#I ACTUALLY HAVE A PIKE FIC | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whataperfectwasteoftime · 11 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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pedroshotwifey · 3 months

Text

One Condition

This is actually a requested fic from the lovely @survivingandenduring! You can view the request here if you'd like!

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word count: 4.9k

Tags/warnings: unprotected piv sex, sex pollen trope, dubcon, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, oral sex, cum eating, so much cum like its kinda scary, Ezra being a nasty little freak, anal fingering, pain kink, big fat juicy plot twist, this is absolutely nasty shit, stuff I'm probably forgetting, I'm actually not sorry at all for this

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition.

A/N: Uhhh. don't look at me 🫣

*****

“Um, Marcus?”

You look at your partner, who has the same worried expression on his face as you.

“Yup.”

It’s not a question. You’re both thinking the same thing; you’re in the wrong place.

It looks similar to the planet you were supposed to be landing on, but most of the scenery here is a lush green instead of the blue hues you’d been expecting. It’d looked the exact same from above the atmosphere, but there is a clear difference now that you’re on the surface.

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath but begins the landing sequence anyway. That’s probably for the best; that way the two of you can figure out where you really were, and then where you actually need to be going.

Dust comes up around your shuttle as you touch ground, the greenery around you rustling a bit as the jets power down. You get up from your seat when you feel the craft settle enough for the floor to be stable.

Marcus follows, shutting everything down and then unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair. You’re already on the other side of the small contraption, looking through the maps you have stored in the tiny compartment of the far wall. He comes up next to you and pulls up the planet encyclopedias, trying to find a description that matches the world you’ve landed in.

You spend the next few minutes flipping through various books and maps until Marcus comes across a planet that matches. He hands the book over and points at the section.

“Here,” he points. “It looks like we're on a sister planet to the one we’re supposed to be on.”

You hum in agreement, reading the small passage provided next to the picture.

“Alright, well, let’s get her powered back up.”

Your partner sighs, running a hand over his face. You furrow your brows. His face has paled a bit and he seems a bit reluctant to follow your request.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, actually. We’re out of fuel,” he admits, trying and failing miserably to maintain eye contact.

You gape at him.

“Marcus! You were supposed to fill her up before we fucking left! It says here that there’s no civilization!”

He nods along as you scold him, knowing it’s well deserved.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot until we were halfway here, but I knew it would take just enough to get us on planet, and we could get more from there. It’s not like I knew that we would be landing on the wrong planet” He spews it out, not defensive exactly, but regretful.

You groan and walk back to the front of the ship, checking the fuel gauge.

“We’re running on fumes right now, I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to get us to the neighboring planet.”

You look at him, trying to keep your anger from showing up because you know that it was genuinely an accident, and Marcus isn’t usually one to mess up like this. But of course when he does, you get stranded on an unknown planet.

Rubbing your eyes, you walk in a circle around the floor, trying to think of a plan. You can feel Marcus’s guilty eyes following you until you come to a stop.

“Okay,” you start. “The book said that this planet is typically only used for mining aurelac, right?”

Marcus nods slowly, obviously confused as to where you’re going with this.

“Well then there should be at least a few miners on planet in that case, right?”

He nods again, furrowing his brows in thought.

“So we should go out and try to find someone to borrow some fuel from?” he asks.

“Yes. Either that or see if there’s someone who can hitch us a ride.”

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze downcast to the floor as he thinks through the options.

“Yeah, seems like our best bet,” he agrees after a minute.

Within a few minutes, you both pack small bags and suit up to withstand the harsh environment of the planet. According to the book, the air is extremely thin and can sometimes hold toxic chemicals depending on other factors. You follow Marcus out of the craft and watch as he makes sure everything’s sealed correctly, before you both start walking into the woods.

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask after you’ve been walking for a while.”

Marcus looks at you, his expression still holding hints of guilt.

“Not exactly. I think most of the mines are located in the forest though, so we’ll just have to keep walking and hope we come across—”

“Shit, Marcus!”

You yell for him as he stumbles across a root and tumbles down into a pit. It’s not super deep, but just enough so that he could have seriously hurt himself with that fall. You carefully slide down the side of it to join him.

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at you from where he’s planted on his back and groans a bit. He opens his mouth to reply and that’s when you see that his mask is on the ground next to him, crushed into several pieces.

“Shit,” he croaks, already feeling the effects of the thin air.

You crouch down beside him, feeling him up for any injuries.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Just my head. It’s fucking pounding.”

You sigh. “Probably from lack of airflow.”

“C’mon,” you grunt, threading your arms under his. “Let’s get you back and hope that you don’t die.”

He glares at you but allows you to help him into a sitting position.

“Well, isn’t this unfortunate? Two little birds trapped in a cage.”

You both jolt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You peer up to the top of the pit and find a man standing near the ledge, a blaster aimed directly at your head. He wears a shabby, brown suit with a bulbous helmet that would be almost funny looking if not for the imminent threat he poses. You slowly raise your hands and start to stand back up, a rush of fear creeping up your spine.

“We’re not armed,” you start. “My friend’s mask just broke; we need help.” You try not to sound too panicked as you explain your situation to the stranger, praying to whoever may be listening that he’s not planning to shoot both of you.

“Don’t worry gem, I don’t want to kill you. I simply would like to assure myself that neither of you had plans of my own execution.”

You furrow your brows at his choice of wording, his strange drawl only adding to your confusion.

“I, uh. No.” What else can you really say to that?

You glance down at Marcus and see the same befuddled expression on his face.

“I will warn you that your…friend”—he cocks a brow at you as he says it—”has chosen a rather unfortunate time to lose his filtration system. Assuming, of course, you haven’t already discovered the effects of the tainted oxygen.”

You shake your head as your mouth goes dry.

“Is—is he going to be okay?”

The stranger pauses for a moment as if in thought. He cocks his head and then looks back at you.

“He should be as long as he receives the assistance he should require.”

“What do you mean by that?” This comes from Marcus.

The stranger frowns and lowers his gun, which he seems to have just remembered he was still holding up.

“Are you not familiar with this planet’s cycles?”

You both shake your heads.

The man sighs and kneels on the ledge extending a hand. You stare at it, neither of you making a move toward him.

“Do you want to stay in this pit? I think it would be rather unsanitary to do so under your current circumstance.”

You flash another glance at Marcus, who nods slightly toward you, encouraging you to take the other man’s hand. You step forward and place your palm in his, allowing him to pull you up, and then you kneel to help him hoist Marcus up as well.

“I’m Ezra,” the man says once the three of you are standing. You introduce the two of you as well, figuring at this point that the stranger has to be at least mostly harmless.

“Alright, well tell me, little bird; are you and Marcus of the romantic type?”

You just stare at him, unsure of how to answer that, nor of why he would feel the need to ask in the first place. You can feel Marcus’s eyes on you as your cheeks begin to burn.

“I–uh…”

You let your eyes meet your partner’s, a silent conversation transpiring. You’ve engaged in some less than appropriate activities throughout your travels, but it’s always been strictly for stress release or simply a product of boredom. The last few months, it’s been more of an unspoken thing.

The two of you care for each other and behave as most couples would, but you’ve never actually given each other the labels. You definitely never thought that the deciding conversation would be in the presence of a strange man who seems to be about to deliver some bad news. You’re about to answer when Marcus gives you a short nod, lifting the burden off of your shoulders.

“Yeah, we are.”

The man nods, though he’s clearly amused. You’re sure he can see what just happened and must have used context clues to figure the rest out out.

“That’s fortunate for you. What’s circulating in the air currently is what could be described as an aphrodisiac. I’m sure you’re familiar with such?”

You and Marcus exchange yet another glance.

“Yes, we’ve heard of them,” you say.

“Do you have a craft nearby?” Ezra asks, peering behind you as if he could spot one he missed before.

You hesitate before answering. Even if he’s seemed to be helpful so far, can you really be sure it isn’t a trap?

“We have a shuttle,” you decide on just to be on the safe side. “We’re out of fuel though. That’s why we're out here in the first place,” you add just in case the man has some extra laying around for some miraculous reason.

Just then, you near a heavy thud and a groan. You spin on your heel to find Marcus keeled over, his hands over his groin and his exposed skin covered in a layer of sweat more intense than what’s normal for this climate. You’re on your knees beside him within a second, your hands running over him until he flinches away as if you’d burned him.

“Marcus! What’s happening?” You aim your question at Ezra, who’s still standing above the two of you with an almost pitying expression.

“The effects are getting to him, little dove. I’m afraid you’re going to need to help him in a timely manner.”

You think for a moment, knowing getting your partner all the way back to your shuttle is going to be a difficult task in the state that he’s in.

“I have a camp not too far from our current location, I’m willing to offer up the space on one condition. And before you protest, we both know it’s not safe to engage in life saving activities out here in the open.”

You stiffen at this. Of course there’s a catch; it’s not common to receive help from a random stranger without them expecting anything in return. You glance down to make sure his gun is still in its holster before narrowing your eyes at his face, not liking the way his smile has turned a bit wolfish.

“What do you want? We don’t have any coin.”

“Oh, no, gem. I don’t want your profits. I simply desire to join you and your handsome partner. It’s been a long time since I had something other than my own fist to keep me company.”

“What?” you bark, slightly humiliated that he would suggest something like that, regardless of how handsome he may be. “No, I’m sleeping with a stranger in exchange for shelter!”

“Now don’t get feisty, dove. I didn’t say it had to be you,” he says, watching Marcus with a newfound hunger. “Though it would probably be fortunate for your friend here that it was, assuming he is of the hetero kind.”

“Don’t,” Marcus croaks, looking up at you the best he’s able to.

You’re torn, knowing that Marcus needs help quick, but not wanting to give either of you up to this man. When it comes down to it though, you’re always going to choose what’s best for your partner. You look up at the man with disdain, knowing that you’re not going to have much of a choice here.

“Fine. But not him.”

Ezra’s smile broadens.

“Very well, gem. Right this way.”

He turns around and waits for you to get a near-delirious Marcus about halfway up so he’s propped by one of your shoulders. Noticing your struggle, Ezra comes to his other side and mirrors your position, one hand supporting around his waist.

As you walk, Marcus’s temperature keeps rising and his groans get worse. Fortunately, the man wasn’t lying when he said he had a camp nearby; you only have to walk for about a minute before coming across it.

He opens up the flap as you get closer, taking the zipper all the way down and helping you ease Marcus in. As you lay him down, you can see the bulge in his flight suit; almost twice what is normal. You hear Ezra zip the opening back up and then step in behind you.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t–”

Marcus cuts himself off as he shakily pulls down the zipper on his suit, revealing his undershirt and boxers. His hand goes down the latter not a second later, a pornographic moan coming from him as his hand makes contact with his engorged cock. He starts stroking himself under the fabric, panting heavily, and it makes your mouth go dry despite the circumstances.

“Shit, I-it’s not enough,” he grits out, pumping furiously. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Better help him quick, little bird,” Ezra quips from behind you, already removing his attire as well. You comply, though for which man you’re not sure.

You strip quickly, the three of you tearing your own clothes off at the same time, each of you stark naked at the end. You feel so exposed between the two of them, especially with Ezra, who doesn’t help at all by giving a lewd whistle at the sight of your bare body.

You give him a look so nasty that you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead. He raises his hands in defense.

“Woah, little bird, I meant it only as a praise.”

You ignore him and turn to Marcus, who’s just now shoving his boxers off. You gasp when his dick springs up, heavy, red, throbbing, and leaking an obscene amount of precum. It’s swollen to a point that looks almost painful.

You swallow your nerves and try your best to ignore Ezra as you instruct Marcus to lay down on the cot. He tugs you with him, feral to get to you at this point. You fall over him and he immediately starts sucking and licking all the skin he can get to, his hips thrusting up into nothing.

You see Ezra move out of the corner of your eye, taking a seat in the single chair inside the small tent. You lift your head as much as you can to make sure he’s not going to try anything.

“Carry on, gem. I’m a patient man; I can wait my turn.”

If you’re being honest, he looks a little too smug.

Suddenly Marcus is flipping you over, shoving you down to the bed on your back, whispering something you can’t quite catch. He doesn’t wait another second before you feel his cock at your underprepared cunt, and your eyes barely have a chance to go wide before he’s forcing himself into you, groaning wildly as he tugs you down onto him.

It’s only then that you realize he had been whispering “sorry”.

You scream and your hands come up to reflexively try to get him off. There are tears as he keeps shoving himself in, stretching you to your limit. Through your blurry vision, you can see tears in his as well, more of shame than of pleasure by his sympathetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“N-no,” you squeak even as your hands claw at his back from the discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to.”

You close your eyes and try not to focus on the uncomfortable feeling between your legs as Marcus begins to unrelentingly slam his hip into yours. You hear a sound coming from beside you, and turn to see Ezra pumping himself through your blurry vision. It’s a sight that really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

You moan despite yourself as the pain coming from your sore cunt turns into pleasure. You’re getting wetter and wetter as the seconds tick by, the glide of your partner’s cock becoming easier and more toe-curling. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to punch that spot deep inside you. You’re getting hot fast, sweat building up in every crease and crevice as your pussy seems to get more hungry for what Marcus is feeding it.

Each thrust sends you up the bed, but Marcus holds onto you so that you don’t go too far. He’s grunting like a feral animal, his body maneuvering every which way until he finds the position that provides him with the most momentum.

“Ohh that feels so fucking good, baby,” he hisses through his teeth. “Gods, you always take me so f-fucking well.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before—with this level of vulgarity. You whimper, making eye contact with Ezra as Marcus nails something even more delicious within you. His gaze is heavy and on your face rather than on your body, which surprises you as much as it flatters you.

“Does she suck cock just as well?” Ezra’s deepened voice comes from the chair, his eyes still on you as he asks the question.

Marcus looks down at you, albeit with heavy lids, for your consent. You nod, already fucked out beyond thinking clearly.

“Better,” comes Marcus’s reply, his stare just as heavy as Ezra’s. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

You moan at the thought of being taken from both ends, one of the domineering men on each side. This is going much better than anticipated, both your mind and body opening to the stranger despite your earlier protest.

Ezra doesn’t have to be asked twice, already getting up to hover his thick cock over your face, slapping it gently against your lips. The cot is the perfect height for him to stick it into your mouth, though he waits.

“You want this, gem?”

You almost find it funny that he’s asking, considering he didn’t give you much of a choice earlier. You nod anyway, because you honestly do, your gaze is trained on it as your mouth waters. He threads one hand through your hair, pulling you into the right position, and then uses his tip to part your lips.

He moans as he sinks in, his eyes fluttering shut as you immediately wrap your tongue around him. You find yourself groaning at his salty taste, savoring the weight of him as you start to pull him in. Your cunt throbs as he and Marcus both moan out at the same time, Marcus doubling over while Ezra bottoms out.

Marcus brings one hand to your clit and begins rubbing up and down at a furious pace that would have made you scream if not for the other man’s cock in the way. Tears leak from your eyes as Ezra begins to pump in and out of you, his hips thrusting as he uses the hand in your hair to hold you where he wants.

“Oh you feel devine, little gem,” he moans, his eyes still closed and his lips parted as he picks up the pace. You can feel him hitting deep inside your throat, making you resist the urge to choke. It’s overwhelming but in the best way.

“Oh, fuck!” Marcus nearly shouts the curse as his hips stutter. “Come with me baby, come on,” he urges, moving his hand quicker.

Your back arches up at the feeling, though you’re still pinned by both men. Suddenly, everything flashes white, your hearing going dull as your entire body convulses with the power of your orgasm. You have just enough brain capacity to think that this has got to be the highest level of pleasure attainable.

It goes on forever, your pussy pulsing as you sob and moan around Ezra’s cock. You faintly hear Marcus’s own moans and feel his dick twitch and throb within you, coating your walls in his creamy white spend.

You don’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you open them again upon feeling your own drool dribbling down your cheeks to mix with your tears. Ezra coos down at you, wiping away the saliva though he doesn’t dare slow his pace.

“M-messy little bird,” he laughs.

You glance back down at Marcus the best you can just to realize that he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He’s still riding out his own high, rocking slowly to prolong it as much as possible. His eyes flick back up to yours after a moment, and then to Ezra’s who watches him intently as he continues to defile your throat.

The gurgling sounds coming from you should be downright disgusting, but they only add to the eroticness of what the three of you are doing right now. The tent seems to have filled with the thick scent and humidity of sex, making your head even more foggy than provided by your orgasm.

Ezra’s not far after the two of you, grunting heavily and pulling on your hair to a painful level. He pulls out and strokes himself over your face, letting his cum splatter across your features right after you close your eyes. His thumb comes to your lips, making you open your mouth as he moans aloud.

Some of his seed falls on your tongue, and you swallow it down as Ezra finishes the last few spurts. You open your eyes when you’re sure he’s done, panting and gasping despite your sore throat.

It’s at the same time that the two men pull away from you, and you’re extremely confused until you see that they’re maintaining eye contact, seeming to have had a silent conversation while you’d been distracted.

Suddenly, you’re being lifted by the both of them, your body being rearranged to their preference. You’re so fucking tired, but you do your best to comply with their actions. You’re being lifted onto Ezra’s lap when you finally understand their plan.

His cock is only half-hard after his orgasm, but he begins rutting himself against you regardless as Marcus disappears from your line of sight. You half-collapse on Ezra, moaning as your clit gets stimulated thanks to his thrusts.

“Second drawer, pretty boy,” he pants. You hear shuffling and then Marcus returning behind you before you get the chance to ask what he was doing. There’s a pop from behind you, and then a cold substance at your ass.

You yelp at the unexpected feeling, only to be shushed by Ezra.

“Hush now, gem. I’ve heard you have experience in this area.”

He smirks at you as your cheeks heat.

You moan suddenly as Marcus slips a finger past your tight ring of muscle, pumping a good few times before adding a second. He leans close and whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for them, how well you’re taking it all.

He works you up to three fingers before he pulls his hand from you and helps lift you up, propping you up enough for Ezra to notch his tip at your thoroughly soaked cunt. You help the slow descent down his shaft, your lips parting and eyes pinching shut at the sensation.

Ezra chokes on a groan, squeezing both of your ass cheeks as you bottom out.

“Fuck, little birdy, your heavenly cunt should be reserved for those of immortal status.”

You don’t even have the energy to cringe at his wording, instead savoring the way he fills you so nicely, not as long as Marcus, but a good bit thicker. The coarse hairs above his cock rub against your oversensitive clit nicely, making you want to rut against him. Just then, you feel Marcus settle in behind you again, dragging you partially onto his lap so you’re over his cock.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, clearly having regained some of his gentlemanly status after quelling his lust a bit. You whimper and nod at him, and he starts to push inside of you.

“Oh, Gods,” you moan, wrapping your arms around Ezra’s back and digging your nails in for stability. He hisses and increases his grip on your ass, keeping you spread for Marcus as his hips come flush against you.

You’re already so full it’s dizzying, so when the two men start to move, you think you may come on the spot. Ezra goes first, pulling out a bit and then sinking back in, which is when Marcus makes his move, repeating the other man’s actions. Your knees are planted on the cot, giving you the opportunity to move with them.

The three of you are panting, moaning messes, hot breaths fanning across each other’s skin as you nuzzle together. The pace starts out slow, but quickly picks up, increasing your combined noises. Both of the men start to grab at you, moving their hands and groping anything and everything they’re able to.

You can feel their cocks rubbing against your middle wall, creating an intoxicating feeling that you know you’ll miss when this is over. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, being so full you can feel them in your stomach.

Small whimpers begin to spill from your mouth, but are quickly caught by Ezra, who captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his spend from earlier mixed between your tongues. It’s difficult to keep it up with how much you’re being jostled, so he gives up after a moment and instead opts to lick his cum off of your sweaty cheek. You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel Marcus’s hand come up to grasp at your chin, tilting your face so that he’s able to do the same on the opposite side.

The two of you clean your face with their tongues as they thrust into you at a punishing pace, somehow hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You let out a raspy groan, your hands scrambling over both of their bodies for purchase.

A heat is beginning to build once again in your abdomen, pleasure licking up your spine. It only takes a few more alternating thrusts before you’re coming around their cocks with a scream. You tighten around both of their throbbing cocks, getting them closer to their own ends.

Marcus comes first once again, still slightly affected by the drug from earlier. He bites onto your shoulder as he busts inside of you, slamming his hips up and locking in place, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his balls empty into your ass.

Ezra follows right after, seemingly liking Marcus’s idea of a gag, and biting into your other shoulder. You scream again at the pressure of both men’s teeth, your arms raising so you can grasp both of their hair, holding them close.

Your orgasm lingers for as long as theirs do, the three of you coming completely down at the same time. You stay in a sweaty heap for a long time, just trying to catch your breath and make sense of what’s real and what’s not.

You all fall apart after a few minutes, exhaustion officially taking over you. You can feel both of the men’s cum leaking from your holes as they pull out and help you lay comfortable on the cot. They get situated next to you, and you’re all out like lights within the next minute.

The next morning, Ezra’s waiting for the two of you with a portable can of fuel and an extra mask. Your departure is swift and unawkward, Ezra walking with the two of you back to your ship like you’ve known each other for years. It takes a bit longer than it should due to your body being practically fucking wrecked from last night, but both of the men help you get along.

When you reach your craft, you all say your goodbyes, knowing this will more than likely be the last time you’ll come across this strange man. To be frank, you’re still a bit confused about what exactly transpired last night, but you choose to ignore it. Your head is pounding with what feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and you’re just eager to get off of this nightmare planet.

Ezra watches you fuel up your craft and then take off, smiling and honestly quite satisfied with himself. Neither of you even figured it out that he was the one who planted the trap and laced the dirt pit with the drug, nor that he may have let a bit more slip inside his tent.

***** I mean really, do we really expect anything less from Ezra?

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wannab-urs · 3 months

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Outtakes - Monsterfucking

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Here's a list of fics I've read where either the Pedro boy, the reader, or everyone involved is a monster of some sort.

Summaries and tags are, in most cases, provided by the author - please be sure to read them as some of these fics may have content you do not wish to read.

Pedro boys currently included are: Joel Miller, Ezra, Din Djarin, Dave York, Marcus Pike, Dieter Bravo, Jack Daniels, Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell, Max Phillips, and Tim Rockford.

updated 5/24/2024

Demon

Met the Devil Last Night

Joel one shot by @pedgito

I made a joke about wanting to screw dirt-covered Joel even if he was deep in the trenches of hell and...well, yeah. This is pure filth and nothing else. Porn with minuscule plot, if you will

fem!reader, demon!joel, no specific age gap since dude is a literal demon, but reader is early 20s and I picture Joel to be his younger self (around 36), mentions of su*cidal ideations, this all a completely made up concept pls don't come for me about rituals, ect i will cry. virgin!reader, reader's father is a priest and horrible (just a total douche)/mother isn't alive, spitting, oral, unprotected piv, blood drinking, competency kink, innocence kink, mutual masturbation

In Every Lifetime

Ezra series by @xdaddysprincessxx

It’s fall of 1974 in your quiet small town of Chesterfield when everything falls apart. Or is it the beginning?

Reader is mid to late 20s, witchcraft, tarot, yes the witchy things depicted in this is real witchcraft things, use of Latin

Common Courtesies

Din one shot by @juletheghoul

Pride and Prejudice vibes but Mr. Darcy is a sex demon

**pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father

Solum

Dave York one shot by @ezrasbirdie

Are you lost?" Your heart seizes with fear at the deep rumbling voice, head jerking to look in the direction it came from. It’s too dark. You can’t see anything. "Who’s—who’s there?" You ask, hoping you sound braver than you feel. "You didn’t answer my question,” it said. “Are you lost?' You swallow. You shouldn’t be here. You’ve never stepped foot in this building before today. You have no business here. But lost? No. You’re exactly where you set out to be.

SMUT, dubious consent [reader wants to be with him, but he's a demon so you know—it's a little influenced]—dead dove, this is horror and Dave York is an actual demon who kills people, graphic violence, body horror, a dash of blood kink, oral sex

Sell My Soul For You

Marcus P one shot by @absurdthirst

During girls night out, you accidentally dial your boyfriend, Marcus Pike. He hears you complain about how vanilla your sex life is and that you need to him to be more dominant. Marcus proves he’s willing to do anything to please you, even if the cost is his soul.

Angst, hurt feelings, demon possession, dominant!Marcus, oral (male and female receiving), face fucking, spanking, pussy slapping, spitting, fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, bondage/handcuffs, anal play, double penetration (fingers and cock), soft aftercare.

Incubus

Crawling Back to You

Dieter one shot by @prolix-yuy

Have you no idea that you're in deep?

religious corruption kink, bastardizing prayers, brief drug use, mentions of alcohol consumption, grinding, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, breaking a hymen, descriptions of blood, biting and drawing blood, pheromone incubus anatomy, size difference/kink like whoa, monster transformation, monster fucking, PiV sex, wildly unrealistic sex, kind of dubious consent in the way that she has no idea what she's getting into so Dieter checks in A LOT, consent is sexy and monsters especially should ask for it, Reader has no idea what she's doing when it comes to summoning an incubus.

Dream Within a Dream

Ezra one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Your dreams have become the escape from your draining life. When you discover you are not alone in your dreamworld, will all the aspects lacking in your waking life be fulfilled by your handsome companion?

dream fucking, loss of virginity, depictions and deviations of supernatural lore, erotic gore

Cryptid

Mothman Fever

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

You and your friends head to Point Pleasant, West Virginia in late September for the Mothman Festival. And that’s where you meet Joel Miller, a fellow Mothman enthusiast. But once you spend some time alone with him you realize that he’s not who he says he is.

Smut, canon divergence, semi-public sex, alcohol, no outbreak, pet names (luna), oral sex (female receiving), vaginal fingering, PiV sex, sex pollen, dubcon, monsterfucking

Oh, Honey

Joel series by @lincolndjarin

you’ve been given a gift. a fresh start in a brand new place, the sleepy little town of Honey, WV. a distant aunt has passed away and left you a little plot of land and her camper, the stars must be aligning for you because the local mortician is looking for an assistant and you’re desperate for the work experience. your new employer even offers to set you up with her brother-in-law! things are looking up, you’ve got a brand new home, a new town, a hot date, (and thanks to a series of bear attacks that started immediately after your arrival) you have more than enough work to keep you busy!

Soulmates AU, eventual smut, teratophilia, graphic descriptions of violence, explicit descriptions of menstruation, graphic descriptions of the mortuary process, horror, depictions of extreme fear, body horror, graphic depictions of death, eldritch horror. this is a monster fucker fic, proceed accordingly

Sanguine

ˆEzra one shot by marisferasiop

since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Tentacles

MDKT Sex Pollen

Joel one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

Your patrol with Joel goes a little sideways

Dead Dove Do Not Eat/DDDNI, noncon/heavy dubcon, body horror, tentacles, mouth r*pe, double/triple penetration, bondage, non-consensual bondage, choking, deep throating, pheromones, sex pollen, tentacles, mind fuck/mind break, brainwashing, guilt, trauma, trauma bonding. Let me know if I missed anything.

Taungsdays, am I right?

Din one shot by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You awaken to find yourself and Din in an alien position.

Smut, dubcon/noncon, pheromones, tentacle sex, bondage, mind-fuck, alien sex, unprotected PiV, anal sex, double penetration, dirty talk

Dragon

Promise

Ezra one shot by @criticallyacclaimedstranger

You are taken from you village by a dragon, and he has an obscene proposition for you.

Human/Monster Romance, Monsterfucking, initial dubcon (sort of a damned if you do damned if you don't deal), dragon fucks reader, Breeding, Oviposition, Stomach Bulge, PIV Sex, Loss of Virginity, Painful Sex, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, dragon!ezra is really good with his tongue, Squirting, All's well that ends well though, seriously I don't know how to warn for this fic guys, dragon biology is weird, DON'T LOOK AT ME! Light Bondage, drugging, pet names

Werewolf

Bad Moon Rising

Jack series by @wardenparker

When a handsome stranger called Jack shows up on your struggling ranch looking for work, you’re more than happy to take him in - and into your bed, as well.Death of a parent, loss of a spouse, general family drama.

Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy is basically a life motto here, Gunshot wound, first aid things, blood mention, raw meat mention. Vaginal sex, oral sex, rough sex, so much cum, size kink, squirting, anal play/ass eating, monster fucking.

Shifter

SNAFU

Frankie series by @theywhowriteandknowthings

You’ve done this thousands of times, brought new teams to heel, be it in Britain, Japan, Korea, yet the States are always the hardest to wrangle, the mixture of over-hyped masculinity, the general military bravado, whatever it was, you always ran into trouble. But nothing has ever come close to the new Shifter Charlie Team, and boy, are you in for the biggest challenge of your life.

Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Shifter AU, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, eventual Frankie x reader, former Jason x Reader, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Military, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Pack Dynamics, Pack Cuddles, Pack Building, Strong Female Characters, strong female lead

Alien

Kudzu

Ezra one shot by @beskarberry

a familiar stranger shows up at the doorstep of your infirmary with unfamiliar wounds. You're no doctor, but masquerading as one makes you the only one in the position to save his life. Can you win out against his extraterrestrial illness, or will his new abilities stake a claim in you as well?

NON-CON/DUB-CON, human/alien hybridization, forced breeding/impregnation/birth, rough/feral sex, sex pollen, body worship, cervix penetration, cum inflation, knotting, a wisp of a/b/o. Nonsexual: wound care and dressing, hurt/comfort, a little whumpish, shootouts, blood, dumb jokes, cheesy ending

Jizz Fingers

various boys series by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

An intergalactic creampie love story.

Smut, alternate universe, aliens, crack fic, penetrative vaginal sex, creampie

Mermaid

Rises the Moon

Joel one shot by @psychedelic-ink

As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

Vampire

Sated

Joel one shot by @softlyspector

Joel just wants you to eat well

love as being consumed, blood drinking, smut from start to finish (piv, f!receiving oral, fingering), Joel's praise kink, talk of eating, consuming, drinking, hunger, etc, vampires you get it.

Attraction Spell

Joel one shot by @jksprincess10

Vampire Joel finds witchy reader in her shop asks her for a love spell

DDDNE, noncon/dubcon, stalking, blood play, using blood as lube, ambiguous ending, unprotected p in v, fingering, praise kink, choking, pain kink, rough sex, minimal editing.

Bleed for me

Din series by @saradika

When it's revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you're hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

vampires, alternate universe, canon divergence, blood/drinking blood, shared memories, angst, death/violence, biting, body worship, possessive!pleasure!dom!din, implied aphrodisiacs, mind meld, praise kink, oral, piv, marking

The Special One

Joel one shot by @toxicanonymity

You meet a handsome stranger on a night out with friends. The last thing you're expecting is to be chained up in his basement.

Smut, age gap, alcohol, drugging and kidnapping, chains/restraints, blood and its consumption, oral sex (female receiving), period cunnilingus, dubcon, held in captivity, reader can menstruate, male masturbation, vampire!Joel, alternate universe, dark!Joel

Vampire!Dieter

Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

Interview with a vampire, gatsby style

flirting, a bit of blood, maybe dubcon due to The Thrall but i think it's safe to say we all want It from vampire!dieter, unbeta-ed because i needed to write something or someone was going to die

vamp but it's you

Everyone at this party's a vampire

Dieter one shot by @idolatrybarbie

"you look so pretty like this."

briefly discussed necrophilia, innuendo, heavy petting

Sanguine

Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

vamp but it's everyone

a court of fangs and foxgloves

Oberyn/Max P one shot @psychedelic-ink

After you left the court and hence Oberyn, no one is eager to forgive you for your betrayal. Especially those closest to you.

Smut, MMF threesome/orgy, voyeurism, mlm dynamics, Dom/sub dynamics, sub!Max, switch!reader, dom!Oberyn, rimming, ass play, anal sex, penetrative vaginal sex, biting, mentions of blood, vampirism

I Bite Back

One shot by me

Max Phillips is seemingly always in command, always domineering, always on top… except when he’s with you.

Dom!Reader, Bratty Sub!Max, pegging… duh. This is technically monsterfucking also lmao. Aftercare is implied because I'm implying it here, I didn't write that in. Oh also vamp!reader if you want but I don't really make that explicit

Red Right Hand

one shot by me

You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle.

Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n.

Only Lovers Left Alive

Joel Series by @atinylittlepain

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

Smut, dubcon, gore, blood and bloodplay, dark themes, cowboy!vampire!Joel, set in the past, alternate universe

vamp but it's max phillips

With Cherries on Top

series by @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

After countless late nights and giving up important things in your life for a job and a man that refuses to promote you, your family begs you to quit when you break it to them that you have to miss your grandmother’s 85th birthday. Max Phillips may have left the country an American citizen but he came back an undead vampire, meaning his status in the States is no longer valid. In order to not get deported to Romania, he tells immigration that the two of you are getting married and he strikes a deal to make it worth your while.

Smut, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation

A Little Lipstick Never Hurts

Reader/Max/Dieter series by @max--phillips

Max tries to skip his morning inspection, but gets caught breaking one of the rules you set for him anyway. A punishment is in order. / Max realizes a fantasy, and you enlist Dieter Bravo to help you deliver. / You receive a very hot video from your boyfriends while you are at work. The making of said video requires Max to break some rules you'd previously set out for him. He and Dieter make it up to you very easily.

Forced Feminization, but it's consensual, Femdom, Chastity Device 24/7, D/s dynamic, Sex Toys, BDSM, reader referred to as Mistress and Ma'am, Impact Play, Riding Crop, Bondage, Anal Fingering, Pegging, Butt Plugs, Degradation, Deepthroating, face fucking, gagging, spit, ruined orgasm, Nipple Clamps, Cum Play, Cum Eating, Oral Sex, Aftercare, there is NO misgendering, Max's ass does get referred to as his pussy and his dick his clit, but that's as far as that goes, MMF, threesome, PIV, double penetration, cock cages, ball gag, choking, max is a vampire, blow jobs, sex tapes, cum swapping, rule negotiations, fluff

Reflective

series by @prolix-yuy

His management style is effective AND refreshing. And as his executive assistant, you’re partially to thank. But as your professional relationship blurs, are you getting too close to the middle manager monster of nightmares?

horror elements and themes, graphic descriptions of blood including drinking, background character un-death, violence, fingering (f-receiving), vomiting (not descriptive), descriptions of a panic attack, a dabble of sleazy coworkers, playing fast and loose with vampire lore. mirror shenanigans, fingering (f-receiving), oral sex (f-receiving), PiV sex (don’t be a fool wrap your tool), playing fast and loose with vampire lore.

Lust for a vampire

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

A lot of oddballs and strange characters visit a vampire strip club in a tourist town on the border. Max Phillips is unlike any of them.

Smut, mentioned drug use, background sex work, dubcon, supernatural stalking, blood, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, spit, physical altercation, vaginal fingering, pet names (sweet thing, honey, sweetheart)

The Impaler

Tim Rockford/Max/Reader one shot by @kiwisbell

Chief Detective Tim Rockford makes a breakthrough in New York City’s latest serial killer case. The mysterious culprit is in the mood to share more than information.

vampires, gothic architecture, slightly dubious consent, implied mind alteration/control, murder, death, blood, threesome, lots of biting, spanking, spitroasting, masturbation, DVP, fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap ur vampire dicks pls), wife sharing, free use kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), exchanging fluids, spitting, disgusting and filthy, max using cringey nicknames for reader’s pussy but it’s charming bc it’s max, handcuffs, light bondage, hair pulling

I cannot get you close enough

one shot by @leslie-lyman

“You have to invite me in, sweetheart.” Oh. Right. Vampire. “Come in, please,” you say demurely, and Max’s smile widens as he steps over the threshold into your apartment. He reaches for you again immediately, kicking your door closed and pulling you close. “Good girl,” he murmurs. “Such a polite little Omega.”

A/B/O dynamics; one small scene of men being creepy and threatening towards reader (but, perhaps surprisingly, one of those men is not Max); extremely self-indulgent Halloween costumes on the part of your author; a bit of angst; fEeLiNgS; absolutely way too much plot and character backstory for what was supposed to just be porn; Alpha!Max is his own warning; heat sex; biting; blood-drinking; breeding kink; many, many creampies; Max has an absolutely filthy mouth; look, it’s heat sex with Max, it probably (hopefully?) entails exactly what you think it does

All Mouth

one shot by @idolatrybarbie

max phillips and prompt no. nine— "you look so pretty like this." with a twist!

reader is not American/not an "American vampire", porn with mild plot, pet names (honey, baby, sweetie, Maxxie), all the usual vampire genre warnings, including but not limited to - graphic blood and gore, cannibalism, mention of scars, horror themes, love as consumption, smut - mommy kink, degradation (max gets called a slut), cock slapping, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, handjob, alcohol mention, fluff.

It Will Come Back

Max Phillips one shot by @beskarandblasters

Against your better judgment, you let Max drink your blood.

reader is able-bodied, blood sucking, unhealthy dynamic between Max and reader, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names (baby), dark ending kinda???, idk maybe a little out of character for him but fuck it we ball, no use of y/n

Happy Reading!

#i meant to set this to post on my birthday oops #fic recs #the spreadsheet digest #fanfiction recommendations #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the spreadsheet outtakes #the spreadsheet digest outtakes #outtakes #monsterfucking

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burntheedges · 2 months

Text

Passing Notes: Ask

Marcus Pike x gn!reader | 1.2k words | Passing Notes masterlist

summary: You've made a new friend on tumblr.

a/n: happy gift exchange, @katareyoudrilling! I’m really glad we found each other on here and that we’re friends. 🧡 This is sort of inspired by your Marcus-as-your-assigned-FBI-agent fic, sort of inspired by your year of asks… for the @swiftiscruff gift exchange 💕

tags/warnings: flirting, banter, reader walks around their apartment and is otherwise not described

...

You sigh as you drop onto your couch. It’s Friday, finally, and you sink into the cushions with relish. You let the comfort coax you into relaxing and close your eyes, trying to think about anything but the week behind you.

It helps.

But as soon as you stop thinking about your week, you start thinking about something else. Someone else. In the back of your mind you can feel the excitement building, now that you actually have time to consider it. After just a few moments of rest you’re leaning forward to reach for your laptop.

He might have sent you a new ask, after all. It’s been three weeks. He has to be back by now. You have to check.

You feel your heart rate pick up as your laptop whirrs to life and you take another deep breath. It's ok if he didn’t, you tell yourself. He might not be back yet. And you don’t even know him.

But as soon as your tumblr homepage loads you’re grinning, wide. There’s a single notification next to your inbox.

You click, trying not to hope too hard, but you see the messy paints of his profile picture and let out a delighted laugh. He’s back.

Hey! Sorry I was MIA, had that work trip. But I did have time to come up with some new questions. :) First, if you had to pick any famous painting to take home from a museum and hang over your couch, which would you pick? I ask because I was thinking about this yesterday when I saw an ad for a new exhibit at the art museum downtown. In the ad they had a Renoir hanging over a bright red couch and it looked so bizarre I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I need your opinion. I hope you’re doing well!

The opening lines make you bite your lip. He was thinking about you on his trip. He came up with questions, just for you, in the three weeks he was away.

Part of you tries to tamp down the excitement – you don’t even know this guy. All you know about him is that his name maybe starts with a P and he’s in his 40s. His profile says just that: “P | he/him | 40s | art nerd” and that’s it. You know that he likes art and stories about art and has amazing taste in art… and he seems to enjoy sending you asks. And answering asks from you. About art, and anything and everything else.

And just before he left on his trip, he started… well. There’s only one word for it.

Flirting.

He started flirting, in his asks. And then he even sent you a message, not an ask. The message was about a book you’d just finished, carrying over your discussion from the replies on a post to a private chat for the first time. You grinned like an idiot as you bantered and joked and flirted with him.

give-me-arts: I can’t believe you didn’t like that book! you: It was slow! Soooo slow. give-me-arts: but that’s what made the payoff so good! you: but what good is it if I have to slog through all of that to get there? I’m too impatient. give-me-arts: sometimes patience is worth it in the end 😉

But then he broke the bad news — he had to go on a work trip, probably for at least two weeks, and he wouldn’t be able to get online at all. You rolled your eyes at yourself, a bit, for how sad it made you. But whatever. It doesn’t matter now. He’s back!

You start to type your answer to his ask, but your eyes stray towards your messages. You bite your lip. What could it hurt?

you: Welcome back! Just saw your ask. How was your trip?? give-me-arts: Hey! Way too long. I might have come up with a long list of asks for you in my down time 😉 you: Just for me? I feel special. ha give-me-arts: You are.

Your eyes widen. That is definitely the most direct he’s been so far, with flirting or anything else. What happened on that trip? You take a deep breath and ask about something else, shying away from his reply for the moment.

you: Did you finish the book? give-me-arts: I did! I liked it. I supposedly have the next one in the series waiting for me but I haven’t picked up my mail. you: Go get it! Read it tonight! give-me-arts: haha ok fine. Let me go grab it.

You smile and turn back to your draft of your answer to his newest ask. But before you can really get going there’s a knock at your door, just a few minutes later.

You open it to find Marcus Pike, FBI agent and your (very attractive) neighbor, waiting on the other side. He looks tired and a bit rumpled but he has a light smile on his face, as always.

“Hey neighbor. Here for your mail?” You invite him in as he nods.

“Yep. How have you been? Thanks again for grabbing my packages.” You wave a hand at him and shrug.

“It was no big deal. And I’m fine, nothing new around here. Did your trip go long?” He told you he would be away for at least two weeks, but it was closer to three. He nods.

“The case took a bit longer than we thought. I’m glad to be home.” He sighs, clearly tired from traveling.

You gesture towards the small pile of packages next to the table by your door. “Well, I piled your mail over here–”

You are rudely interrupted by a notification from your laptop, and you feel your cheeks heat when you realize it was from tumblr. You glance over and see that your screen is angled towards the door and the page is clearly visible. Your eyes dart back to meet Marcus’ but to your surprise, he’s smiling. “Tumblr? I have one, too. It’s great.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen and you tilt your head at him in surprise. “Are you in any fandoms?”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Is liking art a fandom? But you already know how much of an art nerd I am. Comes with the job.”

You laugh, and nod. “I like tumblr, too. It’s fun.”

Marcus nods and starts gathering his mail into the tote he brought with him, smiling. “Yeah, and I’ve met some cool people on there. It’s nice to just talk to people about art and books and movies, even if I don’t know them in real life. Helps me relax after work.” He straightens, bag full, and smiles at you again. “Thanks again for this. Can I buy you dinner sometime this week? To say thanks?”

You bite your lip. “Sure, Marcus. That would be nice.”

He grins, and it’s as attractive as always. “Great, I’ll text you. But I’ll let you get back to your messages. Have a nice night, neighbor.”As you sit back on the couch after Marcus’ visit, your tumblr messages catch your eye, and yor thoughts turn to P again. How funny, you think, that I have a neighbor who loves art and I seem to attract the same kind of internet friend. You shrug and dismiss the thought before reopening your draft. You need to respond to P’s ask.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #x reader #bte friendship exchange

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taste-of-the-divine · 1 year

Text

ꕤ | Inked | Percy De Rolo

— VOX MACHINA : switch!percy x femcumslut!reader

✩ 𝙎𝘾𝙀𝙉𝙀: you're the first to fall asleep at a party, and you get cumslut written over your forehead with a marker. it causes an "issue" for percy a few hours later. ✩ 𝙋𝙊𝙎𝙏 𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙊: fic (Part 1), 1.8k words ✩ 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂: missing consent/dubcon (percy as victim), powerplay (subby percy into dom percy), degredation, namecalling (cumsl*t, wh*re, l*ve), somnophelia, cumhungry!reader, power dynamic switch, sir, mentions of breeding

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎 𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈 𝘿𝙄𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙀: i did not proofread this :') hopefulyl its legible BUT eventually i'll go back and make the edits i need. the idea was inspired by this post, and it's probably (?) not done yet.

♡ REBLOGS + LIKES ARE APPRECIATED ♡ 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘌 𝘝𝘖𝘟 𝘔𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘈 | 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 & 𝘖𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘙 𝘞𝘖𝘙𝘒𝘚 | 𝘔𝘠 𝘗𝘈𝘎𝘌

“Oh cmon, wasn’t the bet that the first one asleep gets a dick drawn on their forehead?”

Percy, your boyfriend, shoots Scanlan a dirty look through his rosy drunk cheeks. “Have you no decency? She’s a lady for God’s sake, Scanlan. How will I explain to all of Whitestone tomorrow if we have to leave the confines of our home?”

The pop of a marker and the cap clicking against the floor was enough of a signal that Scanlan didn’t quite care all that much for the high maintenance prince. “Well, then you have an excuse to stay in for a day. Resting’s important, Percy,” he says, before hopping onto a stool to get to your head, slumped over on the couch. Percy stumbles to his feet to try and stop him from putting that bright pink ink on your skin, but he’s forced back into his chair at the hand of Vax.

“Hey, he’s right, you know. You kind of need a day at home, if you ask me,” Vax says, leaning his weight on Percy’s shoulder to keep him down. Percy glares at him too, going to shove his hand away so that he could get to you, but to no avail. Percy’s too wasted for hand eye coordination.

“Oh, Percy, darling, relax,” his sister says from across the table, looking at Scanlan trying to balance and draw on your knocked out face. “She agreed to the game before we even started drinking, and she’s an adult, so I’m sure she’ll be fine. And if she isn’t– well, you can make sure she’s fine. In the morning. No more fussing about it now, you can barely get to your feet,” she says, words slurring before taking a swig out of her bottle.

He can’t relax, at least not when Pike isn’t around. Pike’s usually the babysitter of the group, and with Keyleth vomiting her guts out again, they were somewhere downstairs in the bathroom. Grog wouldn’t be of much help either– he was entranced in some sort of conversation with his reflection in the mirror, flexing and unflexing his muscles to look at.

“Annnnnd, ta-da!” Scanlan grins, showing the marvel to the three others in the room. Cumslut was written across your forehead in big, bold letters, with a penis as the T. Scanlan was really, an artist of all trades.

Percy was the first to react, and the only one that didn’t burst out in absolute side pinching tears. “Scanlan! You little useless bard!” He swung around to Vex and Vax. “I thought we agreed that it would be the dick drawing?”

“Well,–” Vex laughs, whipping away his tears. “There is a dick. There’s just–” he makes eye contact with Vex across the table, who was holding her own laughter for a little before the two burst out again into hearty giggles. “–some other additions.”

Percy sighed. There wasn’t really another other choice; what’s done is done. Hopefully you wouldn’t be too mad when you woke up in the morning about it. And hopefully, the ink would come off soon.

Percy, with his lithe frame, was not the one that carried you into bed. Grog actually carried the both of you into bed– bragging that he could do anything with his giant muscles. Percy would have been grateful for that omission of an opportunity to make a fool out of himself, had he been properly awake during that time of the night. He’d passed out on his own accord after a few more shots into the night.

It didn’t take long before he stirred awake. Alcohol never quite helped keep him asleep as well as it put him to sleep. But his body sure felt warm, skin flushed a little as he reveled in the pleasure of being under clean sheets. There was also pleasure budding from his core, some shifting between his legs–

“What on earth?!–” he manages to choke out before throwing his head backwards as some cavern of warm, wet heat descends on him. It felt good and needy and desperate, and when he had the moment to take a breath from the sudden crashing waves of pleasure, he lifted the blankets to find you, face nestled neatly between his legs, with his cock in your mouth and a protruding cheek.

“My love,” he says, voice soft and hitched at first. “Y-you need to stop or else,–” A groan cuts through, his hands fisting the sheet that he’s holding up to see you kitten licking his tip.

“What’s gotten into you?” he hisses, but he doesn’t get an answer because you take his whole length into your mouth again, mushroom tip gliding against the roof of your mouth before sinking into your back tongue. He’s watching you, or doing the best he can with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth agape. When you wrap your hands around his base, twisting and bobbing at the same time, Percy grimaces, one eye forcing itself shut as he watches you with the other. His cheeks are flushed a deep red, and his skin feels sticky under the touch of your fingers, but all you can think about is his cum, and how much you want it down your throat.

“S-slow d-down,” he stutters, a frustrated moan drawing out of his throat when you don’t listen. He can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your mouth, the sensation of your tongue swirling around the tip all too much for him. He’s close, and you know that, feeling his balls twitching under your chin– and perfect, because that’s exactly what you want. So you keep at it, watching him writhe and pant and seize up with his head thrown back and his eyes cross when he cums down your throat. It’s sticky and a little bitter from the alcohol, but you don’t mind it at all, because you’ve been craving this feeling since you woke up. You suck, and suck, and keep sucking him, milking every little bit that you can.

He’s a whimpering mess now, his other hand grabbing you by the hair to attempt to pull you off his cock.

“Love, love, please– please stop, I’m done, I can’t–” but that gets cut off by another moan, his knees shaking and bottoming out underneath you as your hands work his cock from base to tip, using spit and cum as lube.

He’s never seen you like this before, so needy, so pushy for it– whatever it, was. In a moment of clarity as your hands lift on the pressure to his cock, he reads the word on your forehead again. Cumslut.

He puts two and two together in the middle of a desperate whimper, throwing his head to the side as the pleasure in his overstimulated dick multiplies. On the nightstand was the marker that Scanlan used, capped and sitting neatly by his nightlight. Grabbing it off the table, he managed what he could with you turning him into putty from the waist down, grabbing one of your hands that you were using to support your weight scribbling “obedient” into it the best he could.

Nothing different happened at first– you continued to milk him for all that he was worth, and Percy couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling to the back of his head as he felt the familiar coil in the abdomen forming, ready to snap. “Hah- hah, hmpfh, s-stop, love, h-hang on–” he begs of you, and for the first time in the night, you oblige, hands and mouth lifting off his cock with the nasty squelch.

He looks at you, panting, undignified drool at the edge of your lips, and he slips a finger over it and wipes it away. Catching his breath, he dedicates a moment to taking you in; needy, glazed-over cum-hungry eyes as his cock rests on your cheek, tousled hair, plump, shiny lips coated in a thin sheen of spit and semen, the white of your teeth poking out from under. You looked gorgeous for him like that, and he let you know by pushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You want my cum that badly, is that right?” he says, tentative at first. But you nod, rather vigorously, at that. It flips some sort of switch inside of him, and you feel him pull you by the hair, your own whimper leaving your throat as he exposes your throat to him.

“A little cumslut wants her holes filled. What a sight,” he taunts, a wicked smirk brewing at the corners of his lips. The way he looks at you runs a chill down your spine– it was the way he looked at something he wanted, no, needed, to be under his control.

And you were more than ready to give that.

“Be a good girl, then. Get on with it. On your hands and knees, on the floor,” he commands you, nodding towards the wood floor you have next to the bed. You glance down and back at him, and he’s watching you expectantly. Heat rising to your own cheeks, you shuffle down, assuming position on all fours as he requested.

You hear him shifting off the bed, stalking behind you– you feel his hands wrap around your waist, and then– a searing burn on your knees as you’re re-oriented, looking up to see the closet mirror and yourself staring back at you, cumslut written over your forehead. And dauntingly, above and behind you, stood Percy.

You’re naked, because you woke up earlier and tried to satisfy your urges by touching yourself, which, went nowhere, clearly, otherwise you wouldn’t be in this cum-drunk state– but he is clothed; well, partially clothed, his sleeping robe untied and hanging off his shoulders. He knees behind you, secures your ankles to the ground with the weight of his calves and body, and sinks his fingers into your sides.

“Spread your pussy for me.”

Your eyes go wide, thundering in your chest. He notices your hesitation, and grabs a fistful of hair and pulls you towards him.

“I said, spread your pussy for me. Do I need to repeat myself?”

Some sort of noise comes out of you that sounds vaguely like a whimper and a “yes, sir,” as you take your hands and grab your ass to satisfy his request. You feel a bubbling of dopamine in your chest when you obey him, and it feels good, addictive, almost.

When you feel the weight of his cock pressed against your entrance, your body instinctively gravitates towards him, craving to be filled. But you feel his weight pull away, teasing it along your slit as he leans over to your ear.

“Be patient, love. Just enjoy it, I’ll do the work, my little cumslut. You’re such a needy little breeding whore, aren’t you?”

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ladamedusoif · 6 months

Text

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever.

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge.

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?”

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen.

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either.

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind.

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream.

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud.

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours.

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.”

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch.

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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iamasaddie · 8 months

Note

Never Have I Ever read a Librarian! Marcus P fic. 🥰 I’m not really a Marcus P kinda girl, more of a Dave York (iykyk) girl BUT as someone who works at a library, Marcus P would be the best guy to get lost in the book shelves with 🤭😏

Hi, birdie <3 This is actually such a sweet idea! I haven't seen fics like this either! At first, I was just gonna send this ask out sending writers that see this your idea for a fic. But then I thought about it and something hit me, so here's my take on librarian!Marcus Pike. I gave it my own twist, but I hope you can still enjoy it <3

you're such a heavenly view

paring: Marcus Pike x f!Reader rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI) word count: 2.1k~ summary: He wants to be in love again. He's just not really sure how. a/n: This was written on a whim. Thank you to the amazing anon for planting the thought of librarian Marcus in my head <3 Not beta-ed, all mistakes are my own so pls don't plagiarize them. warnings: pining, Marcus Pike is shy and horny, male masturbation; no use of y/n MY MASTERLIST

Marcus loved the quiet.

He loved the whisper of turning pages and scribbling pens being the only noise in the spacious library he worked at. A humdrum nine-to-five that most people tried to escape became his salvation. He felt calm, at peace, a feeling that wasn’t prominent in his life before.

When he came here over two years ago just to help his old friend out, with his heart ripped to shreds and falling apart, the walls of this place held it together. And then you and your gentle smiles as you checked out books put bandaids all over it, so it started healing.

Marcus first saw you a year ago, by that time he was already comfortably moving along the labyrinths of the abode of books, knowing every section almost by heart. He still remembered your tiny manicured fingers nervously tapping the reception table as he looked through the computer base for the availability of Giorgio Vasari’s "Lives of the Artists". Before you, art section was one he never frequented for two reasons: first, he didn’t need the reminder of the past that he tried to separate from his present; and second, he knew pretty much every book there by heart.

As his eyes bore into the screen, looking for the right title, with his peripheral vision he saw you burning a hole in the side of his face. Marcus couldn’t help but chuckle, it was a while since a beautiful woman had been interested in him. Or since he noticed. You hurried to stray your gaze away, and his smile became bigger, now showing his teeth. You saw him noticing you and got flustered, that only meant that you staring was intentional. Marcus confirmed that the book you needed was available, but since it was a rare edition you couldn’t leave with it. The library was surprisingly empty for the first month of autumn, but at least you wouldn’t have any problems with staying and doing your research there. You nodded, agreeing with him. The place was quite cozy, you thought that to yourself the moment you entered from the windy autumn street.

"Let me show you to the art section, it’s pretty difficult to navigate these corridors the first time you’re here." Marcus left the librarian desk he had been occupying for the last year and motioned his hand to the right direction.

"Only the first?" You raised your eyebrows and smiled. Damn, you were beautiful in your flared jeans and a big white t-shirt with a warm-looking sweater on top. Your hair in a messy bun, either it was messy because of the wind or because you wanted it to be. Anyway, you looked fantastic like that, so Marcus smiled back automatically.

"Well, the first fifty."

You laughed, and he stumbled at the sound. Marcus felt his cheeks burn with pride, he forgot how pleasant it was to make a pretty girl laugh.

It was over a year ago, and still he remembered that beautiful sound you let out. One of the beautiful moments you shared that he kept sealed in his mind. Even though all your interactions were friendly, and sometimes borderline flirtatious, something always stopped Pike, and he got used to seeing you leaving with a nod and a tight-lipped smile, now almost never lifting your eyes up to meet his as you sat studying behind one of the many similar wooden tables.

He cursed himself, cursed his cowardice and the fact that he got panic attacks any time he tried to tell you a compliment. He hated that he became tongue-tied whenever you asked his opinion on one of the books you checked out. And when his brain was swarming with knowledge, the influences the author had, or the way the work was transcending the time it was written in; his mouth only said ‘it’s a good book’ or worse ‘it’s not bad’. He wanted to punch himself, but that would mean lifting his arms that were numb and limp on both sides of his body.

Today was not an exception, unfortunately. Marcus was sitting behind his desk, pristine, clean and occupied only by his work computer and a book he had been reading during the quiet times. You came over less than half an hour ago, saying your usual hello and asking about yet another book on art. You’d almost read them all, and Marcus was frantically thinking what would happen when you check out the last book from the art section, a place in the library that no one else went to. He told you where to find a copy of "Janson’s History of Art" and you nodded, going in the right direction without needing his help anymore. You didn't look up at him when you took your usual place near the window and placed the book on the table.

Marcus sighed, looking as you brows furrowed when you read something and started rewriting it in your notebook. Art section was your place. Yours and his. It was special, at least for him. He had walked you there exactly forty nine times. Not because you couldn’t remember where to go, no, you were confident in your stride the third time; but because it became a sort of a joke between the two of you. Sometimes you’d just come over and ask him to show you where the art section was, telling him that it was only your 21st, 33rd, 45th time in the library and you didn’t have the opportunity to learn all the right turns yet. He laughed, but always walked you there. Sometimes you were silent, sometimes you’d ask him silly questions (‘What is the rarest book here?’ 'First edition of Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince and Other Tales" with the author's inscription.’; ‘What is the worst thing a person did in the library?’ ‘Tried to rip a page out of the first edition of Oscar Wilde's "The Happy Prince and Other Tales"’; ‘Did you stop them?’ ‘Kind of.’; ‘Is the horror section haunted?’ ‘Yes.’). You hadn’t asked him to walk you to the art section for a month now. Marcus even wanted to suggest it himself, but his tongue felt too heavy and big for his mouth whenever he tried.

So he was left with watching. Just like dozens of times before. As he quietly observed from a distance, Marcus couldn't help but lose himself in the beauty of your presence amidst the mundane decorations of his workplace.He thought that he knew you face better than his own by now. The structure of your cheekbones, the curve of your lip, the depth of your cupid’s bow. He could close his eyes and draw you in his sleep. You were engrossed in the book when another wave of hot air from the AC above you tousled your hair. Winter this year was abnormally cold, so to keep the building warm Marcus had to turn up the temperature on the AC pretty high. Maybe he overdid it today. He saw you wiping a lonely droplet of sweat running from your temple. Yes, he definitely overdid it today.

He reached to stand up and go to the temperature controller when you started tugging up your usual bulky green sweater, and dropped back into his chair as the material of your sweater and t-shirt stuck together, so you almost took both items off. Marcus choked on his saliva seeing so much of you that he never saw before. Sure, you wore knee-length shorts and oversized t-shirts during summer, sometimes you even put on a dress when it was too hot for anything else, but this was different. The swell of your naked stomach, the almost-not-there lacy edge of your black bra, fuck, it felt so intimate.

Marcus squeezed his thighs under the table, his cock getting hard with every thought his brain provides. Fuck, it was really not a time or a place for a boner, but you looked so… He pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes and trying to relax, but instead of that he saw images of your naked skin over and over again, followed by fake scenarios where he ripped the shirt off you, kissing your willing body with his greedy mouth. Marcus could almost feel the softness of your skin under his palms, and he bit his lower lip at the phantom feeling, trying to suppress a moan.

He didn’t notice how his legs brought him to the secluded area of the art section, his hands hysterically pulling out his stiff cock from the confines of his pants, while his mind completely shut off.

It was almost primal, the incandescent feeling inside him that made him spit in the palm of his hand before wrapping it around his shaft.

"Fuck," his whisper was quiet, even though it was unlikely that anyone could hear him anyway. There were less than eight patrons when he left the main hall, all of them engrossed in their literature of choice, and he still had an hour before he had to close.

His spit-slicked hand tightened around his cock as he moved it up and down, circling the weeping head every time. Goddamn, he was sick. Fucked up. Getting hard after seeing the stomach of the girl he had been swooning over for almost a year. What in the teenage hormones was this bullshit?

Your skin, the swelling of your stomach, the tiny dip of your belly button. Fuck, he wanted to dip his tongue in the little canyon of your body and hear you suffocating on giggles.

Up, down, up, down.

He looked down, watching his hand methodically moving around his fat cock. As he got closer to his orgasm, the veins that led from the base to the tip of his cock became more pronounced, the head getting darker with every stroke. "God-fucking-dammit, baby," he dropped his head back, punching a wall but barely noticing any pain as he got succumbed by his pleasure. "So fucking gorgeous. Mine. Mine. Only mine."

If anyone heard Marcus, they’d consider him a psycho, his hoarse whisper feverishly calling someone his when he was the only one in the room. He didn’t give a single fuck. In his little fantasy, right now, you were his. Only for him to touch, only for him to love. He tripped over the edge, as his mind flooded by the memory when you first laughed at his joke, and he came all over his fist moaning your name as quietly as possible, as four thick ropes of cum painted his skin pearly white.

Marcus didn’t hear the footsteps, orgasm claiming every sense in his body until he heard a quiet ‘oh’, the voice too familiar to mistake its’ owner.

"Fuck, fuck, oh God, sorry, this is not what you think it is." His eyes went wide at the sight of you. You were pressing your copy of "Janson’s History of Art" to your chest, face curious and almost… amused? He pulled his boxers up, trying not to wince when the thick rubber band scratched the sensitive skin of his spent cock.

"Isn’t it?" You raised your eyebrows at Marcus, and he remembered that he was still standing in front of you with his pants fully undone and his boxers stained with the cum he wiped on them in a hurry.

"No." He shook his head frantically, tugging on the zipper and trying to quickly zip it up when the hem of his shirt stuck in it and he cursed, almost tearing it out.

"So you weren’t just masturbating thinking of me, and the fact that you moaned my name as you came was just a coincidence?"

'How long had you been standing there?' Marcus thought. He heard your steps closing in on him, but didn’t dare to raise his eyes to see the disgust on your face. Instead, he continued fighting with the zipper.

"Yes," he nodded, and then immediately shook his head. "No. Look, I can explain." Marcus searched his brain for the right answer, for something that could fix all of this mess, but coming up empty. His sigh was deep, almost hurting his lungs as he gave up. "Okay, I maybe can’t explain, I’m just… Sorry."

"I’m not."

He snapped his head up so fast that the sides of his vision went black for half of a second. "What?"

You were close. Very close. If you reached your arm out you could help him with a zipper he abandoned in stupor.

"I was planning to come over at the last moment tomorrow and ask you to walk me here," you stepped even closer, placing your hand on his chest and feeling the rapid fire of Marcus’ heartbeat. "You know, for our last time."

He just nodded, the blood pumping in his ears made it almost impossible to understand what you were saying, so he just stared at your lips, unconsciously licking his.

"And then," both your hands circled his neck, burrowing in the slightly damp hair at his nape, "I was going to blow you right against the rare editions shelf."

"Wha..—"

Marcus wasn’t able to finish when your lips crushed into his, tasting each other for the first time. Suddenly, he wasn’t so tongue-tied anymore.

PLEASE WRITE A COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THE STORY ♥︎

#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #iamasaddie fic #pedro pascal fic #the mentalist fic

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