the Coreflame when Phainon fails the trial. As a result, Mydei has to make a decision regarding his people and his potential kingship. In this sense, Krateros and the rest of the Kremnoans are the suitors, encouraging Mydei (Penelope) to make a choice.

If we view Mydei’s actions through this Penelope-esque lens, we can draw some pretty convincing parallels!

Point 2) The challenge

At the climax of Penelope’s story, right before her reunion with Odysseus, she makes a last-ditch attempt to hold off the suitors by presenting them with a seemingly impossible challenge. She sets up twelve axes and demands that the suitors shoot through them flawlessly using Odysseus’ old bow. What she doesn’t tell the suitors is this: the bow is nigh impossible to string. Then, as a sort of fail safe, she sits down behind the axes. That way, if a suitor succeeds, she is immediately killed and doesn’t have to marry them.

While this is more far-fetched than point 1, a connection to Mydei’s actions can still be made, in the sense that he, too, has made arrangements for the worst case scenario. In case he is corrupted by the Black Tide, and thus cannot buy the Chrysos Heirs enough time to bring about the miracle (i.e buy Odysseus enough time to return to Ithaca), Mydei has arranged a fail safe for himself by telling Phainon about his weak spot. Phainon is the only one who knows about it, and as such, he is the only one who can shoot through the twelve axes with Odysseus’ bow. The parallels may not be perfect, but the narrative is very similar.

Point 3) Sparta/Castrum Kremnos

My last point is their origins. Penelope is Spartan royalty, though she was never its ruler. It’s no secret that Castrum Kremnos is vaguely based on ancient Sparta, and Mydei is the prince-turned-king of Castrum Kremnos. It’s a pretty obvious connection, but I’ve chosen to highlight it, nonetheless.

Phainon and Odysseus 

I'll admit that Phainon's connection to Odysseus is vaguer than Mydei and Penelope’s, but I can totally see it. 

Point 1) The one time is being bought for

Penelope buys Odysseus time to return to Ithaca, Mydei buys Phainon and the other Chrysos Heirs time to a) render Nikador mortal, and b) bring about the miracle of Genesis. Now, post-3.2, we know that Phainon is meant to take over the authority of Kephale. If the plan proceeds smoothly, he will be the last one left alive to reforge the new world with his, in Anaxa’s words, “complete, intact memories”. While we cannot be certain that Mydei knows this, it can still be argued that Phainon himself is the one Mydei is buying time for.

Point 2) Nobody

Odysseus initially evades Polyphemus by calling himself “Nobody”. Phainon is called the “Nameless Hero”, and we have no idea what his real name is. Just like Odysseus, he has crafted a persona for himself.

Point 3) The journey to Ithaca

Phainon going on the Flamechase Journey is his version of Odysseus' journey of going to war and then trying to make it back to Ithaca. They're both put through the wringer a million times over on their journey, and express desires to go back home. In the end, they are both crumbling under the weight of their past actions and losses, and become increasingly more brutal because of it, if Phainon’s behaviour towards Oronyx in 3.0 was anything to go off of.

Also, LEAK WARNING:

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.

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Going off leaks, we know that Phainon is both the Flame Reaver, and the final boss for Amphoreus. For whatever reason, we can guess that he lost his humanity somewhere along the line, and, if you can forgive the EPIC reference, became the monster. In the Odyssey, Odysseus ends his journey by slaughtering the suitors vying for Penelope’s hand, showcasing his potential for great violence, much like Phainon. 

TL;DR: Mydei is Penelope, Phainon is Odysseus.

Now, this was obviously mostly for shits and giggles, but the parallels are pretty convincing, ngl.

Bonus: Phaidei = Patrochilles

Now, additionally: they can ALSO be seen as an allegory for Achilles and Patroclus, especially since the game has already drawn parallels between the Iliad and the Amphoreus story.

The game is obviously hinting towards Mydei being Achilles considering his whole weak spot-thing. Naturally, that makes Phainon Patroclus. If we regard Mydei as the “true” heir to Nikador’s divinity, Then Phainon was technically taking Mydei's place in the trial. Ultimately, he fails to pass, which is a nice parallel to how Patroclus dons Achilles' armour to lead the Myrmidons, and dies against Hector, who Achilles later slays in a fit of rage. In this case, Hector is Nikador, who first dies by the team’s hands during the fight, and then later dies by Mydei’s own hand in his trial.

[missazurerose]

"I believe that man would defend your honor at every turn and take your secrets to the grave. I think he would fight the entire city for you." During a time when the Warrior of Light is unsure of who she can trust, Emmanellain de Fortemps is not particularly helpful at calming her fears. And while Riona has her reservations about the Lord Commander as well, Tataru is convinced this is the start of of something grand.

[itsnesss]

hi can you do a sensei wolf x fem, larusso reader? And can reader be slightly older then sam.

also reader is captain instead of sam

can you also add smut? only if ur comfortable with it.

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 | sensei wolf × fem!reader

summary | secret romance develops between a miyagi-do captain and sensei Wolf during the sekai taikai tournament, leading to an intense and risky night together

warnings | smut, age gap, explicit content, fingering, p in v, protected sex

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The Sekai Taikai had started with a dazzling brilliance, teams gathered in one place, fighting for their respective victories. The roar of the crowd, the intense emotions of each fight, the sweat and exhaustion building up in your muscles... All of this made up the bustling scene around you, but nothing captivated you as much as one single thought. Him.

Sensei Wolf of the Iron Dragons dojo. His steel-like eyes, his imposing figure, his presence so powerful that it felt like the walls bent around him. But it wasn’t just that. From the first moment your eyes met his, something inside you changed. You didn’t know if it was the challenge he emanated, his unwavering posture, or the fact that, even with his authority, there was something human about him that attracted you. Something that, unintentionally, awakened something in you.

You remember the first fight you saw him in. It wasn’t just the way he led his team that caught your attention. It was his gaze. Deep, unshakable, as if everything he did had a purpose. It wasn’t just his physical attractiveness. A born sensei, yes, but there was something more. Something dangerous. Something that piqued your curiosity, even though you knew you should have kept your distance. After all, you were the captain of Miyagi-Do. You shouldn’t get distracted, especially not by someone like him. Someone older.

The tension between you two didn’t go unnoticed. You didn’t speak much, but the looks said it all. Every time you crossed paths, you could feel the electricity in the air. It seemed as if everything came down to those moments when he looked at you.

As the tournament went on, your encounters with him became more frequent. Not in an obvious way, of course. Everything was carefully camouflaged in the bustle, in the hallways, in the corners of the stadium. It seemed like fate was pushing you both to be near each other. And although in your mind you said you shouldn’t get involved, that it wasn’t right, your steps kept drawing you closer to him.

It was the first time you both shared a brief encounter alone when something changed. The rest of the Miyagi-Do team was busy with their training, and you decided to go to the locker room to relax for a few minutes. But when you arrived, you found a familiar figure, but in some way, now impossible to ignore.

Sensei Wolf was there, standing, as if he had been waiting for you. His presence filled the space, but it wasn’t an oppressive one. It was as if the world spun around him, with him at the center. Just being near him made you feel a strange mixture of calm and anxiety. And when his eyes met yours, you couldn’t help but feel a shiver, as if something beyond superficial attraction was at play.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his deep voice echoing in the empty locker room.

You hadn’t expected that question. You hadn’t expected him to speak to you like that. But you couldn’t deny that something in his tone, a genuine kind of interest, made you relax a little.

"Yeah, I just need a moment to breathe." Your words were soft, but at the same time, you felt an internal tension you couldn’t control. You took a step closer without thinking too much about the consequences.

He didn’t say anything but took a step toward you. Somehow, your body reacted before your mind. An impulse, a need to be closer. The brush of his arm against yours made everything in your chest quicken. You didn’t realize when it happened, but somehow, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was as unexpected as it was overwhelming. At first, you didn’t know how to react. It was as if all the training, all the discipline you had built up collapsed in an instant. Wolf’s hands found your waist, and the pressure of his body against yours made you lose yourself in that moment. The heat between you two grew, intensified, and the need for more overtook you both. There was no time to think, only the desire to explore this inexplicable connection that bound you together.

When you pulled away, the air between you was charged with something more than simple desire. It was a shared need, a recognition that there was something more between you two.

"This can’t be," you whispered, your voice low. You knew you should pull away, that you shouldn’t continue this. But you couldn’t help it. Something inside you wanted more.

"I know," he replied, his breath still heavy. He didn’t seem regretful. Rather, he seemed as determined as you to follow through with what had started, even though you both knew it wasn’t right.

From that moment on, you began seeing each other in secret. The encounters were brief, stolen between training sessions, between fights, in any dark corner of the stadium or empty hallways. Every time you met, the desire grew stronger, the connection between you became undeniable. The touch of his skin against yours, the stolen kisses, the furtive caresses, it all became more intense and complicated. No matter what you told yourself, the desire to be with him didn’t fade.

There was something in the way you touched, in the way you looked at each other, that kept you both hooked in this dangerous game. The kisses became more urgent, more passionate. Every time you pulled apart, it was as if the world returned to normal, but inside you knew everything was changing. It was as if the attraction was something stronger than any unwritten rule.

As the captain of Miyagi-Do, you had always kept control, always been the girl everyone expected, the daughter of Daniel LaRusso, the example of what a karate student should be: disciplined, focused, perfect. Nothing made you happier than meeting that expectation, but something about him made you want to break those rules, stop being the perfect daughter of LaRusso for just a moment. But you knew you couldn’t. No one could find out. No one could know what was happening between you two. Especially not your dojo mates, and definitely not your father.

One quiet night after an exhausting day, it happened in a secluded corner. You were there, waiting, when you felt him approaching. His steps were silent, but you knew he was there.

When he found you, without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you toward him with a force that left you breathless. And then, the kiss. It was more intense than ever, filled with everything you both needed, everything you both knew couldn’t last. But in that moment, nothing mattered more than being together.

"This can’t go on," you said, this time with more certainty.

"It doesn’t matter," he replied, looking into your eyes with that intensity only he could have.

He took your hand and led you to his hotel room.

You didn't expect it, but you couldn't refuse either. You disappeared into his arms, inside his room. And it was there that something deeper between the two of you was unlocked.

The door closed behind you, and you approached him.

"This is dangerous," you said, but you knew you wouldn't stop now.

"I know". He smiled, the shine of his white teeth reflected in the darkness. And it was then that everything began.

"Kiss me," you said. You knew what it could mean, but you couldn't avoid it anymore.

He nodded and leaned towards you, his gaze intense. His mouth found yours, and the kiss was more passionate than ever. The desire grew, and your body began to react in a strange way.

His hands slid over your shoulders, down your arms, until they touched the exposed skin of your wrists. The sensation of his fingers against yours was a kind of electric shock that ran through your entire body, making you want more.

The touch of his lips on yours became more intense, more exploratory. Your breath quickened in your chest, and your arms began to wrap around him. You didn't know what to do, but something inside you knew that you didn't need experience to move forward.

The clothes slid down, and the kisses became more intense. It was as if both of them needed something that only they could give. His skin felt smooth against yours. And the touch was a sensation you had never felt before.

The caresses were gentle yet urgent, his hands glided over your skin, meeting the muscles of your arms and legs, until they reached the curve of your hips.

He undressed and approached you. Your body began to react.

"It's okay," he said, his voice deep but calm. His gaze met yours, and you both knew that something else was about to change. Something else was going to happen.

You nodded, and he led you to the bed.

You lay down on the bed, and Wolf approached you. His kisses were wild, exploratory, and his touch was soft yet firm.

"I'm a little nervous," you said in a whisper.

"It's okay, you shouldn't be" he replied. His gaze was intense, yet at the same time reassuring. You knew you could trust him.

You nodded. His fingers slid down your thighs, towards your belly, towards your ribs, until they reached your breasts. The touch on them made you gasp. His fingers found your nipples, and gently caressed them. The sensation was as if your nipples hardened a little more, as if they were responding to his caresses. The desire began to grow in your chest.

Your breath began to quicken a little more in your chest when his fingers found the curve of your thighs. The touch became increasingly urgent, and his fingers began to trace their way downwards.

His fingers traced the path down to your legs, to your knees, to your ankles.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked in a whisper, his lips brushing against your ears.

You nodded, without taking your eyes off his.

"You can stop whenever you want," he said. His voice was deep, calm. But your body seemed to respond to his words. Your breathing began to calm down a bit.

Wolf's fingers found their way to the curve of your breasts, downwards, to your thighs, and to your crotch. The fingers traced the path between your open legs, and the touch on your intimate parts made them harden.

Wolf moved a little closer to you, his erection brushed against your thighs. The sensation overwhelmed you, frightened you. But somehow you knew it was normal. His fingers kept caressing you, kept finding their way to your nipples, to your ribs. And his lips found yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

And it was in that moment that you did it. His fingers found their way inside you, and something strange happened. The pain was intense for a moment, but it quickly turned into pleasure. The fingers traveled their way inside you, and each caress was like a wave of new, strange, and pleasurable sensations.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His breathing was labored, his gaze intense.

You nodded, your breath was also ragged.

The kisses became increasingly intense, and Wolf's fingers continued to explore your intimate parts. The sensation was intense, and you felt your legs opening a little more.

"That's it..." You didn't know what to say. You didn't know how to explain what was happening.

And it was then that the orgasm hit you. It was a wave of pleasure, of new and strange sensations. But somehow, it was something pleasant. In a way, it was liberating. Wolf's fingers withdrew a little, and his kisses became soft, reassuring.

"You're okay" he said. His lips brushed against yours, his breath calm.

"Do you want me to continue?" he asked in a whisper, his lips brushing against your ears.

You nodded, without breaking eye contact. Something inside you felt safe, something told you that you could trust their touch.

"You can stop whenever you want," he said. His voice was deep, calm. But your body seemed to respond to his words. Your breathing began to calm down a bit.

Wolf's fingers found their way to the curve of your breasts, downwards, to your thighs, and to your crotch. The touch was a new sensation, strange but pleasant. The fingers traced the path between your open legs, and the touch on your intimate parts made them harden. It was as if they responded to his caresses, as if they had a life of their own.

Wolf moved a little closer to you, his erection brushed against your thighs. The sensation overwhelmed you, frightened you. But somehow you knew it was normal. His fingers kept caressing you, kept finding their way to your nipples, to your ribs. And his lips found yours in a deep, passionate kiss.

And it was in that moment that you did it. His fingers found their way inside you, and something strange happened. The pain was intense for a moment, but it quickly turned into pleasure. The fingers traveled their way inside you, and each caress was like a wave of new, strange, and pleasurable sensations.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His breathing was labored, his gaze intense.

You nodded, your breath was also ragged.

The kisses became increasingly intense, and Wolf's fingers continued to explore your intimate parts, encountering something you didn't even know what it was. The sensation was intense, and you felt your legs opening a little more.

The fingers continued their journey inward.

And it was then that you saw it. His erection was erect, brushing against your thighs. It was big, hard, but somehow strangely attractive. And something in you wanted to see what you could do with it.

"Can I touch it?" you said in a whisper.

He nodded. His eyes sparkled a little more as he listened to you.

You took his erection between your fingers, and the touch was gentle. The touch against the skin was a strange but pleasant sensation, and something within you seemed to know what to do. You caressed him gently, and I saw his breath stop for a moment.

"That feels good," he said with a shaky voice. His gaze seemed more intense.

You smiled a little, and I kept stroking his erection. The touch was starting to make it harden a little more.

Wolf brought his lips closer to yours, and the kiss was passionate. Their breaths intertwined, their tongues found each other, and their fingers continued to caress your inner thigh.

And it was then that you felt something change. A new warmth, a deeper need. And something inside you wanted his erection to enter you.

"Do you want to do it?" you asked, your breathing had quickened a little more. You didn't know if she was ready for something like this, but something told you she was.

"I've been waiting for this all this time," she replied in a whisper. His gaze met yours.

You nodded, your eyes fixed on his face.

He took a condom from the nightstand, putting it on calmly, and that's how his erection found its way inside you. The touch was gentle at first, but when his head found your entrance, the pain was intense for a moment. Your breath caught, and you felt a slight pain that made you want it a little more.

"Are you okay? Do you want to continue?" he asked between kisses.

You nodded, and his erection slid a little deeper inside. The touch was like something moving inside you. And something strange awakened in your body.

And that's how it moved inward. The touch inside you was intense, it was a completely strange but pleasant sensation at the same time. It was as if he had found you in a place you had never been before. And every caress, every movement of his erection inside you made you feel something new, something deep.

"You are so beautiful," he said in a whisper as he continued moving inside you.

You smiled. His words made you feel safe. His caresses made you feel complete.

Her movements became increasingly faster, increasingly deeper. The kisses became more passionate, the touches more intense.

The sensation took over you. It was like an explosion of pleasure that you couldn't avoid. It was as if they had found you in a new, unknown, but pleasant place.

"Oh my god," you said, breathless.

He nodded his head. His erection kept moving inside you.

He came. The movements stopped for a moment, the touch of his erection inside you took over your entire body. The sensation was deep, intense, strange but pleasant.

When the two of them recovered a bit from the emotional outburst, things began to change. Reality returned, the reality of who they were, of what they had done.

You felt safe in his arms. You felt calm, relaxed. And it was in that moment when you knew that something else had changed. Something deeper than you ever imagined possible. Something that only the two of us knew.

The room had become quiet, but somehow you knew you shouldn't stay there for long. Your Miyagi-Do friends were starting to miss you, as you had disappeared and you didn't want that to reach your father's ears.

But before you left, Wolf hugged you a little tighter, kissing you one last time.

"Thank you," you said.

"You're welcome," he replied. His eyes shone in the darkness, and you smiled.

"I'll leave," you said. I have to go back.

"Yes" he replied, his expression calm, but it couldn't be denied that a shadow of sadness had appeared in his eyes.

You put on your gi as quickly as possible, while he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was as if he were thinking about something. But you couldn't know what it was.

[unfgvien]

lovesong masterlist

pairing - dom!mother rhea x sub!mummyreader

summary - Rhea and Yn, a married couple, struggle with endometriosis, preventing her from carrying a child. They use a sperm donor and carry their first child, Lilly Jane Ripley. Five years later, Yn carries their second child, Austin Lee Ripley, despite significant pain. The story highlights their emotional journey, resilience, and the strength of their relationship despite medical and societal obstacles.

authors note <3

omg hi!! so I had a few people request rhea x reader and mother rhea, so Ive decided to make it into a series so here it is!! this is based on / a continuation of the 'the family she always wanted' story thing (I don't know what to call it) I hope you enjoy it. I dont want this to be half assed and im proof reading all of the chapters and shit

anyways. because im going to try and proof read this all its going to take me a while to post them so please be patient! for those who want rhea content, you are more than welcome to head over to my second page @yajokingyeh yes that me 😭 im dedicating that page to WWE and WWE memes.

so please head over there if you want short and small rhea drabbles and or smuts. that's where they will be posted for now :) I will continue to post my regular works on the other occults I write for as I need to catch up.

oh and also please be very patient with me coz I am at school and im really busy.

masterlist | main masterlist

wattpad - all of the chapters will all be availble on wattpad for those who would rather use that x

chapter list <3

1.0 seeds of a dream [wc; 5.5k]

summary; Rhea and Yn, are devised to find out that yn has endometriosis The condition causes inflammation and pain, impacting yn's fertility. They research fertility treatments like IVF, donor eggs, and surrogacy, but the medical terminology feels impersonal. Their love and commitment guide them through the challenges, proving their resilience and shared dream of parenthood. In a fertility clinic, they face the responsibility of finding potential sperm donors, each contributing to their future child. Their love serves as the foundation for their journey and their shared journey.

2.0 expanding the family [wc; 5.5k]

summary; Yn and Rhea, a couple who have faced infertility treatments and surrogacy, are now ready to face the challenges of parenthood again. Their love for each other and their daughter Lilly serves as a guiding compass as they navigate the unknown and uncertain future together. Throughout their journey, their love remained their anchor, providing comfort and care. Their positive pregnancy test was a testament to their resilience and belief in their love. As their family continued to grow, they created space for the newcomers, preparing a nursery, and celebrating their triumphs. Their love story is about celebrating resilience, commitment, and the power of love in the face of adversity.

3.0 navigating parenthood [wc; ]

summary;

4.0 strengthening bonds [wc; ]

summary;

DO NOT TRANSLATE, COPY PUBLISH OR EDIT MY WORKS, I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORKS BEING PUBLISHED ON ANY 3RD PARTY WEBSITE. © bunbun 2025 - 2027˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚

[f0point5]

Now im imagining Emilia gifting Max a cardbord cutout of himself as a gag gift.. I mean, he got a pillow of himself it's not that far fetched (god I'm so starved of them)

I wanted to write this ages ago and then I totally spaced on it but @nearlynadin brought back the cardboard cut out lore and I just had to!!

(You) didn’t know it at (nineteen)

“And I was thinking-“

“I’m home,” Max’s voice calls from the hallway, bringing an instant smile to your face.

He’s only been gone for the day, back to the factory to root around that tractor looking for the pace of last year, but you’ve missed him.

You smile one last time at your day’s companion before you skip out to the hallway to meet Max.

He’s slipping off his rucksack by the door, sighing heavily. He shrugs off his jacket next, accompanied by another sigh as he starts toeing off his shoes.

“Hey, champ,” you grin, making your way over to him. Max rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours right back. He doesn’t like being reminded of his title much these days, but you feel like it’s your job to make sure he knows that he’ll always be champion to you.

“You’re back early,”

He shrugs, squeezing the back of your neck as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Is someone here?” He asks, looking past you towards the living room.

“No,”

“I heard you talking,” Max counters, his eyes narrowing slightly. There’s an uncharacteristic amount of suspicion in his voice, and his gaze doesn’t hide the fact that he doesn’t believe you.

“Oh,” you smile, deciding it’s not wise to tease him today. “Well, I did a thing,”

Your sheepish smile softens Max instantly, his shoulders sagging in what seems like relief as he looks down at you.

“A thing?”

“I bought you something,” you clarify, taking him by the wrist and pulling him after you down the hallway.

“I thought we agreed no more cats,”

“It’s not a cat. Although it has been said that he has a very feline energy,” you tell him, flashing him a smirk over your shoulder.

“He?” Max almost looks nervous.

“Max,” you drawl, pulling him into the lounge and pointing him in the right direction. “Meet Verstappen 3.0,”

Max gives you a small frown for half a second before he clocks it. The almost-life-size cardboard cutout of him standing by his shelf of trophies. His 2017 self stares back at him with a goofy, trained smile, hands on his hips, a challenge in his eyes.

“What the fuck?“ Real Max says through a wheezing laugh, pointing at it helplessly. “Why?”

“Partly because I got wine drunk one night a couple of weeks ago while you were in MK,” you say with a shrug, “But mostly because of this,” you nod at him, your smile widening as you take in his.

He rarely smiles on factory days anymore. When you talk to him on race weekends, there’s an exhaustion in his voice that you are only starting to get used to. He’s happier at home, but the mere mention of F1 deflates him in a way that reminds you that it’s his job where once it only ever seemed like a passion.

“This what?”

“You,” you say, “smiling,”

This makes him blush. You’re not sure if it’s because of the way you’re looking at him, or because he’s a little embarrassed that you can see how much work has been weighing on him. Even in these bonus years, he still cares so much.

“Plus, I can never resist a sale,” you say, saving him from burning a hole in the floor staring so hard.

“Maybe I was on sale because I have no calves,” Max scoffs now, eyeing the cardboard print. He’s right, the website said life-size but it isn’t, it’s about 10cm short, which is neither here nor there, except all the height is lost in the calves. There’s only a few inches between his knees and his ankles. It makes the whole thing even funnier, as does the look of offence on Max’s face. “I look like I’m in the movie with the short guys and the one with the walking stick,”

“Gandalf has a staff,” you correct, looking over at the cutout. “But yeah, they did you dirty on the height,”

Max scoffs at the gross understatement. “You wouldn’t even go out with me if I was this tall,” he points out, wrinkling his nose as he looks at his younger self.

“True,” you concede, looking him up and down. “You’re kind of pushing it now,”

Max rolls his eyes. “Yes, I know the rule. Five foot ten or over,” he looks back at Baby Max and you wonder idly how the hell he even knows about the 5’10 rule, never mind remembers it. It was something you’d come with before you’d even stopped growing.

You turn to Real Max and slide your arms up around his neck as you step closer to him.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re still kind of short for me,” you say, tilting your head to look up at him. “I broke all my rules for you,”

The words are whispered as you pull him closer, but right as you mean in Max balks.

“I can’t kiss you with that thing watching me,” Max groans, pulling away from you as he keeps one eye on…himself.

“Well, darn, I only got him because I figured you’d finally agree to a threesome if it was with yourself,” you say, winking at him. He squeezes your hip in response.

“Me at that age couldn’t handle you,” he says with a wry smile.

“Oh, you think you have me handled now?”

“Definitely not,” he huffs, letting go of you. He puts his hands on his hips, mirroring the cut-out’s pose, and you fight the urge to laugh at how little he’s changed. “So, where shall we put him?”

“I know the perfect place,”

You grab the cut-out and shuffle along the floor around the couch and over to his sim corner. You place Baby Max behind his set up, between his right side screen and the centre one, so that he’s peeping over the top of it and the unfortunate leg situation is hiding behind the tech.

Pleased with yourself, you turn to Real Max. “Where would a 19 year old Max Verstappen rather be than near a simulator?”

“I can tell you where 26 year old Max Verstappen would rather be,” Real Max says, his voice low, eyes looking strangely dark despite their clear blue colour.

“Do not scandalise Baby Max,” you say in mock indignation, reaching over to cover Baby Max’s ears.

Real Max scoffs. “You have no idea the things he used to think about back then,” he says pointedly as he rounds the couch and comes towards you.

“I’m sure you had a wild imagination,” you tease, “because you were definitely not getting any,”

“Hey,” Max chides, close enough to reach forward and pinch at your exposed thigh. “Don’t be mean,”

“Okay, okay,” you concede. “I know all your fantasies were about me anyway,”

“They were not,”

“Ouch,”

Max shrugs. “You were less possible than a world championship,”

“And yet, you won both. Baby Max would be proud,” you say, glancing over at the cut-out. It’s starting to creep you out now, how the expression never changes. You take Real Max’s hand and start to pull him out of the room. “Come on, let’s go do all the stuff 19 year old you would be jealous of,”

You hear a laugh behind you. “I won’t argue with that.”

[starcurtain]

I just read your post in which you compare PhaiDei with other hoyo mlm ships. It was a really awesome read, I really loved the bit about them being equals especially so I just wanted to let you know during PhaiDeis competition in 3.0 there's actually a third outcome to the scenario in which they both tie and Phainon asks Mydei if he wants to deliver the final blow to Nikador together

It's honestly just feels like the correct answer

Yes, I didn't actually see that there was a tie option until after I went back to re-read the quest text to double check what I was writing in the post, but I agree, a tie is a perfect solution and it should have been easier in-game to actually tie.

Do you think Mydei and Phainon each keep a running tally of their wins so they can remember whether or not it's their turn to come up with a challenge the other guy can obviously excel at better, ensuring their scores stay eternally even?

Mydei: I would never besmirch the honor of Kremnos by deliberately throwing a contest. Also Mydei: I think today's competition should be who can smile longer, though.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

show me where it hurts

Marcus Moreno x gn!nurse!reader

for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 3.0! my prompt was marcus moreno and nurse play, both of which I have never written about before!

summary: the heroics have a clinic on-site, so you're not sure why marcus moreno keeps turning up at yours.

words: 1.9k

warnings: non-graphic description of injury, the author knows nothing about medical care, the author saw 'we can be heroes' once, aphrodisiacs, implied sex pollen, dubcon associated with sex pollen, marcus is a little bit of a pervert, nurse kink, unethical medical care, unethical relations between nurse and patient, oral, reader has no name or description or gender, sorry if you're a marcus stan and I butchered your boy :( lol, subby!marcus, not even proofread oop

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You don’t quite understand it, until you do.

But for months, it makes no damn sense. You know the Heroics have a clinic at headquarters and medics on the team.

So why does the team leader come all the way here to your little walk-in clinic? Why does he pay in cash in full when the on-site doctors are almost definitely part of his benefits package?

You never ask. Not as the months drag to years and Marcus Moreno knocks on your door at any odd hour with no rhyme or reason, bloodied or bruised or both. 

The first time, you didn’t recognize him. He had changed out of the suit into a worn pair of Levis and a soft cardigan patterned in reds and browns. Black framed glasses perched upon his nose, and the only thing you thought unusual about this man, other than his attractiveness, was the strange jagged border of the bite on his calf.

When you asked what type of animal caused the injury, he shrugged. “Alien dog,” he said, voice lilting as if he was asking you. 

“Alien dog?” 

He had the sense to look sheepish. 

When he handed back the clipboard with his information and consent for treatment, you had heaved a heavy sigh. “Maybe lead with this first next time, Mr. Moreno,” you said, ushering him back to your single exam room.

“Sorry, doc,” he said.

“Not a doctor. Didn’t you read your paperwork?” you scolded with a teasing smile. “Or are those glasses just for disguise?”

“Not a doctor?” 

“I’m a nurse practitioner,” you explained. “I do a lot of the same things as a physician. But I don’t have a doctorate, so you can’t call me doctor.”

“You’re a nurse?” he said, and you noticed a red tinge to his face.

“Are you feeling warm, Mr. Moreno?” you asked, reaching for the thermometer and tucking it under his tongue before tugging his pant leg back up to check the borders of the gash for inflamation. 

His temperature was fine but his blood pressure and heart rate were elevated. “I’m going to give you antibiotics,” you said, holding a finger up against his protests. “It doesn’t look infected, but your vitals are off, and ‘alien dog’ makes me concerned.” 

“I’m just… it’s not…” he tried.

“White coat syndrome?” you asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Something like that,” he mumbled, watching the ground with interest. 

When you finally caught up on the news that night, you dropped your mug of room-temperature tea at the sight of the alleged alien dog. Understatement of the fucking century. The creature on the screen with Marcus Moreno’s leg in its jaws was less like a dog and more like a furry alligator. 

It’s not that he comes by frequently, but it’s enough that you’re never surprised to see him. Mutant chickens flooding the streets? Marcus Moreno knocks at your door covered in peck marks. A league of supervillains arrives with a weather manipulator? Frostbitten Marcus Moreno. A hacker sends a hypnobeam through a mall full of holiday shoppers, leading to hours of line dancing? Marcus Moreno lags in with a limp leg. 

This time, though, it’s unclear what his affliction is. Until it isn’t.

He had texted—you had given him your number sometime between the 20th and 50th witching hour visit—but all it said was “coming.” 

It was only 2 p.m., but you flipped the sign to closed anyway, preferring to give Marcus some privacy. It was a good thing, too, since his text was apparently dual-purposed.

He’s splotchy all over like a blossoming rash and sweat-slick. His glasses are in his jacket pocket, having been abandoned when they just kept fogging up. He’s wavering on the spot and you reach out to grab him, freezing when you realize he’s still in his tactical suit. 

He never comes here in costume. He especially never comes here armed, but sure as shit, there are two katanas on his back. 

You reach to yank him inside before he draws attention to himself, but he recoils.

“Don’t!” he yelps. “Don’t t-touch me.” 

Instead, he waits until you step back before he squeezes into the lobby and plasters himself to the wall opposite you. 

“What happened?” you say.

“Don’t know for sure,” he says, panting. “I got hit with some kind of dart.” He holds it out for you to see, as well as you can in the light that filters through the dusty window and flickering, dim fluorescents overhead. It’s small with a very sharp needle and a clear glass body. You can see the viscous remains of a thick pink liquid, akin to Pepto Bismol. 

“Mr. Moreno, this really seems like something beyond my capacity,” you start.

“Please,” he gasps. “I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here, I-I…” 

You sigh. “At least come into the exam room so I can get a better look at you.”

He groans. “Please don’t say things like that,” he mumbles, but inches his way over to the door. 

You go to follow, and he holds up a hand.

“How am I supposed to figure out what’s wrong with you if I can’t come in?” you say with your hands on your hips. 

“You have to stay on the other side of the room,” he says through gritted teeth, backing up against the table when you enter the room and shut the door.

“Start talking.”

“F-fine. I… I feel…” his face is redder than you’ve ever seen. 

It’s then that you notice how he’s shed his leather jacket and is struggling to look nonchalant as he holds it at his waist. 

“Like you took ten Viagra?” you wager.

He groans again, covering his face. 

You can’t help but think it’s adorable. He’s always kind of adorable, like a broad, superpowered puppy. 

“Mr. Moreno,” you start.

“Marcus,” he insists for the hundredth time.

“Marcus,” you acquiesce, “this really is out of my wheelhouse, here. I don’t know how to treat you when you’ve been drugged with a strange aphrodisiac. You need to see medical at headquarters.”

“I did,” he whispers.

“And they wouldn’t help you?” The idea sets your blood aboil. 

“No, they… they couldn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“They said it has to run its course. That I need to… I need to…” but he can’t even finish the sentence. This is not how he wanted any of this to go.

The realization burns through you. “You didn’t come here for an exam. You came here for me to treat you. But then… why did you act like you didn’t know what was wrong?”

"I’m sorry,” he groans again. “You’re going to think I’m a total creep.”

And then it adds up. The way he always visits you. The way he blushes. You thought he was just shy or self-conscious. But no. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “You’ve been coming here for spank bank fodder?” 

“N-not just, oh god, please don’t say it like that. I didn’t-I wouldn’t…” he sighs and gives up. “It didn’t start that way.” 

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat. The disbelief. “What, is it some kind of nurse kink?”

You can tell you’ve hit his weak spot when he full body cringes. 

“I’ll leave. I’m sorry,” he says, mopping the sweat off his forehead with his equally sweaty arm. “I thought if I just saw you that it might be enough to take the edge off.”

“Is that right?” you say, suddenly not finding it very funny. “Take a seat on the table.”

He opens and closes his mouth stupidly.

“Take a seat on the table, Mr. Moreno. I’m going to need to do a full exam. Would you like me to step out of the room while you undress?” 

Both of you are equally floored by your boldness. It feels almost wrong, knowing he’s under the influence, but he had admitted to thinking of you while he jerked off, so you were feeling less guilty about getting off to YouTube compilations of him in action. 

“Are you sure?” Marcus asks, though he’s already unzipping his suit.

You nod, mouth running dry. 

He makes quick work of the suit, sitting before you in a tight pair of purple briefs that strain under the unrelenting pressure of his thick cock. They’re soaked, far more than just pre-cum.

No, it’s very apparent that he’s spilled into his pants multiple times already. 

You tsk softly. “You should have come in sooner, Mr. Moreno,” you murmur, bringing your stethoscope to his bare chest and placing your fingers on the inside of his wrist. You don’t pay attention to the fluttering beats of his heart, though, instead taking in the lithe, sinewy muscle of his arms. 

“Sorry, nurse,” he whispers.

Your lips curl into a satisfied smirk as you tuck the thermometer under his tongue, which darts out, pink and wet, to take it in. You can’t help but moan, imagining a much better use for it. 

He sits squirming on the table, paper crinkling under his ass and a puddle forming in the front, as you continue your exam. Your steady hands move the stethoscope down his back, coaching him softly through deep breaths, and taking the opportunity to feel the planes of his rippling muscles. 

“Sit still,” you scold, and he whines. 

“Please, I can’t take it.” 

“Be a good boy for me, Marcus,” you murmur, and his whole body shudders as he comes, soaking through the saturated cotton and spilling onto the tan padding of the table. 

You can’t stop yourself from swiping a finger through it and bringing it to your mouth to taste, moaning softly.

“You’re killing me,” he groans.

“Hmm, that won’t do. Hippocratic oath and all,” you say, rubbing a hand over his thigh. “Now tell me, Mr. Moreno, where does it hurt?”

“You know where it hurts,” he whines.

“Show me how you were trying to fix it on your own,” you say, ignoring his rising, pathetic whimpers.

He wastes no time freeing his cock from the underwear and fisting it, not needing any lubricant other than his own come. He tugs at it fiercely and you click your tongue at him again.

“I think I see the problem,” you say, pulling his hand away and cradling his heavy balls in your own.

“Can you help me, nurse?” he says, practically sobbing from relief at your touch.

“Oh, I definitely can,” you say, kicking out the metal step and sinking to your knees on it. You think about teasing him, but he’s clearly tortured himself enough, so you just take him into your mouth.

He comes immediately, tearful apologies pouring from his mouth, but you swallow him down and shush him soothingly after, stroking his still-hard cock with one hand. 

“Shh, don’t worry. I can make it feel better,” you say between kitten licks at his sensitive tip. 

He’s writhing on the table again already and sobs in earnest when you take him into your throat and bob your head. 

He fists the exam table, paper shredded under his hands, as you draw orgasm after orgasm from his overspent body until finally, finally, his cock flags a little. His heart rate is steadier, but he’s exhausted, flopped back on the table with tear-stained cheeks. 

“M’sorry,” he whispers again once he’s gone soft.

“Me too,” you admit. “That’s not really how I imagined this going.”

He lifts his head weakly. “You imagined this?” There’s an unmistakable echo of hope.

“Yeah,” you lay your cards on the table. “I was going to tell you I couldn’t treat you anymore first though. Ethics and all that.”

“I was going to ask you out this weekend,” he confesses, tongue loosened by the night’s activities.

“Okay,” you agree.

“What?” 

“Okay, ask me out for this weekend.”

He grins, sloppy and slanted. “Can I take you on a proper date?”

You match his grin. “Mr. Moreno, I thought you’d never ask.”

[pedroshotwifey]

Melted Desire (Wax Play)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x AFAB!reader

W/C: 507

Rating: Mature

A/N: This, although embarrassingly late, is my input for @iamasaddie's Writing Challenge 3.0. I'm sorry it's not much, but it's what I've got. I'm trying very hard to get my ass back online, but it's been hard. Promise I won't be gone forever though. Please never be afraid to reach out to me for anything ♥

*****

You hiss as the hot wax hits your stomach. It’s only a few drops but it still hurts for a delicious moment before it begins to cool into small, hardened droplets on your sensitive skin. Your abdomen flexes and your hips cant up as you try to chase an invisible source of pleasure. 

The first time Oberyn brought up the idea of hot wax, you had been hesitant. Now, as you open your eyes to find your lover’s gaze pinned on yours, you can’t imagine not giving it a chance. His eyes are hungry as they drift from your heaving chest to your parted lips. 

You’re full of lust and adrenaline, your eyes hooded and brows furrowed slightly as you pant short breaths of air. Your entire body is hot despite the goosebumps covering most of it. You can only imagine what you look like to him right now. Needy, maybe. No—desperate sounds about right. 

As if to confirm your thoughts, he watches down on you for a moment before tutting sympathetically and leaning back up. He sets the dripping candle in his hand down on the nightstand, giving him the freedom to gently trail his knuckles on your breasts. He moves his fingers to your left nipple, already covered in red wax, and gives it a careful pinch. Your breath hitches in surprise, your body squirming as he rubs it off. 

Oberyn laughs at your efforts to move even with your restraints. “Poor dove,” his smooth voice tauntingly cuts in. “Don’t worry, you’ll be free of your cage soon enough.” 

He leans down and takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth, making you whine his name. Your wrists strain against the ribbon tying you to the bed as you instinctually try to grab his hair. Your joints ache with how much you’ve been pulling and flexing, but it’s worth it for the excitement it adds. 

Knowing he has full access to your body to do whatever he pleases satisfies something deeper and more complex inside of you. Though you know, of course, that he wouldn't do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Knowing that, is a whole other feeling. To have full trust in a person is a beautiful thing. 

“Oberyn, please,” you beg. Your poor pussy is throbbing, your clit hard and sensitive against the cool evening air coming through the window. You’re shaking with want, trembling from how badly you need release. You feel teeth against your nipple and yelp as Oberyn gently bites down. 

Your heavy breathing is the only thing to be heard throughout the dimly lit room as he lets up. His eyes find yours and the lust, mischief, and love you find swimming in his chocolate irises makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Patience, my love,” he reminds you. “Let me have my fun.” He picks the candle back up and brings it above your inner thigh. You moan as he slowly tilts it to let the melted crimson fall over your skin, knowing you’ll soon indeed be rewarded for your patience.

[ketsumyo]

😈Worst thing you’ve ever done to your muse?  😩 Hardest thing about writing the muse? & ⌨ What’s a situation you’ve always wanted to RP with the muse? 

mun talks about muse | closed

1.0   worst thing you’ve ever done to your muse ?

give her a morally ambiguous shikai AND a conscience *insert evil cackle*

2.0   hardest thing about writing the muse ? ( tagging @aftapati because they asked this question too <3)

the hardest thing about writing tsubaki is also my favourite thing about writing tsubaki.

tsubaki remains one of my most challenging muses because she forces me to think in a way that doesn’t come wholly naturally to me. my other muses tend to approach the world with stark objectivity, prioritising outcomes ( often for the 'greater good' ) over the ethical cost of their actions. they’re unapologetically pragmatic, willingly acting in a way that is morally grey to achieve their goals. 

tsubaki, while capable of coming to the same conclusions, takes an entirely different path to get there. she pauses to acknowledge and weigh what she’s about to do—considering not just the what, but the how and why. it’s her ability to balance pragmatism with this profound reverence that I sometimes struggle to wrap my objective-to-a-fault head around. she’s not an idealist or bound by tradition by any means, but she manages to treat her choices with almost sacred care. i sometimes find it hard to understand how she can act so decisively while holding such deep respect for the act itself. her clarity and complexity feel intuitive, but I don’t always grasp them right away. that push and pull—the way she makes me question my instincts—can be confusing, but it’s also what makes her so fascinating to write.

fun fact: I wanted to make a character like this for two main reasons: 1. because the single coolest thing about bleach is its constant exploration of morality. 2. i’m a cellular and molecular scientist (virology and immunology) working in public health. because of my scientific background, i approach problems clinically in a field that also has to consider the social impact of decisions. having the variability in our team has been super effective, but it's also nice to be able to consider the wider consequences for myself. tsubaki has been practice for me, a way to explore that balance—and it’s been incredibly rewarding !

3.0   what’s a situation you’ve always wanted to RP with the muse ? i wrote a bit here about how i’d love to roleplay decisive-action tsubaki. but another situation i’ve always wanted to explore is her interactions with hitsugaya ( u get this special confession for being a fellow hitsugaya enjoyer ) .

tsubaki, as the eldest daughter of the kuragane clan, has long borne the mantle of responsibility—not just as first daughter, but as the caretaker to four younger brothers, the youngest of which is probably similar in age to hitsugaya himself. she’s incredibly devoted to her family and the obligations tied to her role as first daughter, so much so that it would invariably spill into how she relates to others of a similar age/disposition to her siblings. 

try balancing that with her duty-bound respect for a captain. absolute chaos. she’d be walking a constant line between respect for hitsugaya’s position and inadvertently slipping into elder-sister/mother mode LMAO.

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s5 episode 11 "kill switch" thoughts

after a lovely vacation romp to maine in the last episode, i am wondering where we will visit next. i liked the last one so much that it’s follow-up will face great challenges!! i also have heard that the next one is a fan favorite, i believe? so interested to see where we go from there.

ah, i think i have seen a screenshot of this episode where scully makes a very annoyed face. and it’s fantastic. but that is all i know about it.

another AI episode! buddy, if only the writers could see what we live in now. i mean, they’re probably still alive. but did they picture sentient computer programs writing essays for nurses and doctors and lawyers in school when penning this script? no. they did not. and yes, i have seen these things in my time at college. we are cooked.

post-episode thoughts: bi scully you are SO important to me!!!!!!

anyway! let us begin.

we open at a diner. where someone is typing on a very beat up laptop. covered in duct tape. king of being on a budget.

the waiter asks laptop guy if he wants his coffee warmed up, and he answers with “no, but i’ll buy another one if you’ll leave me alone” which instantly makes me think this guy is like, some sort of terrorist. and he also is coughing. suspiciously.

whatever he is trying to get into, his access has been denied!!!

a mysterious number calls another guy named jackson on his cell phone, saying that his partner stole his money, and he wants to help him get revenge. the voice says his enemy is in the diner… jackson heads out to investigate

and another guy gets a call that the person who wronged him is in the diner!! and then another!!! and another!! there’s going to be a whole meetup!! one of violence!!!

this laptop guy at the diner is just typing, typing, trying to get into… whatever it is that won’t let him in while others arrive. this diner will be making bank tonight if they all get something to eat. but it doesn’t seem like any of the people coming in know each other… tension is very high as everything is quiet and they take their seats. 

computer guy finally does something to get into the system and coughs. menacingly. saying there is nothing that can be done.

and he puts in a CD…. is he gonna blow this place up??!?!?

BUT we will never know! because US marshals come in, and a gunfight erupts!!

nooo, the poor diner :(

intro time….. scully <3

now what is afoot here. and whatever happened to our deep throat 3.0 figure? she was here for a minute and then dipped. will we see her again today?

the agents are here at the diner to investigate the crime scene, trench coats billowing around. how many trench coats do these guys have? they tend to be darker, but i have a light brown one of stereotypical trench coat color, and i wonder if that would pass in their fashion book

the marshals were here to catch a guy named pico salazar who worked for a cartel, but i think the funny part is that he escaped from federal custody 3 months ago and scully had no idea who tf he was. she’s a busy woman!

no mr. salazar was present, however, there were a lot of other criminals at the scene. “mulder, these are street-level coke dealers, minor wholesalers at most” <- that sounded brutal coming from her lmaooo. read them again for me!

“it’s 2:45 in the morning, you mind telling me what it is we’re supposed to be looking for?” <- NOOOO the FBI needs to STOP WAKING HER UP!!! LET HER SLEEP!!! mulder seems wide awake but this is not surprising.

the answer to what they are looking for is: donald gelman, the hacker guy from earlier, who is a silicon valley software pioneer. who had been missing since 1979!!

he was about to make a deal that would turn him into the second bill gates, went hiking the night before, and was never found again??? that’s weird. mulder must have a mental encyclopedia of notable missing persons. among other subjects.

the computer has seen better days

mulder supposes that this was a hit- bring together 8 known criminals, then call the marshals, and a gunfight was inevitable- but scully says gelman was clearly dying, so what was the point of calling a hit?? a great question from someone known for asking great questions

“you want to kill the brain, not the body” <- i don’t like that response, mulder

scully’s driving today. HE STOLE THE LAPTOP?

“mulder, that’s evidence!” “gee, i hope so” <- LMAO??? what the hell is this guy doing. she is so sick of his nonsense i'm crying

he pulls out the CD while scully looks deeply troubled. and it starts playing a nice little song!!! it's called "twilight time". she’s freaked tf out.

he brings the laptop and CD to the lone gunmen, who are nerding out. big day for guys like them. gelman is famous in their circle. they’re gagged to learn he died; “a brother goes down”, says frohike

LMAOOO scully is reading their lone gunmen newspaper while they do whatever the hell it is they do… there’s an article on the front about infrared monitoring… she wants to go home!!!

langly is trying to hack the code keeping them out of the laptop...

scully comes in again with the steel chair of facts and logic: “anyone, uh, think to check his email?”

LMAOOO i paused to write that down and mulder’s face is PRICELESS he looks soooo proud of her 

woah… old email… had a nice little animation of a mailbox!! makes me nostalgic for something i never knew

gelman's email says david is missing and the hunted has become the hunter. i assume that refers to the AI…? the message is from “invisigoth”

LMAOOOOO mulder puts together that the string of numbers is an ID for a shipping container and she looks SO IMPRESSED i’m HOWLLLING she wanted to climb him like a TREEEE 

(author's note: if anyone has this gifset PLEASE tag me in it. scully was alternating between incredible levels of "i am so over this nonsense" and "we should kiss about it" for mulder AND esther. truly a woman at her limit. god. i love her)

off to shipping container land. is that a place where you can just… visit? he’s trying to give scully directions, but i don’t trust his navigation skills. 

why is there loud music playing from this shipping container… goth rave???

they find the right container, but NOOOO, HE GOT ZAPPED by whoever was inside!!!! she’s worried!! “i’m alright, go, get her!” <- that’s a man focused on the mission

scully is running and running and she tackles this mysterious woman!!! but she zaps scully!! “stop or i’ll shoot”, scully warns, and you KNOW she isn’t messing around!!

BAM! shoot she does. didn't land on her, but it must have been close

(the taser CGI is killing me lmaooo)

yeah, you better surrender. “thank you", scully says <- LMAOOOO she’s had ENOUGH and pins her against the wall to handcuff her

it seems she was just living here… oh, invisigoth is mad!!! she tells scully to bite her!!! i would be mad too tbh but like. they have a good reason to be there! gelman is dead! so maybe let’s be a bit more professional!!!

her computer is beeping beeping beeping…. she says it’s a missile locking onto them?

WOAH scully stopped her with a hand to the chest 😳 

(it was at this point i was Noticing Things between them...)

but mulder believes that they really are going to get blown up!!! scully is PISSED!! she has had ENOUGH!!! she hit a bunch of storage containers on the way out and sure enough, they narrowly missed an explosion….. what does this goth girl know…!!!

lmaooo, now for a nice little drive in the country while they figure out wtf to do with the goth in the backseat. mulder’s stuck in the passenger seat, his legs barely fitting in there. 

mulder clocks that this is about a sentient AI that i guess gelman let loose online to evolve (uh, okay)

“what was your role in all of this? were you the bass player?” <- LMAO SCULLY HATES THIS WOMAN (mulder’s side eye is fantastic as well)

invisigoth recites all her academic credentials (of which there are many, and they are deeply impressive) and then when scully asks her to explain what she did for gelman she says “you wouldn’t understand” ohhh the girls are fighting!!! 

scully pulls over at some random place to get out of the car and yell at mulder!!! we have to stop waking her up at 2 in the morning PLEASE! she thinks it’s all nonsense. maybe invisigoth launched the bomb herself!!!

but invisigoth says that the AI knows her voice and will strike if she talks on the phone… they were working with the AI and then one day it wouldn’t “come when we called it” (is this like a puppy?)

scully’s face is so funny lmaoo

“it’s not a program anymore; it’s wildlife loose on the net” <- i do not think AI really works like that, but i don’t know enough about it to dispute the situation 

invisigoth says that the AI killed david because he was trying to kill the AI!!! and twilight time CD is the kill switch

so they take her to the lone gunmen, who are starstruck!! meanwhile scully is gagged to learn her name is “esther nairn” LMAOOO

“are you gonna take off my cuffs, or do i have to do this with my tongue?” “you don’t want to take a vote”, says mulder <- LMAO WHY TF DID SCULLY DO THAT WITH HER TONGUE I'M CRYINGGGGG

am i sensing some bisexual undertones… like, it’s not just me, right…?

(this was the point where i had to actually Pause and make a post to make sure i wasn't just imagining all of this. after the tackling, the cuffing, the way scully stopped esther by her chest, scully lowkey bullying her, being gagged her name is esther, AND the tongue thing... and thankfully, multiple tumblr users confirmed that it was not, in fact, just in my head. which i am deeply thankful for)

scully’s taunting esther about the AI tracking her. so i guess now they have to go to the physical location of the hardware and give it the kill switch. sure. i guess.

frohike is admiring esther. frohike needs to be sprayed with a water bottle like a naughty cat.

SCULLY IS SO MAD LMAOOO “why don’t you just call him? oh, right; death from above” I LOVE HER ANGRY BAHAHA

(scully flirting by being mean is so fucking funny. i don't know if i would have anticipated that for her character, but now that i've seen it, i embrace it. it was like she hated this woman so much but was also unfortunately attracted to her and she wasn't going to let those seemingly mutually exclusive things get her down)

oh my god, when esther mentioned needing someone that works for the government to do her little hacking scheme, scully looks SO angrily in mulder’s direction… and he really is SO pretty….

i always take time to appreciate how pretty scully is. now we get one of those moments for mulder, as well.

so, off to virginia to do some crime. mulder is here alone and must scale a pole to get to the optic fiber connection? sure, why not. meanwhile, scully sleeps at the lone gunmen head quarters… but invisigoth slash esther has set herself free!!

she’s holding scully at gun point!!! “buenos dias, muchacha” <- okay so i’m not the only one seeing this? right. 

(deep, resigned scully sigh)

wait, i was so invested in whatever the hell it is these two have going on, i didn’t even acknowledge that all the lone gunmen were sleeping together LMAOOO on their little couches!!! aww. best buddies having a sleepover!!

but mulder is… at another pole? 

he calls her “scully?” (most flat, angry voice you have ever heard) “yup.” LMAOOO

he found an abandoned chicken farm with a T3 connection and she says “dandy” <- LMAOOOO

“where are you? it sounds like you’re driving” “you are correct, sir” BAHAHAAAAA

NOOOO, ESTHER HAS HER AT GUNPOINT TAKING HER TO FIND DAVID and she looks SOOOO OVER IT. do not hurt her, esther.

nah, you can’t get between mulder and scully like that… NOT COOL.

mulder’s in the damn trees of virigina??? and he finds a trailer??? 

meanwhile esther, who is now wearing a lone gunmen badge on her jacket, finds an entirely destroyed house where she meant for david to be!!! this is not promising

scully reaches for the handcuffs and unlocks herself from the wheel…. but esther is sobbing and doesn’t notice. did she put her hand back in there to disguise it??

scully’s reaching for the gun…. WOAH esther hands it over to her “go ahead. put me out of my misery”

(scully.exe does not compute. hot goth holding me hostage is now crying in my car: ????)

OH MY GOD, SCULLY PUTS HER ARM ON ESTHER’S SHOULDER WHILE SHE SOBS

(she might be a hater, but even more than that, scully is a lover. gently caressing the sobbing lady who just asked her to kill her)

WOAHHH loud ass noise as mulder approaches this trailer YEESH!!! damn, i had to turn the volume wayyy down!! no warning!!! 

whatever is in that mysterious trailer sees him on a screen…. is this the house of the AI? is he going in there??? will he be blowed up??

his fingerprint is captured and matched!!

WAIT, WE SEE MORE OF HIS PROFILE….

oxford university AB in psychology, graduated summa cum laude in 1982, quantico in 1984, assigned to violent crimes in 1988, x files in 1990….

SO THAT MAN GRADUATED FROM OXFORD IN 3 YEARS WITH A BA AND THAT’S ALL? he definitely carries himself with the air of a dude who did his masters is all i’m saying. maybe that's just what happens when a character is played by a guy who went to 2 different ivy league schools.

idk how much of this i should subscribe to because… god only knows if it will reflect canon or not. would like to get one of these snippets of their whole careers for scully. just so i know what to keep and discard in my fool's errand of calculating her timeline.

wait, back to the wreckage of the house that was exploded with scully and esther. “i lied to you”, she says. okay. so this is getting intimate. 

“imagine being mingled so completely with another, you no longer need your physical self- you’re one” damn. that’s crazy. and also now i am definitely NOT imagining these undertones. like at this point, they’re overtones.

she was going to live forever with david in the AI, but gelman stopped it, because he was afraid of what would happen.

ohhhh, esther finds a picture of her and david in the wreckage :( she says she loved him so much… writers knew it was getting a little too gay lmao

(frankly, i see this as a win for bisexuality)

scully points out that maybe david wasn’t there when everything exploded; maybe he was somewhere else. very thoughtful to console your crying kidnapper in this way, scully.

mulder, meanwhile, is climbing under the trailer, looking for clues. he’s unscrewing something while a little robot on the inside roams around!! aww it’s kinda cute!!! 

he entered from below and climbs in to find a maze of wires and endless rows of computers AND BLEH A DEAD GUY????????????? he looks like the life was sucked out of him!!!! and damn, it is david!!!!!! EWWW YUCKY

oh shit, mulder is being strapped into the same contraption that must have killed david….. this is not looking good!!!

he wakes up in a burn unit treatment wondering wtf is going on… oh, his arms are really burnt and they’re telling him to relax. this is not helpful!!! 

“is it bad?” “you’re in good hands” “my arms hurt” awww poor sweaty burned man :( around 800 people are wheeling him in…. and he sees a huge knife???? for the chopping off of arms??

is this some sort of dream scenario…? these nurse outfits are too weird…

“no, wait… call my doctor. you have to call… my doctor. call dr. scully. please call dr. scully” <- OMG NOOOOO he's scared and he describes her as his doctor… god, can you imagine????

(this gave me ideas of doctoring. which we have already seen in extreme scenarios, but can you imagine him being like "ugh, i have a headache" and she just drops into MD mode. i would like to picture it very much)

this old man is approaching him, and the nurses have weirdly long nails…. man, i don’t like that at all…. he’s being injected with stuff and a saw is buzzing next to his head……. this must be a terrible dream

back in the real world, scully cannot reach him!! esther says this is because the AI has adjusted to her voice on scully’s phone

they are racing to that chicken farm to try and cut it off… esther is using dial up in the car. yo, did dial up work in the CAR??? that is crazy. i could have been playing neopets on the go.

mulder is being visited by a scary evil nurse… did they cut his arms off….. NO!! just one arm!!! oh god. i never wanted to see his arm cut off.

WAIT, WHY IS THIS EVIL FANTASY NURSE WEARING A CROSS NECKLACE LIKE SCULLY?? hey. let’s unpack that at a later date. while she holds him down and says they’re evil and they want something from him.

HOLY FUCK SHE’S SMOTHERING HIM WITH A PILLOW???? “shh, or they’ll hear you” what da hell.

scully and esther are reaching a bridge… but the AI has found them!!! they’re right near a flammable tanker truck!!!

scully climbs up ONTO the truck of the nearest driver to tell him to MOVE and i am shocked by her truck climbing talents

meanwhile, esther is on the bridge that is now moving!! scully’s running after her, telling her to drop the laptop!!! and at the last second she throws it out to the water.

wait. what the fuck is cooking in mulder’s subconscious? why are three nurses rubbing him while he lays under a crucifix. and then he says he has a good dream??? and then she smiles and says it wasn’t a dream.

i don't like that. not one bit.

nurse nancy, you’re freaking me tf out. she says he has to tell “them” about the kill switch… the AI must be concocting some sort of weird nightmare thingy??

they took both of his arms!!!

SCULLY COMES IN WITH A GUN?? AND STARTS BEATING UP THE WOMEN?? LMAOOO THAT SPIN KICK WAS CRAAAAZY

what the hell. 

she’s yelling in his face while he sits there with no arms, asking if they have the kill switch… then he says “of course we do” and kicks her with his feet???

and he breaks the computer simulation???

omg, the scully computer model is killing me…

we should unpack that mixture of his worst fears and deepest desires (arms cut off, nurses touching and torturing him, religious imagery, scully coming in to save the day action hero style) but frankly i don't really want to think about such things at the time. i'm cool with certain parts of mulder's psyche not being analyzed.

he’s calling out to her!!! “scully, help! help!” but no one is around!!!!

esther and scully pull up to the chicken farm place and find his car…. esther is calling “here kitty kitty”, but we have to let her do her own thing…. 

they are also shocked by the terribly loud noise which scully quickly silenced with a few well aimed shots…. that is a woman who get things done!

mulder’s calling out to her!!! but the AI inserts him with more goo and he’s gone!!!

she’s sneaking in through the bottom of the trailer like he did, but she shoots tf out of the little robot i previously thought was cute. good. serves the evil robot right. and lord, she’s beautiful as she sneaks in. with esther behind her. 

they find david all sucked out of life. and scully sees mulder in the contraption. “mulder, can you hear me?” <- nooo, the robot is sneaking up on them!!!! 

the robot wants the kill switch!! esther had it in her pocket!! but if she gives it to the AI, it will “vaccinate” itself against the virus!!! this seems like late in the episode to introduce this idea, but again, i say sure, why not?

mulder is being zapped and scully says to put the kill switch in NOW!!! she goes and shoves it in herself!!! she said idgaf if this AI blows up the world, i need him safe!!!

holy FUCK!!!! “you’re gonna be okay, i’m gonna get you out of here” she says to his limp body as twilight time plays…

(oh, i'm emotional as she tries to lead him away..........)

but esther is frantically typing….

she’s crying… no… i realize what is happening as she tells scully to leave……

despite the imminent risk of explosion, scully comes back for esther… “you don’t listen, do you?” <- ohhhh…. esther strapped herself into the machine thingy!!!

scully, run!! take that injured man and beat it!!!!! esther does not wish to be saved!!

bam!!! the machine blows sparks and then it is annihilated from the sky!!!!

scully is guiding his barely conscious body through the woods…. then they visit the scene later

mulder ponders if esther was able to upload herself into an artificial life

“electrons chasing each other through a circuit- that isn’t life, mulder” “yeah, but what are we but impulses- electrical and chemical- through a bag of meat and bones? you’re the scientist, you tell me”

back at the lone gunmen's lab, their computer reads “BITE ME” in red letters against a black background!! esther!! she is here!!

(do the lone gunmen have a new friend?? can she be called upon to help during tricky situations?? or is she happily frolicking in the internet with david?? or is the answer that she can do both??)

cutscene to nebraska, where kids are playing with a football. a trailer is locked behind a fence, where one of the kids threw the ball. he goes in to fetch it…. but he is being watched by a camera!!!

NO!!! so did the AI live??? and somehow migrate to nebraska??? to watch random children?

for my own sanity, i choose to believe no ❤️

okay, so post episode thoughts: this was definitely a really, really good standalone ep. we had the whole emotional arc, and then the standard “well gee, i think it’s still out there” just when you think there’s hope.

i thought the premise sounded boring, and it actually turned out to be pretty interesting. we saw these weird sexual-ish fantasies of mulder being torn apart and scully saving the day, which are interesting, even if it's not exactly what i wanted to watch. and in the real world we saw her cradling his limp body out of the woods! which is exactly what i DO want to see!

and the skeptic was skeptical of science! but computer science is like, totally different from chemistry and stuff, so i can’t really blame her. she was PISSSSSED to be woken up in the middle of the night and then dragged on a wild goose chase!!! even pulling over the car just to yell at mulder!!! that is real fury!!

and i SWEAR i did not imagine that tension. she was attracted to esther but also mad as hell at her. we've all been there, scully. great insight into scully's type. she seems to like people who are terribly smart.

like i said before, i thought it was a really good episode!!! i’m not sure if it would make my top episodes list, but it would be close if not. i grew attached to esther, and i hope that she becomes the 4th lone gunman and offers insight from her digital abode, and that whenever they’re stumped they can turn to her and say “esther, what do you think?”. and she can beep beep boop and come up with a response. or maybe they can tell her about the latest movies and scientific discoveries. hard to imagine what the digital afterlife looks like and the capability for interaction between the real and digital worlds.

call his doctor…

[survivingandenduring]

I’m really going to enjoy working my way through these

The ones I’ve already read have all been 🔥🔥

So much talent here 💜

a.k.a. WRITING CHALLENGE 3.0

ONCE AGAIN I AM HUMBLED AND GRATEFUL TO SHARE THIS PLATFORM WITH DOZENS OF TALENTED CREATORS THAT ARE DOWN TO HAVE SOME FUN EVEN WHEN THE REAL LIFE DEADLINES ARE KILLING US! I LOVE YOU, MY BEAUTIFUL KINKSTERS, THANK YOU FOR BUILDING THIS AMAZING COMMUNITY

STRAWBERRY SUGAR by @janaispunk | oberyn x food play OH, SUMMER NIGHTS by @ozarkthedog | joel x exhibitionism I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU SAY by @hellfire-state-of-mind | pero x praise kink NEEDY by @xdaddysprincessxx | din djarin x somnophilia LITTLE GIRL WITH A BIG MOUTH by @missredherring | joel x dvp UNIQUE by @vivian-pascal | dieter x foot fetish TRUST IS BINDING by @pedgito | lucien x sensory deprivation DRIPPING RED by @frenchiereading | lucien x blood play THE DETECTIVE by @milla-frenchy | tim x humiliation PLEASER by @always-andromeda | javi g x impact play THREE'S A CROWD by @amanitacowboy | javi p x threesome ADDICTED by @aurorawritestoescape | max p x daddy kink FEVERED FLAME by @joelalorian | marcus p x temperature play GOOD by @burntheedges | clint x choking MINDFUCK by @whatsnewalycat | dave x hypnokink BONDAGE by @survivingandenduring | javi g x bondage [edit] SUMMERTIME SADNESS by @katiexpunk | mr. ben x orgasm denial CATCH AND RELEASE by @nothoughtsjustmeds | frankie x hunter/prey TONGUE TIED by @chaotic-mystery | ezra x overstimulation VOICE by @djarinmuse | ted garcia x voice kink SHOW ME WHERE IT HURTS by @corazondebeskar-reads | marcus m x nurse play PRIVATE EYES by @syd-djarin | jack daniels x voyeurism NOTHING'S GOING TO TAKE YOU FROM MY SIDE by @quinnnfabrgay-writes | javi p x anal CRAVING by @iamasaddie | ezra x cnc oberyn x wax play by @pedroshotwifey SOON din djarin x pet play by @thirtysevenodddogs SOON ted garcia x dry humping by @penvisions SOON

enjoy your reading [and watching] and don't forget to give every author some love and kindness!

[dalekofchaos]

Rock inserting himself into the Wrestlemania main event hurts everyone who built themselves up for a main event spot

I'm sorry, but Roman vs Rock hurts everyone.

It hurts Seth and Drew, since that's the obvious direction now that Punk is out of action. Oh and now it gets even better. Now they wanna unify both belts(again) You introduced a new world title when they refused to have Roman drop the belt to Cody, tried to legitimize it, buried the title, buried the champion holding it and want to unify it 8 months later. Y'know what would have been the best solution to all of this? Having Drew go after Seth so it's now Seth vs. Drew, & you still keep Cody vs. Roman. Drew taking Punk's spot in the Seth match would make so much sense for his current character.

It hurts Rhea and Becky. This is Becky's Rocky story and this is Rhea's chance to finally main event Wrestlemania and finally proving her worth as Women's Champion when this stupid fucking company refuses to use her as said Women's champion

It hurts Bayley and Iyo. Bayley FINALLY wins the Royal Rumble and looks to be getting a main event spot now that Punk is out of action and there is a story behind it. Bayley and Iyo now are not main eventing.

Neither women's matches are main eventing Wrestlemania. AGAIN.

It hurts Cody. He never should've lost last year. Then they gave him shit as an excuse to "face adversity" a nonsensical Brock Lesnar feud with no rhyme or reason, a bad Shinsuke feud. I'm sorry Shinsuke is not who he used to be in NXT and he just has go away heat with me, that feud was bad. And the nonstop Judgement Day interruptions. Cody has been eating shit all year, he finally wins the Rumble and now he gives that spot up to The Rock and looked like a putz in the process and gave up said spot to a man who is bad at promos in this day and age, gassed 5 minutes into a brawl and would not survive a main event match against Roman.

Cody just doing a 180 and challenging for Seth's participation trophy championship is just bad booking. Roman's title is STILL the championship that his father lost. It is THE WWE Championship. Fucking over the story in favor for Dwayne is bad booking and bad writing. No one wants Dwayne and this is coming from someone who isn't that big of a Cody fan.

Who does this benefit? It doesn't benefit Roman. He doesn't need to be legitimized as the Head of the Table. HE'S ALREADY HEAD OF THE TABLE AND HAS GOTTEN A RECORD BREAKING REIGN. HE DOES NOT NEED IT!

Rock does not need to be the one to break Roman's reign. What does it say that no one could break the reign? Not Cody, LA Knight, Sami, Orton or Drew can do it, but Rock can?

He used his power as a TKO board member to force the match and killed two years worth of build up in Cody Rhodes for a part timer that was gassed against Jinder. JINDER! and you fucking expect me to believe he's gonna last an entire match against Roman Reigns? I hope the fans boo him out of the fucking building.

Congrats, you buried your entire roster to inflate Dwayne Johnson's already inflated ego.

Things The Rock has ruined to get his way:

Ruined the fast & furious franchise

Killed DCEU with Black Adam

Lost $60 million dollars in the XFL 3.0 and had a tv deal so bad he had to merge with the USFL just to continue

Just ruined the biggest storyline in WWE in the best wrestling boom period since the attitude era

Congrats Dwayne, hope it was worth it 🙄

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Edward Schlosser

Published: Jun 3, 2015

I’m a professor at a midsize state school. I have been teaching college classes for nine years now. I have won (minor) teaching awards, studied pedagogy extensively, and almost always score highly on my student evaluations. I am not a world-class teacher by any means, but I am conscientious; I attempt to put teaching ahead of research, and I take a healthy emotional stake in the well-being and growth of my students.

Things have changed since I started teaching. The vibe is different. I wish there were a less blunt way to put this, but my students sometimes scare me — particularly the liberal ones.

Not, like, in a person-by-person sense, but students in general. The student-teacher dynamic has been reenvisioned along a line that’s simultaneously consumerist and hyper-protective, giving each and every student the ability to claim Grievous Harm in nearly any circumstance, after any affront, and a teacher’s formal ability to respond to these claims is limited at best.

What it was like before

In early 2009, I was an adjunct, teaching a freshman-level writing course at a community college. Discussing infographics and data visualization, we watched a flash animation describing how Wall Street’s recklessness had destroyed the economy.

The video stopped, and I asked whether the students thought it was effective. An older student raised his hand.

”What about Fannie and Freddie?” he asked. “Government kept giving homes to black people, to help out black people, white people didn’t get anything, and then they couldn’t pay for them. What about that?”

I gave a quick response about how most experts would disagree with that assumption, that it was actually an oversimplification, and pretty dishonest, and isn’t it good that someone made the video we just watched to try to clear things up? And, hey, let’s talk about whether that was effective, okay? If you don’t think it was, how could it have been?

The rest of the discussion went on as usual.

The next week, I got called into my director’s office. I was shown an email, sender name redacted, alleging that I “possessed communistical [sic] sympathies and refused to tell more than one side of the story.” The story in question wasn’t described, but I suspect it had do to with whether or not the economic collapse was caused by poor black people.

My director rolled her eyes. She knew the complaint was silly bullshit. I wrote up a short description of the past week’s class work, noting that we had looked at several examples of effective writing in various media and that I always made a good faith effort to include conservative narratives along with the liberal ones.

Along with a carbon-copy form, my description was placed into a file that may or may not have existed. Then ... nothing. It disappeared forever; no one cared about it beyond their contractual duties to document student concerns. I never heard another word of it again.

That was the first, and so far only, formal complaint a student has ever filed against me.

Now boat-rocking isn’t just dangerous — it’s suicidal

This isn’t an accident: I have intentionally adjusted my teaching materials as the political winds have shifted. (I also make sure all my remotely offensive or challenging opinions, such as this article, are expressed either anonymously or pseudonymously). Most of my colleagues who still have jobs have done the same. We’ve seen bad things happen to too many good teachers — adjuncts getting axed because their evaluations dipped below a 3.0, grad students being removed from classes after a single student complaint, and so on.

I once saw an adjunct not get his contract renewed after students complained that he exposed them to “offensive” texts written by Edward Said and Mark Twain. His response, that the texts were meant to be a little upsetting, only fueled the students’ ire and sealed his fate. That was enough to get me to comb through my syllabi and cut out anything I could see upsetting a coddled undergrad, texts ranging from Upton Sinclair to Maureen Tkacik — and I wasn’t the only one who made adjustments, either.

I am frightened sometimes by the thought that a student would complain again like he did in 2009. Only this time it would be a student accusing me not of saying something too ideologically extreme — be it communism or racism or whatever — but of not being sensitive enough toward his feelings, of some simple act of indelicacy that’s considered tantamount to physical assault. As Northwestern University professor Laura Kipnis writes, “Emotional discomfort is [now] regarded as equivalent to material injury, and all injuries have to be remediated.” Hurting a student’s feelings, even in the course of instruction that is absolutely appropriate and respectful, can now get a teacher into serious trouble.

In 2009, the subject of my student’s complaint was my supposed ideology. I was communistical, the student felt, and everyone knows that communisticism is wrong. That was, at best, a debatable assertion. And as I was allowed to rebut it, the complaint was dismissed with prejudice. I didn’t hesitate to reuse that same video in later semesters, and the student’s complaint had no impact on my performance evaluations.

In 2015, such a complaint would not be delivered in such a fashion. Instead of focusing on the rightness or wrongness (or even acceptability) of the materials we reviewed in class, the complaint would center solely on how my teaching affected the student’s emotional state. As I cannot speak to the emotions of my students, I could not mount a defense about the acceptability of my instruction. And if I responded in any way other than apologizing and changing the materials we reviewed in class, professional consequences would likely follow.

I wrote about this fear on my blog, and while the response was mostly positive, some liberals called me paranoid, or expressed doubt about why any teacher would nix the particular texts I listed. I guarantee you that these people do not work in higher education, or if they do they are at least two decades removed from the job search. The academic job market is brutal. Teachers who are not tenured or tenure-track faculty members have no right to due process before being dismissed, and there’s a mile-long line of applicants eager to take their place. And as writer and academic Freddie DeBoer writes, they don’t even have to be formally fired — they can just not get rehired. In this type of environment, boat-rocking isn’t just dangerous, it’s suicidal, and so teachers limit their lessons to things they know won’t upset anybody.

The real problem: a simplistic, unworkable, and ultimately stifling conception of social justice

This shift in student-teacher dynamic placed many of the traditional goals of higher education — such as having students challenge their beliefs — off limits. While I used to pride myself on getting students to question themselves and engage with difficult concepts and texts, I now hesitate. What if this hurts my evaluations and I don’t get tenure? How many complaints will it take before chairs and administrators begin to worry that I’m not giving our customers — er, students, pardon me — the positive experience they’re paying for? Ten? Half a dozen? Two or three?

This phenomenon has been widely discussed as of late, mostly as a means of deriding political, economic, or cultural forces writers don’t much care for. Commentators on the left and right have recently criticized the sensitivity and paranoia of today’s college students. They worry about the stifling of free speech, the implementation of unenforceable conduct codes, and a general hostility against opinions and viewpoints that could cause students so much as a hint of discomfort.

I agree with some of these analyses more than others, but they all tend to be too simplistic. The current student-teacher dynamic has been shaped by a large confluence of factors, and perhaps the most important of these is the manner in which cultural studies and social justice writers have comported themselves in popular media. I have a great deal of respect for both of these fields, but their manifestations online, their desire to democratize complex fields of study by making them as digestible as a TGIF sitcom, has led to adoption of a totalizing, simplistic, unworkable, and ultimately stifling conception of social justice. The simplicity and absolutism of this conception has combined with the precarity of academic jobs to create higher ed’s current climate of fear, a heavily policed discourse of semantic sensitivity in which safety and comfort have become the ends and the means of the college experience.

This new understanding of social justice politics resembles what University of Pennsylvania political science professor Adolph Reed Jr. calls a politics of personal testimony, in which the feelings of individuals are the primary or even exclusive means through which social issues are understood and discussed. Reed derides this sort of political approach as essentially being a non-politics, a discourse that “is focused much more on taxonomy than politics [which] emphasizes the names by which we should call some strains of inequality [ ... ] over specifying the mechanisms that produce them or even the steps that can be taken to combat them.” Under such a conception, people become more concerned with signaling goodness, usually through semantics and empty gestures, than with actually working to effect change.

Herein lies the folly of oversimplified identity politics: while identity concerns obviously warrant analysis, focusing on them too exclusively draws our attention so far inward that none of our analyses can lead to action. Rebecca Reilly Cooper, a political philosopher at the University of Warwick, worries about the effectiveness of a politics in which “particular experiences can never legitimately speak for any one other than ourselves, and personal narrative and testimony are elevated to such a degree that there can be no objective standpoint from which to examine their veracity.” Personal experience and feelings aren’t just a salient touchstone of contemporary identity politics; they are the entirety of these politics. In such an environment, it’s no wonder that students are so prone to elevate minor slights to protestable offenses.

(It’s also why seemingly piddling matters of cultural consumption warrant much more emotional outrage than concerns with larger material implications. Compare the number of web articles surrounding the supposed problematic aspects of the newest Avengers movie with those complaining about, say, the piecemeal dismantling of abortion rights. The former outnumber the latter considerably, and their rhetoric is typically much more impassioned and inflated. I’d discuss this in my classes — if I weren’t too scared to talk about abortion.)

The press for actionability, or even for comprehensive analyses that go beyond personal testimony, is hereby considered redundant, since all we need to do to fix the world’s problems is adjust the feelings attached to them and open up the floor for various identity groups to have their say. All the old, enlightened means of discussion and analysis —from due process to scientific method — are dismissed as being blind to emotional concerns and therefore unfairly skewed toward the interest of straight white males. All that matters is that people are allowed to speak, that their narratives are accepted without question, and that the bad feelings go away.

So it’s not just that students refuse to countenance uncomfortable ideas — they refuse to engage them, period. Engagement is considered unnecessary, as the immediate, emotional reactions of students contain all the analysis and judgment that sensitive issues demand. As Judith Shulevitz wrote in the New York Times, these refusals can shut down discussion in genuinely contentious areas, such as when Oxford canceled an abortion debate. More often, they affect surprisingly minor matters, as when Hampshire College disinvited an Afrobeat band because their lineup had too many white people in it.

When feelings become more important than issues

At the very least, there’s debate to be had in these areas. Ideally, pro-choice students would be comfortable enough in the strength of their arguments to subject them to discussion, and a conversation about a band’s supposed cultural appropriation could take place alongside a performance. But these cancellations and disinvitations are framed in terms of feelings, not issues. The abortion debate was canceled because it would have imperiled the “welfare and safety of our students.” The Afrofunk band’s presence would not have been “safe and healthy.” No one can rebut feelings, and so the only thing left to do is shut down the things that cause distress — no argument, no discussion, just hit the mute button and pretend eliminating discomfort is the same as effecting actual change.

In a New York Magazine piece, Jonathan Chait described the chilling effect this type of discourse has upon classrooms. Chait’s piece generated seismic backlash, and while I disagree with much of his diagnosis, I have to admit he does a decent job of describing the symptoms. He cites an anonymous professor who says that “she and her fellow faculty members are terrified of facing accusations of triggering trauma.” Internet liberals pooh-poohed this comment, likening the professor to one of Tom Friedman’s imaginary cab drivers. But I’ve seen what’s being described here. I’ve lived it. It’s real, and it affects liberal, socially conscious teachers much more than conservative ones.

If we wish to remove this fear, and to adopt a politics that can lead to more substantial change, we need to adjust our discourse. Ideally, we can have a conversation that is conscious of the role of identity issues and confident of the ideas that emanate from the people who embody those identities. It would call out and criticize unfair, arbitrary, or otherwise stifling discursive boundaries, but avoid falling into pettiness or nihilism. It wouldn’t be moderate, necessarily, but it would be deliberate. It would require effort.

In the start of his piece, Chait hypothetically asks if “the offensiveness of an idea [can] be determined objectively, or only by recourse to the identity of the person taking offense.” Here, he’s getting at the concerns addressed by Reed and Reilly-Cooper, the worry that we’ve turned our analysis so completely inward that our judgment of a person’s speech hinges more upon their identity signifiers than on their ideas.

A sensible response to Chait’s question would be that this is a false binary, and that ideas can and should be judged both by the strength of their logic and by the cultural weight afforded to their speaker’s identity. Chait appears to believe only the former, and that’s kind of ridiculous. Of course someone’s social standing affects whether their ideas are considered offensive, or righteous, or even worth listening to. How can you think otherwise?

We destroy ourselves when identity becomes our sole focus

Feminists and anti-racists recognize that identity does matter. This is indisputable. If we subscribe to the belief that ideas can be judged within a vacuum, uninfluenced by the social weight of their proponents, we perpetuate a system in which arbitrary markers like race and gender influence the perceived correctness of ideas. We can’t overcome prejudice by pretending it doesn’t exist. Focusing on identity allows us to interrogate the process through which white males have their opinions taken at face value, while women, people of color, and non-normatively gendered people struggle to have their voices heard.

But we also destroy ourselves when identity becomes our sole focus. Consider a tweet I linked to (which has since been removed. See editor’s note below.), from a critic and artist, in which she writes: “When ppl go off on evo psych, its always some shady colonizer white man theory that ignores nonwhite human history. but ‘science’. Ok ... Most ‘scientific thought’ as u know it isnt that scientific but shaped by white patriarchal bias of ppl who claimed authority on it.”

This critic is intelligent. Her voice is important. She realizes, correctly, that evolutionary psychology is flawed, and that science has often been misused to legitimize racist and sexist beliefs. But why draw that out to questioning most “scientific thought”? Can’t we see how distancing that is to people who don’t already agree with us? And tactically, can’t we see how shortsighted it is to be skeptical of a respected manner of inquiry just because it’s associated with white males?

This sort of perspective is not confined to Twitter and the comments sections of liberal blogs. It was born in the more nihilistic corners of academic theory, and its manifestations on social media have severe real-world implications. In another instance, two female professors of library science publicly outed and shamed a male colleague they accused of being creepy at conferences, going so far as to openly celebrate the prospect of ruining his career. I don’t doubt that some men are creepy at conferences — they are. And for all I know, this guy might be an A-level creep. But part of the female professors’ shtick was the strong insistence that harassment victims should never be asked for proof, that an enunciation of an accusation is all it should ever take to secure a guilty verdict. The identity of the victims overrides the identity of the harasser, and that’s all the proof they need.

This is terrifying. No one will ever accept that. And if that becomes a salient part of liberal politics, liberals are going to suffer tremendous electoral defeat.

Debate and discussion would ideally temper this identity-based discourse, make it more usable and less scary to outsiders. Teachers and academics are the best candidates to foster this discussion, but most of us are too scared and economically disempowered to say anything. Right now, there’s nothing much to do other than sit on our hands and wait for the ascension of conservative political backlash — hop into the echo chamber, pile invective upon the next person or company who says something vaguely insensitive, insulate ourselves further and further from any concerns that might resonate outside of our own little corner of Twitter.

--

==

This has been going on for over a decade. The correct response is to mock and laugh at the people complaining, and point out that they're not ready for the big wide world outside their kindergarten mindset, so they'd be better off going back home to mommy and daddy. Not validate and endorse their feelings. We need to get back to that.