#pikes writes

[pikespendragon67]

And Now, an Ode to Priam Fire Emblem: The Decade or So Long Blorbo

As I type this, the Nintendo 3DS and WiiU eShop have legally shut down their Internet servers. Pokemon can still be transferred via the Poke Transporter & Pokemon Bank, and content that was downloaded before can still be redownloaded, but now it is legally impossible to not only buy games, but to also download their free content that was distributed online. For some games, this might not have been utilized or was just a small bonus that didn’t mean much. For Fire Emblem Awakening, it meant access to new maps & somewhat new characters. 

4 of the free online characters were within Awakening’s main story & acted as “what if” scenarios. What if Emmeryn survived her character defining fall that ended a decade-or-so-long war? What if Yen’fay was the Chon’sin royal sibling that survived instead of Say’ri? What would Gangrel do if he lived after Chrom defeated him? What would Walhart do? What would Aversa do if it turned out that she was brainwashed by a cult, realized this, and decided to fight against this? Some were better executed than others, in my opinion, but some of these characters also had exclusive skills, such as Aversa wielding dark magic outside of a Dark Mage/Sorcerer class or Walhart being immune to armor & beast killing weapons, or were just more manpower for your army.

There was one final Spotpass map, though, that acted as a nice free challenge mode (if you didn’t plan on buying the DLC for Apotheosis, of course) : 50 whole units against 26 of your own. At the epicenter of it is Priam, the character I’d like to honor with this memoir. 

Priam is a character not found in the main story of Awakening, and is a dweller of the Isle of Giants in the Outrealms (aka bonus content land oooooh). He’s the leader of a very large army (again, 50 units) consisting of people from every nation within the continents of Ylisse & Valm. He’s supposedly related to a radiant hero of legend, though it’s never officially confirmed. He likes to train, eat meat, and fight strong opponents to better himself regardless of their origins. Overall a relatively simple character to understand. 

For many players, they tend to forget he exists or do their best to pretend he doesn’t exist in the first place. Either they didn’t play his map, his character traits didn’t stick with others as strongly as others, or the big meat and potatoes hot button issue: his relation to Ike. Ike is the protagonist of the Tellius saga, or the games consisting of both Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn. He does not have a canonical ending where he marries, and within the games, he doesn’t show romantic interest in any female characters. He does, however, have paired endings with characters such as Ranulf (who goes on a journey) and Soren (who accompanied Ike on his own journey, never to be seen or heard from again). And with sources stating Priam is a direct descendant of Ike, rather than an off-shoot through Mist (Ike’s younger sister) and Boyd, many got upset. “How could Ike have a kid? He’s not interested in women. He likes Soren.” is something I see regularly while scouring through Priam’s tag on Tumblr or through comments on Youtube. And I’m not here to argue against that. I do, however, think I have an idea why Priam was chosen to be Ike’s descendant of all the previous lords: Super Smash Bros. Brawl.

Brawl, at the time, was the latest Smash Bros. game when Awakening was in development. Smash Bros. is usually how Nintendo fans branch out from just playing Mario, Zelda, Pokemon, or Kirby and get introduced to series they might not have even heard of, such as Fire Emblem. In fact, it was due to Marth & Roy’s appearance in the previous Smash Bros. game, Melee, that the West got their first taste of Fire Emblem games. However, in Brawl, Roy was removed from the roster and was replaced with Ike. This makes sense, as Path of Radiance was the latest console Fire Emblem game when Brawl was released. (I also wonder if it has to do with the west never receiving Roy’s game, but that’s just speculating on my end). Gotta promote your games somehow. Though from what I understand, the Tellius games did not sell as well as Intelligent Systems had hoped. Additionally, with the following games being remakes of Marth’s original adventures now on the DS, those also did not sell well. Heck, the west never officially got the remake for Mystery of the Emblem. 

This could just be fan speculation ruminating throughout the decades, but it seems to be common belief that due to poor sales, Fire Emblem was almost a goner franchise that probably would’ve remained dormant for decades or even had no games developed for it. As such, Intelligent Systems wanted to broaden the market by appealing to newcomers. Some that may have heard about Fire Emblem through Smash Bros., but never gave it a shot due to the permadeath system that the games were infamous for, or just no real interest beforehand. Awakening exploded in popularity, garnering new fans like crazy. And with Chrom, Lissa, Emmeryn, Lucina, and Owain being descendants of the recognizable Marth (especially as Lucian disguising herself as Marth and even being briefly confused for Marth by Tiki), it would make sense to have a supposed descendant of the recognizable Ike as well. …Although one could speculate that Walhart is a descendant of Alm & Celica, which makes sense given how Rudolf looks… And for more reference’s sake, they threw in a bunch of past Fire Emblem throwbacks in weapons & lore that made writing a worldbuilding-centric fic a fucking nightmare.

So, with all of that, what are my thoughts on Priam being related to Ike? 

…Eh? 

My whole explanation beforehand was me retelling how I got into Awakening in the first place sprinkled in with hearsay I’ve read online, but as I grow older & more bitter at the world, Priam could be related to a shoe for all I care. (Although if Roy DID stick in Brawl, it would be cool to see how his descendant would be, especially if we’re going the route of Eliwood/Ninian having Roy, who then marries Lillina). What I like about Priam is traits somewhat shown in Ike, sure, but it’s also just the missing potential that keeps me coming back to him.

SO, time to get into how I started to like him. I remember when I first played Awakening, I asked a friend if I should pick between Stahl or Lon’qu to marry (as I was aware of the auto-marriage to Chrom mechanic and wanted to avoid that). The friend said Stahl was a better pick, as he was a kind lad that loved to eat & had messy hair like yours truly. Then, when the Spotpass maps were released, I immediately made a new save file so that I could marry Priam. Why? …Because he had a bandana and I liked his English voice acting (for the few grunts & battle quotes that were present). The Awakening Hero armor design is eh, but I liked how his was customized to be, well, radiant. The 3D model was shinier than those of Flavia’s or other playable reclassed Heroes, and I really just liked how he paired a tattered cape with his armor. 

I also remember level grinding for an entire summer just so I could finally take on his map efficiently. Granted, I played Normal/Casual, but when I replayed the map a 3rd time for another save file, my units were barely able to beat him. It was worth it, in my opinion. 

What really made me start up that second save file were his supports with Female Robin. Priam is an unfortunate case of “Avatar-sexual”, meaning he only has supports with Robin & Morgan if he’s his dad (although in the Hot Springs DLC, he does have a nice chat with Yen’fay & tries his damnest to fight Walhart). We only learn small things about him, such as his love for training & how he utilizes breathing techniques that would fit right into Jojo or Demon Slayer. He also gets flustered when someone does something nice for him unexpectedly, such as Female Robin doing his laundry as thanks for training with her. He doesn’t really care about expenses, as he bought a really fucking expensive ring when he proposed to Female Robin and says “I don’t give a damn what you do” when you sell items in his inventory. He’s devoted to the point of letting the world burn before seeing Female Robin get hurt (thankfully not to a yandere-like level). …And you learn he fought a bear when he was 12 if you support with Male Robin. He’s what got me to liking characters that had muscle (yes even though Basilio and Vaike were right there).

Combat wise, he was a good non-armor defensive unit (especially with wielding Ragnell to give him +5 defense), but what I find neat is that he learns weapon breaker skills even in classes he can’t become, like Gryphon Rider having Lancebreaker. He has both Sol and Luna, but not Aether like. This might be so Aether stays exclusive to Chrom, Lucina, and a potential daughter/granddaughter, but I speculated this could be Priam either holding himself back from using Aether’s potential or him still trying to figure it out.

Along with this, if you were a budding mythology/history nerd like I was, you realize he was named after not one, but two! TWO! Important figures in the Trojan War: King Priam and his son, Paris (In Japanese, Priam is named Paris, so yes, go ahead and make the French jokes. His English voice actor already plays the Frenchiest Fry Virion himself). In fact, this was one of the many things that sparked my interest in mythology/history. 

And finally, this was around the time I was starting to get interested in voice acting trivia. This meant I wanted to act as a human IMDB page and go “whoa, did you know such and such shared a voice with so and so?! Isn’t that neat?!” At the time, I didn’t know Jamieson Price also voiced Virion, but I DID know he voiced Iskandar from Fate/Zero and Chad from Bleach. Those were 2 of my favorite characters so I was sold. And then for Japanese, Daisuke Ono voices him. Jotaro Kujo from Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure and Shizuo Heiwajima from Durarara!! Of all things! WOW! 

All of this is really fucking cool shit, and it’s such a damn waste that Intelligent Systems doesn’t do anything else with him! 

To fill in my disappointment, I’ve definitely created a version of Priam in my head that’s drastically different from canon. I’ve incorporated elements from what I’ve continued to read in his supports, inspiration coming from moments & traits from other series that I’ve watched/played that I thought would be cool, and overall just positive things to keep me going when I was going through a rough spot. Canonically, he’s probably like what people expect Goku from Dragon Ball Z to be. In my mind, he’s like a battle-hardened tactician brawler that gets very excited about swords (to the point where he takes up blacksmithing to craft his own), loves to speak about life in a philosophical lens, and experiences a quiet yet extremely unsettling quiet anger when someone he cares about gets hurt. I also headcanon he uses his headband to cover scars from his bout with fighting a bear when he was 12. OH! And he gets to have twin girls: Cassandra and Helena. 

…So yeah, completely different from canon. But with only 3 Cipher cards and 1 appearance in Heroes as I type this to go by, I feel like it’s okay to speculate about what could have been. He could have been in Awakening’s main story as an opponent to Walhart during the second arc, or he could have been a recurring superboss in future Fire Emblem games that somehow always ends up in different dimensions. He could have been a hint for an upcoming Fire Emblem game that explored Tellius 1,000 years in the future much like how Awakening explored Archanaea & Valentia 1,000 years after Marth, Alm, and Celica ruled. (And apparently 2,000 years after Seliph ruled Jugdral? Again, consistent worldbuilding in this series is a nightmare if you try to connect all the games). Heck, I thought that was going to be what Fates was when I saw the cutscene of King Sumeragi shielding baby Corrin from arrows. 

Part of the reason why I’m so attached to Priam is spite from this lack of potential, and the fans mostly ignoring him for their own reasons. Like! We could have had so much more with this guy! And that kept me motivated during dark times in my life. I won’t go into specifics, as it’s quite personal & possibly triggering, but I’ll just say I felt very upset, very angry, and very alone at a certain point in my life. But I kept myself going for the unrealistic but still plausible goal of getting to see Priam get his own game. It might sound dumb, but it kept me wanting to move forward in life. And it’s because of that that I’m here today, and I’ve met other Priam fans online that have their own ways of showing that they like him. They have different reasons than me, and that’s awesome! Priam fans, in spite of their small numbers, exist! When I first joined Tumblr, I unofficially joined a “Radiant Waifu Society” where 3 other people were also Priam fans. I don’t talk to them as much as I did back then, but I do see one of the members post art from time to time & another one makes Fire Emblem Heroes content on Youtube now! I’ve also met one of my best online friends through a shared interest in Priam. She introduced me to many new friends I’ve made over the years, and I still talk with a few of them on a daily basis in friend group servers on Discord. I love sharing cursed voice acting trivia with her and the many other friends whenever I get the chance to, especially seeing their initial reactions when I tell them Priam is also voiced by Jelly Jiggler of Bobobo fame. 

All in all, I’d say Priam, in spite of his controversies in fandom spaces, was a great positive in my life that I can’t help but be thankful for. Intelligent Systems probably didn’t expect someone to care for this one-off character so much, but anything’s possible these days. 

Thank you for being such a positive force in my life, Priam Fire Emblem. With your map no longer being legal to download, here’s hoping you get your own game someday.

#long post #pikes writes #fire emblem awakening #priam #many will call this cringe to which i say fair

[elspeth-catton]

[saltburn characters + text posts]

#saltburn #saltburn 2023 #incorrect saltburn quotes #saltburn spoilers #oliver quick #felix catton #farleigh start #venetia catton #elspeth catton #barry keoghan #jacob elordi #archie madekwe #alison oliver #rosamund pike #i don't have the energy in my life right now to do art or writing to add to the saltburn fandom but i can do terrible shitposts xx

[morallyinept]

B O D I E S - A Collection of Pedro Boy & Real Body Reader One Shots - Masterlist

A collection of softly smutty Pedro Boy stories, featuring real bodies and real love... 🧡

Adoration - Joel Miller - Cancer/Masectomy

Reverence - Ezra - Limb Loss

Devotion - Dieter Bravo - Curvy/fuller Body

Homage - Javi Gutierrez - Blindness

Veneration - Frankie Morales - Deafness

Adulation - Marcus Pike - Alopecia

Respect - Dave York - Wheelchair User/MS

Devoutness - Marcus Moreno - Mature 60+

Glorification - Jack Daniels - Pregnancy

Exaltation - Javier Peña - Scarring/Burns

Sanctification - Joel Miller - Vaginismus

Benediction - Frankie Morales - Scoliosis

Acclamation - Marcus Pike - Walking Aid

Piety - Dieter Bravo - Paraplegia

Obeisance - Joel Miller - Fibromyalgia

🖤

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #javier peña #dieter bravo #frankie morales #ezra prospect #dave york #marcus pike #javier gutierrez #marcus moreno #real bodies #inclusivity #diversity #every body is beautiful #jett's writing

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐑𝐄

ㅤㅤmarcus pike x art historian!reader

genre: mutual pining, friends to lovers, forced proximity, smut, minors dni,

word count: 6k

summary: when a famous art collector is murdered, circumstances lead you to be temporary roommates with Marcus Pike.

warnings: oral sex (marcus receiving), marcus getting spoiled, some very mild angst, idiots in love

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @sevillagrenada! thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

** dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Another day, another handsome detective at your doorstep.

It’s been a few months since you and Marcus first got acquainted. He had visited you during one of your busiest hours, asking you for information on a recently stolen painting while you were desperately trying to sort out a curated disaster by one of the interns. It didn’t end well. You ended up shouting at him to leave you alone and even though you regretted your choice in showing how distressed you were, it was what it was. What surprised you later, however, was finding him in the early morning hours with two coffees and blueberry muffins. He apologized profusely and asked for a do-over. Something that you were more than eager to oblige. 

And the rest, what most art historians like you would say, was history. 

Now he visits you almost every morning if he can. Thanks to his charm, you were now considered the number one go-to person of the FBI when it came to art theft. A title you didn’t mind having. 

“A bit early even for you, don’t you think?” you say, handing him the folders you’d been carrying. You smile as he lets out an exaggerated “oomph” and go to open the door. “Don’t be a baby, detective.” 

“I just wanted to see you, what’s the harm in that,” he answers, following you inside. “I have the day off tomorrow so I won’t be visiting.” 

“How thoughtful of you.” 

“Good to see that someone appreciates it.” 

He takes a seat as you head for the coffee machine. You’d got it a month ago, saving Marcus the trouble of waiting in line every morning before work. You appreciate having this as an excuse for him to stop by every morning. Luckily, the museum was on his way to work, meaning he was more than happy to visit you. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that this relationship between you two is meant to be nothing other than friendship, a platonic thing. But every day you find your heart swelling more and more at the sight of him. It’s been too long since you felt close to someone. It’s been even longer since you ached for a person you know you shouldn’t ache for. 

“Are you working on something with Remedios Valo?” When you turn you see him hunched over your desk, his eye meet yours, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, all these books were just sprawled here. I couldn’t help but look.” 

The coffee machine comes to life, the aroma mixing in with the scent of books. 

“That’s alright,” you answer, lips feeling numb. “And yeah, Olivier is adding one of her works to his collection so he wanted me to take a look.” 

“Which one is he buying?” 

You know he absolutely despises the idea of art being bought, hidden from the rest of the world to be a decoration. You hear it in the drop of his voice.  

“Les Feuilles Mortes.” His gaze falls back to the table. “Dead leaves. The one with the woman with orange hair and green dress.” 

He hums when he finally sees it on the page, “It’s a nice one.” 

“It is. It’s one of my favorites.” 

You bring the two cups of steaming coffee. His eyes find yours as you place them down, taking a seat. “You must be excited then,” he states. “To be seeing it in person.” 

“I’m just happy it’s going to someone I know will take care of it.” 

“I did meet him once. Seemed like a decent enough guy.” 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, “You really hate art collectors don’t you?” 

“With a passion,” a soft smile touches his lips. “But I’ll make an exception for you.” 

You shake your head, smiling into your cup as you bring the steaming liquid to your lips. He’s always like this. Making sure just how much you matter, making you feel cherished, it’s a contrast to how you feel most of the time. Your eyes fall on the painting printed onto the glossy paper. Everyone interprets art differently. In this particular piece, you see loneliness but also a peaceful serenity. The shadow bowing to the woman, them being connected with a piece of blue yarn that she’s holding. The fact that it’s blue and not read also piques your interest. It makes you think it’s not something that is forced, it’s not the fates that brought them together but something else. Something more intimate and free. 

“So, when are you seeing this stunning artwork in person?” 

“Tonight.” 

Marcus already knows that today is going to be a long day. 

He knew it as soon as he entered his office, all fellow agents gathered in one place, murmuring. They parted like the Red Sea when he came through. That’s when the captain told him that extinguished art collector Olivier Balmaceda was found dead. Murdered. 

All he could think of was you. How excited you were to see him, and the painting, tonight. How Olivier was your friend and what would this mean for the investigation? Everyone here knew you, adored you. You being close to the murder victim certainly wasn’t good. He didn’t want you to be involved in any way, not even as a consultant. 

He steps out of the unmarked FBI sedan, his leather shoes echoing against the pavement as he approaches the crime scene. His partner, Tim, follows suit, both agents taking in the scene that awaits them.

The art collector's mansion looms before them, an opulent testament to a life steeped in appreciation for creativity. The air carries a faint scent of antique wood and the unmistakable aura of the art world. As they enter the expansive gallery, it becomes clear that Olivier Balmaceda's passion for art extends far beyond mere aesthetics.

The crime scene, bathed in the soft glow of gallery lights, is surreal. Olivier lies in the heart of his sanctuary, surrounded by the very beauty that defined his existence. The juxtaposition of life and death against the backdrop of artistic brilliance is haunting.

Tim glances at Marcus, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Together, they navigate the intricate dance of art and tragedy. The paintings, sculptures, and tapestries bear witness to the final act of a man whose life was intricately interwoven with the world he cherished.

As Marcus approaches Olivier's lifeless form, he can't help but feel the weight of the art that envelops them.

The art collector's mansion is cloaked in an air of somber anticipation as Marcus's focused gaze is drawn back to Olivier's lifeless form, nestled among the artworks that had once been a source of joy. The forensic team, adorned in pristine white suits, moves with meticulous precision, weaving through the crime scene like careful curators preserving a delicate masterpiece.

"Bullet entry at the back of the head. Looks like a single gunshot," Marcus hears one of them say, his voice a measured cadence amid the artistic silence.

Marcus nods, absorbing the gravity of the information. The team proceeds, each member contributing to the careful orchestration of documentation. His path takes him to the abstract painting, now surrounded by the scrutinizing eyes of forensic experts.

"We're scanning for any hidden messages or anomalies. This painting could hold clues.”

"Keep me posted," Marcus replies.

His attention turns to the delicate sculpture, now cocooned in an evidence bag. Tim approaches, his words a whisper against the backdrop of the gallery.

"Looks like they're treating the whole gallery as a crime scene. Anything stand out to you?" Tim inquires, his voice a muted harmony in the investigative symphony.

"Not yet. We need to dig deeper, find the connections between Olivier and whoever did this," Marcus responds, his words a subtle melody of determination.

The investigation shifts towards Olivier's desk, adorned with sketches and notes – a tableau of potential motives. They meticulously examines the papers, unveiling a narrative hidden within the inked strokes.

"Possible motive here. Let's see if Olivier was working on something that could've angered someone," suggests the expert, their words punctuating the air with a promise of revelation.

Acknowledging their findings, Marcus's thoughts churn with possibilities. Just as the investigation prepares to move to another sector of the mansion, his discerning eyes catch sight of a sketchbook nestled on a nearby shelf. A flicker of curiosity sparks within him, prompting the donning of gloves.

"Hold on a moment," Marcus interjects, a pause that reverberates through the dance of forensic activity.

The team halts, their collective gaze directed towards Marcus as he delicately retrieves the sketchbook. Its presence is unassuming, a silent witness to the unfolding drama. As Marcus flips through its pages, the sketches reveal a familiar artistic style, each stroke a brush with recognition.

"Wait... these look like—" Marcus begins, his words a murmur to the sketches that come to life beneath his fingertips.

Tim glances over, an inkling of recognition in his eyes.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah. It's hers," Marcus confirms, closing the notebook.

So much for not getting you involved.

“Captain, you can’t be serious.” 

Your eyes are drawn to Marcus, his voice holding the tone of nothing other but disbelief. Your eyes turn to the floor. Olivier is dead. Murdered. And the only proper evidence to connect the dots of what happened is your sketchbook. The sketchbook you could’ve sworn you left in your office. The sketchbook that you only kept to yourself other than Marcus and a couple of more trustworthy people. One of them being Olivier.

You close your eyes. It’s exhausting to breathe. You focus on how your nostrils flare and let it all out through a small gap between your lips. Marcus inches closer, hand firm against the small of your back. 

“I’m dead serious, Agent Pike,” Captain Lana answers, her voice calm yet cold as ice. “Until this entire case is solved, she’s on house arrest and under your care.” 

“Just because we found her sketchbook does not mean she’s a suspect—” 

“Agent Pike,” her voice cuts through the tension in the room. A sharp shudder crawls up your spine, your skin prickling with attention as you open your eyes. Despite her tone, she doesn’t look mad. “You will do what is best for our consultant. As of right now, she is linked to the case of one of the biggest art collectors for reasons we do not know. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on her and protect her.” 

His mouth slams shut, his jaw clenched. His hand deserts your back and in that moment, all you can feel is guilt. Guilt of him being forced to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do. 

To share his home. 

“I understand,” he answers curtly, turning on his heel. “Let’s go get your things.” 

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, shooting Captain Lana a glance, you follow him out of the office. 

Marcus hasn’t said a single word during the entire drive. Even when you finally parked, he just took your bags and led you up the stairs to his apartment. Your heart felt as if it was shattering into a million tiny pieces. The poor organ was already weighted down by your friend's death, and now one of the closest people to you couldn’t even look at you. 

He drops your bags to the floor and you slowly shut the door. You don’t even have it in you to look around, not that it would matter, you’ve already been here before. You doubt anything changed. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything else. “God, Marcus, I’m so sorry.” 

“For what?” 

His hands are on you in an instant, lifting your downturned gaze. You blink away the tears, breath catching in your throat as you meet his eyes. It’s so easy to get lost in them. You could live an eternity there. “For . . for having to stay here. I know it’s inconvenient.” 

“Oh, sweetheart no, no. You could never be an inconvenience. I’m. . . I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I should’ve checked in on you. None of this is your fault understand. None of it,” his thumbs draw slow circles around your cheeks, the knot in your throat growing by the second. “And for all it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here. I would be worried sick knowing that you’re alone.” 

Suddenly you’re being pulled into his chest, your senses completely enveloped by his scent. He gingerly cups your head from behind, holding you there, allowing you to disappear from the world for a while. 

The first tear escapes unexpectedly. It’s immediately absorbed into his shirt and the rest follows. He doesn’t try to hush you, doesn’t try to get you to stop. He allows you to break down completely. You cry and cry, until there’s nothing left anymore. Only then does he pull back, lifting your gaze to him once more. 

“Feeling better?” 

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Marcus.” 

He shakes his head, “I’m not doing anything you should be thankful for. This…this is what friends do.” 

That’s right. Friends. 

Your eyes sting when you blink, a forced smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah, friends.” 

You’re almost certain that you’re imagining it, but you swear the crease between his brows deepens with your answer. 

The soft glow of the TV screen bathes the room as Marcus settles onto the couch beside you. “Really? That’s what you want to watch?” 

Marcus raises a brow as he looks down at you. You’re wrapped in a blanket, looking as if the two of you have been living together for years. He loves how you’re already comfortable with the living situation. He wished he could have this in better circumstances without an ongoing murder investigation, but he’ll take what he gets. 

“I haven’t started the new season yet, it’ll be fun.” 

“It’s a murder mystery. Are you sure?” 

You snort, “I know the plot of Only Murders In The Building, Marcus. No need to remind me.” 

As the first episode begins, the room is filled with the intriguing soundtrack of the show. Marcus watches the characters unfold on the screen, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. The play of emotions on your face, the way you get caught up in the plot – it's more captivating to him than any murder mystery.

Gradually, you lean into him, seeking comfort in the shared moment. The warmth of your presence seeps into Marcus's consciousness, and he finds himself entranced by the way you become absorbed in the show. Unconsciously, his arm drapes around your shoulder, the gesture protective yet tender.

In the semi-darkness of the room, Marcus grapples with his own emotions. The line between friend and something more blurs as he navigates the uncharted territory of his feelings. As you snuggle closer, he can feel the gentle rhythm of your breath, the subtle rise and fall of your chest.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Marcus's mind. Does this closeness mean the same to you as it does to him? He wonders if you sense the subtle shift in the dynamics between you. The arm around your shoulder, a silent invitation, speaks volumes, but Marcus Pike remains in that delicate space between uncertainty and the unspoken desire for something more. The murder mystery on the screen becomes a mere backdrop to the complex enigma of emotions unfolding between two souls entangled in the intricacies of life and love.

Marcus's heart races as he lets his hand linger on your waist. He can feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of your shirt, and he wonders if you can feel the heat of his touch as well.

He watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is the same intensity and focus on the TV. It both thrills and confuses him – is it possible that you can be so oblivious to the way he feels?

But as he watches you, he notices the faint hitch in your breath when his hand moves slightly, as if you're aware of his touch but trying to hide it. It only fuels the growing attraction between them, and Marcus can feel himself getting more and more drawn in.

His mind is filled with images of how he wants to touch you, and he can barely contain the urge to lean in and brush his lips against your neck. He wants to feel your skin against his, to explore every inch of your body.

The tension in the room becomes palpable, and Marcus can feel his heart racing. He looks over at you, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of desire in your eyes. But just as quickly, it disappears, and you go back to watching the movie without a second glance.

His hand moves even closer to yours, brushing against your fingers lightly. He can feel the heat emanating from your body, and he knows that you're just as affected by the electric chemistry between them.

His mind is clouded with desire, and all he can think about is kissing you, touching you. But he knows he needs to be patient. He can’t just make a move and potentially ruin the friendship you have.

But as the episode goes on, Marcus can barely pay attention anymore. All he can focus on is you, and the way your body moves slightly with each scene. He can feel himself getting harder with each passing moment, and he knows he needs to do something to release the tension.

Without thinking, his hand moves to your thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. He can see your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed for a split second before you regain your composure.

He leans in closer to you, his lips just inches away from your ear. "Is this okay?" he whispers.

Marcus relaxes when you nod, eyes still glued to the screen. He knows you want to turn to him, to witness his feelings lingering in his eyes but he also knows that you can’t for the same reason why he can’t tell you how he feels. Fear. Fear of rejection. Of loss of a friendship.

So, his hand on your thigh is as far as he’ll go. Soothing you with the simplest of touches. 

The credits roll and the episode ends, Marcus can't help but feel a lingering sense of longing. He knows he needs to push these feelings aside and focus on the case, but he also can't deny the strong connection he feels with you.

As you stand up to turn off the TV, Marcus suddenly reaches out and takes your hand in his, surprising both of you. The air between them is heavy with unspoken words and tension, but they both know this isn’t the time or the place.

For now, they'll focus on solving the murder and catching the killer. But Marcus can't shake the feeling that this shared moment was the beginning of something more – something that could change everything.

It’s been almost two weeks now since you moved in with Marcus. And other than Olivier’s murder, things have been. . . peaceful. He’s been doing everything for you. You’ve never been taken care of to this extent before. It made you feel bad in a way, as if you were a burden to him and now he felt inclined to take care of you just because of the circumstances. 

However, you couldn’t ignore the tension either, the chemistry. Almost every night you thought of when the two of you watched TV. How close the two of you were. You often find yourself thinking about how differently that night could’ve ended. Only if you were brave enough, then maybe the friendship could’ve escalated into something more. 

While heating leftovers for the both of you from last night, the door clicks open. You expect to see his smile, the same question on his lips asking how your day was—but all you can see in his eyes is exhaustion. He forces a smile when he sees you, then silently heads to his room. Your lungs cave in on itself. Your body buzzing with worry, you look down at the barely heated leftovers. He deserves something more. Something fresh. 

So, as you quickly head down the hall to check on him, you order his favorites. You come to a halt at the door, heart beating in your throat, you knock. 

“I’ll be right there,” he says, almost apologetically, which makes you feel even worse. 

“I just wanted to check if you’re alright. Can I. . . Can I come in?” 

You’re about to head back to the living room when the door slowly opens. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, the first three buttons of his shirt wide open, exposing skin. You barely manage to tear your gaze away. He looks vulnerable, defeated. 

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat. “I promise.” 

You ignore what he says and take a step forward, forcing the both of you inside the bedroom. It smells of cinnamon. “I ordered us some food from that place you like. We have some time to relax.” 

“Relax?” 

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and trap his face between your hands. You want to make him feel good. You want to pamper him. At least this one time, you want to do something for him instead. You know what his answer is going to be if you ask him about his day—he’ll brush you off, because it’s the case you’re involved in. The murder of your friend. 

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.” 

His eyes widen, lashes fluttering, his lips part, “You don’t have to do that.” 

“I know I don’t have to but I want to.” You quickly add when you see the hesitation growing in his eyes. “Please.” 

You notice the hollow in his cheek, the way his jaw moves as he chews on the inside. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. After what feels like hours, his head jerks in a small nod, “Okay.” 

Marcus gently falls onto the bed and you drop to your knees, taking a place between his spread legs. You can feel his eyes on you. His gaze intense as you fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants along with his underwear, his hips slightly lifting to make it easier for you. His cock is still soft. It makes a certain type of hunger grow inside you. Placing both hands on his thighs, you dip down, taking him into his mouth. He sharply inhales, cock twitching over your tongue. It doesn’t take him long to grow in your mouth, and suddenly swallowing him down proves to be harder than you thought. 

Your nostrils flare as you attempt to swallow him down, your nose brushing against the soft curls. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, and when you look up you see his head falling back, his brows furrowed as he breathes heavily through his nose. 

Parting away, you suck the base of his cock, your tongue swirling. His hips jerk and a moan rips from his throat. “That—that feels good,” he swallows. 

“You like it slow?” you say, lips moving against sensitive skin. “Tell me how you like it. Show me.” 

“You’re doing great sweetheart, just do it how it’s best for you,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not picky.” 

Brows knitting together, you pull away and fix him a half-hearted glare. You wrap your fingers around and begin to stroke him, witnessing the flex of his thighs. “I want to do it how you like it,” you state. “Show me or I’ll stop.” 

Your lips curl as you hear him whine. It’s such a beautiful sound. 

“Fine.” 

He drags you back down to his cock, your hand falling away. You open your mouth to take him once more, thinking that he wants to fuck your mouth, but instead, he presses your lips to the side of his cock. You feel the heat of him, the bulging of his veins. 

“Wrap your lips,” he rasps and when you do, he starts to move your head up and down. 

You let out a muffled moan, the vibrations sending shivers down Marcus’ spine. His movements are slow, almost as if he’s fucking himself deep into you—almost as if he’s been thinking about this for months. Your head bobs up and down, your lips pursed around him tightly. You hear him grunt above you, and you can tell that he’s struggling to keep himself in control. 

“Put your hands back on my thighs,” Marcus commands, and you do so without hesitation. “I want to feel the bite of your nails.” His thighs are shaking beneath your touch, and you can feel the coiled tension inside him, just waiting to snap. You do as he asks, digging your nails slightly into the flesh. Another whimper falls for him, a sounds desperate and needy at the same time. He pulls up and finally slips himself into your warm mouth, your eyes water as he pushes you down, taking him whole. 

“You’re gonna make me come,” Marcus grunts, his voice punctuated by the wet sounds of your mouth on his cock. 

You keep up the pace, eager to please him. You can feel his cock growing harder and harder inside your mouth, and you can tell that he’s close. You swirl your tongue around him, pressing your lips even tighter around him. 

“Fuck,” Marcus mutters, his hand gripping your hair tightly. “I’m gonna—” 

Before he can finish his sentence, he releases into your mouth with a deep groan, his hips bucking up into your face. You eagerly take him in, swallowing around him as he spills, hot come trailing down your throat. He lets out a heavy sigh, his body going limp as he comes down from his orgasm. 

You sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Marcus looks at you with admiration and slight embarrassment, his cheeks peppered with a faint shade of red. 

“Sorry, that was quick,” he murmurs, tugging you up and pulling you to his lap. “Now it’s your turn.” 

He leans towards your lips but you stop him by pressing two fingers, they’re soft. “We can think about me later,” you say, despite the inside of your panties being an absolute wet mess. “I just wanted to make you feel good.” 

“I want to make you feel good too,” he objects, nipping at your fingers. “Don’t you. . . I thought you wanted me.” 

The guilt in his eyes is back and your hand drops away from his lips. He’s holding you tight as if you might disappear.  

“I do,” you answer tentatively. “But I don’t want you to jump into this thinking you have to. I don't want you to do anything you might regret.” 

“Regret?” he shakes his head. “What does that even mean? I’m not jumping into anything. I’m not confused if that’s what you’re worried about,” his arms around you tighten, and with that, you know you’ve said the wrong thing. “You just sucked my cock—are you telling me that was out of pity? Gratitude?” 

You cut him off, “N–No. . .” 

“Then what was it?” his voice drops dangerously low, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’m one hundred percent here. It has nothing to do with the case. And for you to do something just because you felt bad for me. . . I thought we were finally getting somewhere after all of this.” 

“Marcus—”

“I think I want to be alone right now,” he turns his head away from you but doesn’t do anything to push you off of him. Your apology dies in your throat, your mouth suddenly dry. You slowly move away, the taste of his come still in your mouth as you contemplate what to do. What to say. 

But whatever you were planning evaporates with the ring of the doorbell.  

You’re sitting on the couch when Marcus comes home and sits on the armchair right across from you. You’re eyes slowly shift from your phone to meet his gaze, he continues to stare down, his thumbs thrumming over his thighs. 

It’s been an awkward couple of days after the argument you two had. Neither of you were brave enough to broach the subject, However, that didn’t mean what happened didn’t haunt you in the dead of night, both in a bad and a good way. 

“It’s done.” 

His words send a chill down your spine, your muscles tightening, “What’s done?” 

“The case. We found who murdered Olivier. . . and how your notebook got there.” Marcus takes a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours as he begins to unravel the mystery that has been hanging over your heads like a storm cloud.

"Olivier's murder... it was someone close to him. Both rival and friend," Marcus starts, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. "Turns out, his friend had been eyeing the same collection for years. When Olivier outbid him for that prized painting, it pushed him over the edge."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of shock and sorrow swirling within you. Olivier, with his vibrant personality and passion for art, didn't deserve such a fate.

"And my notebook...?" you prompt, needing to understand how your own belongings ended up tangled in this tragedy.

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Olivier... he wanted to show your sketches to one of his friends. He thought you had real talent and he was planning on gifting you that painting."

Your heart sinks at the realization. Olivier, you’re going to miss him. Marcus wraps his arms around you, offering comfort and support as the weight of the emotions you've been suppressing finally spills over. You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace a soothing balm for the wounds of the past few days. His touch is both reassuring and grounding, reminding you that you're not alone in this tumultuous journey.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his fingers gently tracing comforting patterns on your back. "It’s over now. You can return to your life and begin to heal."

“Heal?” you blin at him, lips parting. “Return to my life? What does that even mean? We can’t go back to normal Marcus. Not after everything. . . I—” You swallow, the knot thick in your throat. “I care about you, Marcus. I care about you deeply and I just want you to know that. I don’t want you to think it was a one-time thing. Ot that I did it because of the circumstances. I did it because I wanted to. And I wanted to long before any of this happened.” 

As your heartfelt confession hangs in the air, Marcus's eyes soften, his expression reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. Without hesitation, he leans in, closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's a moment of shared vulnerability, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

The warmth of his touch ignites a spark within you, a reassurance that despite the challenges you've faced, your connection remains unbroken. In this intimate embrace, you find solace and hope for the future, knowing that whatever trials may come, you'll face them together.

As the kiss deepens, the weight of the past few days begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewal and possibility.

Marcus's hands move to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as he deepens the kiss. You feel his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire within you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips move fervently against yours, conveying the unspoken emotions that have been building between you for weeks. You can feel his heart beating against your chest and it's a comforting reminder that you're not alone in this moment.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a tingle in their wake. You let out a soft gasp, arching your neck to give him better access. His hands roam over your body, his touch setting every nerve alight. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Your fingers move to his shirt, desperate to rid him of the barriers separating your skin.  His lips trail down your neck again, moving to your shoulder, his hands roaming freely over your body. You let out a soft moan, arching your back as his hands reach your waist, pulling your shirt off. The cool air hits your skin but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating between you two.

Marcus and you remove each other's clothes. Your hands roam hungrily over his bare chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch. He moans softly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra and gently sliding it off. Your bare chest presses against his, skin against skin, and the sensation sends sparks of pleasure through your body. Your lips meet again, his tongue moving alongside yours, his hands roaming lower to your waist and down to your hips, pulling you closer.

You push him down to the couch, your hands reaching for his jeans. With ease, you undo the button and slide them off, revealing his toned legs and the bulge in his boxers. Your fingers trail down his stomach, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

He flips you over, his lips moving down your neck and to your chest. With a flick of his tongue, he takes one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan of pleasure. His hands reach down, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them off your legs.

As his lips continue to travel down your body, his fingers slide into your underwear, eliciting a gasp from you. You can feel the heat and wetness building between your legs, the tingling sensation increasing with every touch.

In one swift movement, he removes your underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to his touch. But with Marcus, you feel anything but vulnerable. In his embrace, you feel safe, loved, and desired.

And you know that is something that will never change. 

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #writing commission #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

[ravensmadreads]

Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

#raven writes #i apologize for all of this #idk what came over me #i was possessed #and taylor refused to sedate me #javier pena x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javier gutierrez x reader #joel miller x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #pero tovar x reader #din djarin x reader #max phillips x reader #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels x reader

[freelancearsonist]

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought. 

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable. 

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you. 

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to. 

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him. 

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him. 

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too. 

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant. 

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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#marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike one shot #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist one shot #cece writes

[demigoddessqueens]

Hi! I love your work, can I request vox machina headcanons for them sharing a room in a inn and waking up to being held by reader, pre relationship

Of course! I always love the fluff 🥰

A while back I did one with them holding you so now it’s reverse

Aka, they’re all touch-starved

Keyleth

She doesn’t want you to let go, not just yet. If you can hold onto her just a little bit longer till the morning sun, she would appreciate that

Percy

His first instinct is to wake up automatically but that would mean waking you, and he wouldn’t want to disturb you. But gentleness is welcomed even if it’s rare for him

Pike

She feels so protected and cherished bring held by you, and peeking though tired eyes to see a ghost of a smile on your face is rewarding too

Grog

Honestly it’s funny and cute in it’s own way because chances are you’re smaller than him and you can barely hold all of him. But that’s alright, he’ll scoop you up in his arms anyway

Vax’ildan

Such a cutie and a sweetheart! Of course he returns the gesture, curling more into your side or resting his head on your chest where he hears your heartbeat

Vex’ahlia

Chances are she’ll feel your grip tighten unconsciously around her, only to peek through at your sleeping form. It’s an endearing act from you and she pulls back to sleep with a hand around yours

Scanlan

It’s a bit of an unusual gesture because he’s not one to be a total cuddler, but he’ll allow for this because it’s you and he’s working through what he feels for you

#critical role #inbox requests #tlovm x reader #tlovm imagines #vox machina #my writing #vox machina x reader #headcanons #tlovm #writeblr #vax’ildan x reader #Vex’ahlia #grog strongjaw #vax’ildan #keyleth of the air ashari #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #percival de rolo x reader #percival de rolo #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #percy de rolo x reader #percy de rolo

[agentmarcuspike]

marcus pike x gn!reader

– written for PMAMC24

summary: marcus asks you for something he's wanted for some time... cws: pegging, use of a strap-on, reader doesn't have a penis, anal fingering, rimming, showering together, established romantic relationship (2+ years), lots of lube, wet wet wet (not the group), sweet sappy romance, cum play (?), coming untouched, pet names (baby, darling, good boy), begging a lil bit word count: 2.2k

“Do you love me?”

You’re on the couch with your legs resting in Marcus’ lap when he asks you. He’s been rubbing your feet absentmindedly for a while, his thighs unusually tense under your calves, and the question seems to come out of nowhere. It’s not like him at all to doubt your feelings for him, so you sit up to look at him when you answer.

“Of course, baby!” Your hand rests on his shoulder, and you squeeze it lightly. He squeezes your foot back, but his eyes still examine the carpet. “Why?” 

A heavy sigh escapes him when he finally looks at you, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. The warmth from his face almost reaches yours. 

“Even if I asked you something weird?” 

“Yes, Marcus, I’d still love you if you were a worm,” you jokingly comfort him. 

He laughs. “Good to know,” he says, no longer avoiding your eyes.

A few more seconds pass before he speaks again.

“A different kind of weird this time. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about lately… Don’t get me wrong, I’m not dissatisfied with our sex life or anything!” You raise your brows. So that’s what this is about. “There’s just something I’d like to try. If you’re up for it.”

You agree of course, there’s nothing to complain about when it comes to your intimate moments. It has never, during your two years together, gotten boring, monotonous, or uninteresting. You’ve tried out a few things, some kinks you’ve been curious about. A little bit of this and that. But you can’t imagine what Marcus would be so embarrassed to ask you for.

“Sometimes when we’re fucking…” he begins. Just hearing him say the word excites you. “I get a little jealous of you,” he admits after a pause.

You take a second to let it sink in. “Jealous?! Of me…?” Brows knit tight, you search his face for information. “While we’re fucking…?” 

Marcus throws his head back on the couch with a groan and grabs your legs, shaking them a little in frustration. “I thought this was a safe space!” 

You lean forward then, grabbing his face with both hands, kissing him on the lips. “It is! I’m sorry, it is! I just don’t understand!” you share with a laugh. Pulling away, you make sure he looks at you before you continue patiently, “Tell me more, please.”

“Well… I think it’s that, sometimes I wish I could have you inside of me the same way I’m inside of you. Don’t get me wrong, I love being inside of you,”

“Mm, I love that too,” you tease. 

“But I guess I wanna… I want to feel you. Inside of me. Everywhere, really, there’s nowhere I don’t want you, but…” He drifts off. 

“Marcus…” you begin. “Do you want me to peg you?”

“It sounds so unsexy when you say it like that.”

“Sorry. Marcus, do you want me to fill you up? Fuck you as good as you fuck me?”

“I do, I want that.” 

A few days later you both feel prepared. Finding a strap-on together, picking the lube, reading up on how to prepare. It’s all made you more and more excited, and when the night you’ve chosen finally arrives, the tension between you is almost thicker than it was right before your first time together. 

The evening starts off in the shower, where you help each other scrub down. 

Marcus’ skin is warm and soft against yours when you lie down beside him in bed. You trace a drop of water on his chest that has yet to dry with your finger, from his clavicle and down to his belly button, where it makes a little pool. A shiver runs through Marcus at the caress. His hair is still damp as you run your hands through it. Slow kisses turn more desperate, and you grab at each other everywhere but the places that scream the loudest for attention. 

When your hand eventually makes its way down to his groin he’s already hard and leaking precum. His breath hitches as you pump him lazily, a pained groan escaping him as his hips lift off the mattress to hurry your movements. 

His eagerness to have you in him is electric. Goosebumps on his skin tickle yours, and you swallow every sound he makes, your open mouth hovering over his. Once his eagerness turns to desperation, you lean in to whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear: “Wanna take my time with you.”

Teasingly slow, not breaking eye contact, you make your way down the bed, and settle between his legs. You bend down, placing a kiss on his belly, nose brushing through his pubes as you move downwards. With careful hands, you slowly guide his thighs further apart until you have all of him open before you.

With the tip of your tongue, you shower his tight hole with little kitten licks, letting your tongue glide all the way up to his balls every now and then, sucking lightly on the sensitive skin. Stroking, touching, caressing every inch of skin you can reach, Marcus writhes under your touch, pushing himself into your face, wanting you closer, closer still. His cock twitches above you, so you reach a hand up to touch him. His hand shoots down to wrap around yours, speeding up your movements. 

“Slow, baby, slow,” you encourage. Your suggestion is only met with a whine.

“Are you so desperate for me to fill you up? Such a needy boy tonight?” 

His voice is hoarse with anticipation when he whispers a helpless “yes”. 

In no rush at all, you sit up to open the bottle of lube which lies ready on your nightstand. The transparent gel is cold on your fingers and you squeeze a generous amount onto your middle and index fingers before you turn back to Marcus. You press yourself into his side, chest flush with his bicep. Softly, slowly, your mouths find each other again, and your hand makes its way down. 

“Spread more for me, honey,” you instruct into his mouth. His thighs fall apart, and your fingers find his opening. You paint tiny circles, spreading the cold lube, pressing in ever so slightly. Marcus jumps a little at the contact, but soon he’s putty in your hands, losing himself in the feeling of your fingers gliding into him, slowly but surely. The first two knuckles of your middle finger are fully sheathed in him when you add more lube, making the transition to two fingers easier. 

The way he squeezes around your digits, warm and pulsing, is almost intoxicating, and you suddenly understand his jealousy. There’s no way for you to be closer to him than you are right now. He knows your insides, you know his. If you could, you’d open up his chest and crawl inside. Instead, you bury your face in his neck, enjoying the feeling of working him open, stretching him out. Little moans and gasps from him as you get deeper lets you know he likes it, and you curl your fingers upwards as you grind yourself against his thigh. 

“Do you want more?” You ask, almost answering yourself. Yes. 

“Yes,” he begs feebly. “Want you. Need you,” And he sounds so forlorn you can only oblige. 

The floor is cold under your feet as you get up. You’ve prepared the harness on your dresser already, so all you have to do is strap it on. On the bed Marcus is stroking himself lazily, his eyes growing dark as he’s watching you tighten the belt around your waist and thighs. 

“Oh, darling,” he breathes. You give him a playful twirl, making him giggle. It’s an incredible sight, your man spread out and ready for you on your bed, eyes full of lust and a smile on his lips. All desire is not yearning. This is something more. You catch yourself swallowing harshly to avoid tearing up at the scene. What kind of saint must you have been in your past life to deserve a man like Marcus in this one? You return his loving smile, silicone bouncing in your harness as you climb back onto the bed. 

Settling between his legs, you once again grab the bottle of lube. You squirt some more on your fingers to spread over his hole, before aiming it down at the silicone. “Say when,” you say, unable to control yourself, as you cover it with the gel. Marcus rolls his eyes in faux annoyance, but he can’t hide the smirk playing on his face. He loves you. You know it.

His strong thighs bracket yours, and you let your thumb rub a few soft circles on the soft skin of his hip before you line yourself up. 

“Are you ready for me?” You lean over him, placing a hand on each side of him, hovering over his torso as you push ever so slightly, but not enough to breach him. He only moans in response. Your arms bend and you lower yourself down on your elbows, trapping his desperate cock between you, your open mouth breathing into his. 

“Do you want me inside of you?” He throbs against your stomach while he nods. 

“Fuck, yes, I do.”

And with one long slow motion, you push inside of him. 

For a second you think you can feel it, the silicone an extension of your body. His hot breath fills your mouth when he gasps, and you breathe it in, replacing the air in your lungs with him. He’s tight, clenching hard around the thick length you’ve buried in him, so you sit very still, letting him adjust. 

His eyes are on yours, hands cupping your face with his thumb resting where your jawbone meets your ear. The furrow between his brows, the one that deepens when he concentrates, speaks for him. 

“Is it too much?” you ask, furrowing your own.

“Almost,” he chokes, voice a restrained rasp. 

Worried you’ve hurt him, you quickly ask “should I pull out?”, and you’re about to do it when his hands fly from your face to your ass.

“No.” 

His big hands give your cheeks a light squeeze, and with a little pressure he keeps you in place. 

“No,” he repeats, a whisper this time, a request, as he covers your lips with his own. 

With slow shifts of your hips, you move in and out, pushing sweet noises out of him with every thrust. His hands glide across your skin, coming to rest over your forearms. The only moments he takes his eyes off you are when they roll to the back of his head and he groans in pleasure. 

“That’s it,” you encourage. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

And he does. With every thrust, his breath grows shallower, and you can tell he’s getting close. Your stomachs are sticky with sweat and precome, joining the slick sounds from the lube in an obscene duet performed by your bodies. You bury your hands in his hair, gently pulling at it, making him mewl and whimper, as if he’s an instrument and only you can make him sing. 

Marcus grinds against you, impatient, and you scan his face as you change your pace, trying to find the spot inside him that will send him over the edge. You know you’ve found it when his mouth opens in an O, sore lips pouting, and his brows shoot together, giving him an almost quizzical expression, like he can’t believe what’s happening. 

“Oh shit, I’m–”

And before you can even sit back to take his cock in your hand, the space between your bodies is filled by his spend, thick ropes of cum running down the sides of his torso as you fuck him through his orgasm. You cup his face with one hand, nose brushing his.

“So good, baby. Give me all of it.”

He holds his breath with eyes squeezed shut, while his cock twitches a few more times, still trapped in the wet mess of sweat, cum, and lubrication between you. The silence is just as sticky as you watch Marcus catch his breath and fight to open his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers with a laugh. You giggle back, and kiss the tip of his nose. It’s cold, despite his flushed face and skin glistening with sweat.

“I’m gonna pull out now,” you warn him. A strained groan escapes him as you do, and you collapse on your back at his side, his strong arm around your shoulders. For a minute you just lie there with your eyes closed and breathe together, reveling in the hazy blissful moment. 

With a sigh, Marcus buries his nose in your hair, squeezing your shoulder lightly with his hand.

“Thank you,” he says, softly. You turn to face him. His eyes are still glazed over, and he looks so content and satisfied you can’t bear the thought of dragging him out of bed to hit the shower again.

“Anytime,” you wink, as you roll out of bed. His hand flexes a few times, as if trying to hold you back, but he quickly gives up and lets you go. Through heavy eyelids he watches you cross the bedroom floor. 

“Amazing,” he says absentmindedly, mostly to himself, eyeing the harness and the indents it has left on your skin as you shimmy out of it. You give him a warm smile before opening the door.

“I’ll get something to clean you up. Be right back.”

When you return with a warm washcloth, he’s fast asleep, stomach still painted with the two of you, and face still painted with contentment.

a/n: thanks to gin @wannab-urs for organizing this year's "Peg That Middle-Aged Man Campaign", and all the other writers for inspiring content! divider by @saradika-graphics and graphic by me.

#pmamc 2024 #peg that middle aged man campaign 2024 #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike smut #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #my writing

[trip-tuckers-hyperspanner]

Rank the Star Trek Captains in order by how good you think they would be at cooking

Hehehehe

Benjamin Sisko, the son of a gourmet cook. Can cook a boot and make it taste like heaven

Christopher Pike, it's his hobby. Can't cook a boot and make it taste like heaven but he could make it edible.

James Kirk has been known to make toast on occasion and some eggs but secretly he's decent. Not as good as the afore mentioned but there's a warm, homey quality to what he makes

Picard can, he just doesn't. He's not a wicked good cook but he can follow a recipe.

Jonathan Archer, he can bake some mean cookies and that is IT. Likes too much mayonnaise with things.

I'm sorry but Janeway ruins every food she touches except for coffee. But she occasionally burns coffee.

#star trek ds9 #star trek enterprise #star trek tng #star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #jim kirk #jean luc picard #benjamin sisko #star trek tos #star trek snw #jonathan archer #christopher pike #to boldly blog #starfleet first contact #mytardisisparked #gaitwae writes

[pikespendragon67]

Finished a doozy of a chapter, so hopefully now I can FINALLY get to self indulgent ship fluff

#pikes writes

[joelalorian]

Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, could be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to stay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly realized why that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin

#little lady kinky may #writing challenge 3.0 #iamasaddie game #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #mystery #aztec myth #nonsensical plot

[morallyinept]

H I M - A Marcus Pike One Shot

Summary: A lazy day spent making love and sexing it up in the sheets with your partner, Marcus Pike. That's it. There's no plot.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.9k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶 "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Waenings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) /love making/sex/oral M & F receiving/fingering/romance/desire/fluff/soft/Marcus just being the best sweet doof ever.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Schmaltzy love fest in the sheets with Special Agent Pike, anyone?? Hell to the yes. My contribution to the Pike Puddle. 🫠

Enjoy! 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

It’s a lazy kind of day.

One of those that are just written off completely. For nothing other than to chill and do absolutely nothing else.

You lay in bed, stretching, as you watch the silhouette of him linger on the balcony under the glare of the morning sun in just his boxers.

You can hear him murmuring on the phone and the occasional sound of his melodic chuckling flows from his mouth obscenely.

It leaves tingles to barb on your skin as you lay there watching him, thinking about him, in the softness of the sheets.

Thinking about how much you’ve missed him whilst he’s been invested in the case. Lots of late nights, and you’d seen the exhaustion settle in under his eyes each day, puffing them out a little. Endure him falling asleep on your shoulder halfway through a movie with his supper half eaten, balanced precariously in his lap.

Thinking about how, now it’s all solved and the perp behind bars, he seems back to himself again. The old, cheery Marcus whose smile lights up his whole face.

Thinking about how much you want him again as you spy his shapely behind in his underwear as he paces gently.

He flashes you a glimpse of his soft bulge as he turns mid-conversation. You bite your lips feeling that wanton heat lick at your skin.

His eyes glance in and he smiles at you; those light crinkles around his eyes lighting them up further somehow, before wandering towards the balcony edge again to speak a little more animatedly.

You stare like a letch at his butt pushed out as he leans on his elbow.

You sink into the comfort of the mattress and stretch, enjoying the tingly pulse between your legs, wondering what to do today, when Marcus walks back in. He pulls the balcony door behind him, leaving it open with a small gap and a pleasantly warm breeze follows him for company.

His warm cocoa eyes meet yours and you smile knowing instantly what you want to do today.

Him. I’ll do him all day.

Marcus tosses his phone on the bedside table and swings his long legs back into the bed. His skin feels snug from the outside heat already in the air and so smooth as he envelopes you from behind.

“Who was that?” You murmur to him, dreamily.

“Cho. He has some files he wants me to look at for a new case.” He replies in that enigmatic tincture of his voice. Soft, yet heavy. “Told him I’ll take a look when I get back. I’m having my vacation time.” He nestles his nose against the back of your neck and hums out contentedly.

“Good,” you say with a smile as you feel his arms pull you closer into his body. “I’m not letting you leave this bed all week, Agent.”

“Is that so?” Marcus questions; his voice strangled by the little kisses he plants down the back of your neck and trails them all over the globe of your shoulder. Planting daisies as he roots them and watches them bloom.

"Mmhm. I'll cuff you here if I have to."

"Promises, promises..." He snickers through his nose.

You shuffle around and meet his entrancing lips with a giggle. His tongue, slipping gently into your mouth, swirls around your own slowly, teasing you with tender smooches on the end of it as his hand scoops around the nape of your neck and crushes you closer to him.

Marcus could kiss you forever like this, passionately and deep and never surface for air. He could die in your arms and be contagiously happy.

Your noses brush together as you look into his molten brown eyes and wonder how the fuck you got so lucky.

"What are you looking at?" You tease, biting your lip.

"You," he says, leaning in to plant more gluttonous smooches over your face.

Your fingers traverse his chin and you can feel the slight graze of stubble wanting to grow through his usually smooth pores. He shuffles his hips forward, hooking his leg around you and finds comfort in getting closer to you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” Marcus breathes out as he trails his thick fingers across your skin and feels you shudder in response.

"You're so full of it," you grin and he snorts, laughing and it's fucking glorious. The way his eyes crinkle like a Shar-Pei's folds, and his smile blinds the room with a solar flare.

But when he says it, you really feel it as he looks at you with a sincere awe and splendour rooted inside of his coffee roast peepers.

You kiss him again, silencing his guffaws and he replaces them with little yearning moans.

You can hear his breathing change; deep inhalations through his nose and out through his plush mouth into you as they intensify in speed and depth as you touch and map his body.

Your hands run across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms; your safe place inside of his strong, protective grip, and he’ll always hold you in them and keep you secure.

"So perfect," he croons through more gleaming smiles at you. More kisses are peppered on your cheeks, your neck, your lips.

You smile at his words, warming and feeling like goo as he makes you utterly melt with his devoted passion. You can feel his large, swamping hands stroke and caress your skin gently, leaving goose bumps wherever they go. Sweeping across your arms, down your back and cupping your ass cheeks fondly.

He's so fucking beautiful; a handsome dream come true. Lost inside his mouth, like falling into a Marcus soaked candy land, as your kissing intensifies, you can feel him becoming more excited.

Feel him stiffen, pressed against your inner thigh, and it has a wonderful effect on your own sex organs too. He ruts gently into your hips with his; rubbing himself against you as you swallow small feral grunts from him down into your stomach.

You roll, your limbs entwined, and lie on top of him now. You’re on your knees but draped across his bare chest and kiss him furthermore. You want to make him feel loved and wanted, because he absolutely is.

Marcus touches your face, his thumbs sweeping across your cheeks and his fingers winding inside your hair as he groans.

He reaches down and grabs a firm hold of your ass, squeezing those meaty cheeks and you gasp, giggling as he slaps it gently.

You bite your lip as his eyes blaze into yours. He knows you love it when he swats you playfully like this.

“Love this ass,” Marcus smirks through puckered lips.

“Oh yeah?” You giggle as you feel him rubbing your cheeks lavishly.

“Mhm...” He says reaching up and kissing you again.

"Want you to have it," you say, smirking. A hot wave creeping over your skin at the thought if it. At the thought of him claiming the one piece of you no-one else has.

"Fuck," he grunts. "Oh, I'm going to, one day. But we'll work up to that, baby." He smiles reassuringly. "There's no rush."

"I know," you smile.

"Whenever you're ready, okay?"

You nod, and slowly, he begins to undress you, pulling up your camisole you’ve slept in and admiring your skin with strangled gasps as it’s revealed to him.

Warm, puffy nipples nestled inside your swollen areolas greet him, and he can’t help but want to taste them. Planting kisses over them and swirling his tongue around them until they come out of hiding, becoming hard buds suckled on between his teeth.

“Mmm...” You groan as he sucks and licks all over them, squeezing them together in his big hands.

“You like that?” Marcus asks you as he nips again and makes you squeal out.

"Love it," you whine.

"Me too," he agrees with a rouge sparkle in his eyes.

You rub yourself against him; you can feel how hard he is even through his boxers. A tight, binding constriction inside them, poking out as you tease and play and feel every inch of him as you run your aching cunt against him.

You can feel it fizzing on your clit already; the rising tides of a dreamy orgasm already swelling behind your core muscles and eyelids alike. It feels so good, he feels so good.

He senses it building and grips onto your hips, pulling you into your rhythms.

"Marcus," you whine, "mmm, baby." You keep moving. Keep grinding. Keep working your hips as your clit aches and buzzes.

"You feel so good grinding on me. Keep going, you're almost there." Marcus encourages as you tense and gasp.

Your hands slap down onto his chest as you grind harder, quicker. You're panting and groaning as you can feel it shoot through your bloodstream down into your toes.

"That's it, come on... " he urges you with a catch in the back of his throat. "Fuck, baby, look at you."

"God, yes. Yes!" You moan, your eyes rolling back into your head as you're crushed by that wave of tingles and shivers as your clit massages against the length of his cock that's so hard as you come in your panties against him.

You squeal and shudder and tense up. You sit upright smiling and licking your lips, with a breathy giggle.

Marcus is just mesmerised by you; his eyes taking you in like he's taken a hit of heroin and he's seeing you everywhere he looks with blown out pupils.

"Was that a little one?" Marcus asks with a smile and you fall into him and kiss him again.

You nod, "little, but still really good."

"It felt good. I want to give you a few big ones too." He smiles.

"You will, we've got all day."

"All day?" Marcus' eyes widen playfully.

"Mmhm." You confirm dragging your lips over his skin.

"I best limber up," he chuckles. "Don't wanna get a cramp."

You giggle as you kiss slowly down his neck and towards his bronzed chest delicately, looking at him as you inch lower and lower down his taut torso and abs. Your hand slides up his thigh and towards his balls.

"Oh, like that, is it?" He croons, biting down on his lip through hooded eyes as you give them a gentle squeeze over his underwear.

"Ssh." You smirk, tasting the fragrances of his skin and circling his belly button with your tongue, making him hiss in as you draw closer to his waistband.

You drag your lips furthermore, leaving trails of your desire and affection. Your other hand grips the outside of him through his boxers; that hard muscle waiting to be released that you feel throbbing around your fingers. It's damp in patches on the cotton from your slick.

You smile up at him and he’s always so pleased and in awe that you do this to him. You make him so hard and fat with blood that it aches.

You make him want to fuck you so bad. Bury himself deep into you and lose himself to any and all thought.

To make love to you until his heart gives out. Because that's the only way he'd ever stop; only if he was dead.

He lives you, breathes you. You're the fire in his blood, the hunger in his belly.

You position yourself between Marcus’ long legs as he shuffles up the bed a little more, his arm behind his head and watching you with a blissed out smile.

You can smell him through his boxers; smell that inviting musk of his thick meat. You run your lips across the fabric of his underwear, grazing your bottom lip across him and nip him gently through it.

His breathing kicks it up a gear each time he feels your warm and wet mouth trail over the material of his boxers and venture closer to getting him fully out to have a taste.

You pull them down, revealing that swollen, pink and fleshy cock that thunks up against his abdomen gently. A glassy string of pre-cum dangles off of it and coats the fines dark hairs in his happy trail.

You lick it up and the noise that comes out of Marcus' mouth sounds like he's just died.

His dick rises and swells against you as you run your tongue up the length of him, flexing and pulsing, with firm balls as plump as his bottom lip and brimming full, just for you as you stroke them gently.

"Shit…" He whines as you look at him whilst you run your tongue up and down his cock. "So beautiful, baby. Just like that with my cock in your mouth."

Marcus tastes divine, how a man should taste. He's so smooth, firm and weighty. You tease and tongue his length; running it around under his frenum and hearing him gasp and pant as you do so.

A slight ripple in his thigh catches your attention, so you run your tongue under it again, watching him twitch loosely each time.

"Mmm, yeah." He sighs deliciously.

You can see the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten in anticipation. You pick him up so he’s standing upright, gripping a hold of him around the base.

That tall, thick cock greeting you with a reddening head, and you roll your lips down around him. Sucking him up and down slowly, taking him further inside your mouth each time.

“Mmm, baby...” Marcus groans out in a grizzly satisfaction. He fills your mouth, he’s so thick and girthy, but you want him right there; you want to choke on him and feel him pack you out.

You suckle delicately around his oozing head like your favourite popsicle dripping down your wrist in the summer heat.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him deep and hear the rumble of his voice escape him through his moans each time you do.

His hands are soon on the back of your head pushing ever so gently; he wants you taking him deeper still. But he never forces, never takes. Gentle and submissive to your needs and desires.

They're his needs and desires too.

“Yeah, like that,” he croons with a pantless breath. "Fuck, baby. You're so good at that. Oh fuck..."

Hearing Marcus curse surges through your body, you feel it pull tight on your clit and nipples alike. Always so polite and well-mannered, but if you flick your tongue just right, he rolls in the filth with you.

"Fuck, fuck..." he whispers, he hisses.

You swallow him whole, your lips are touching his balls and you hold him there inside your throat, pause and keep still as he whines out and the sound makes your pussy tingle deliciously.

You can feel your slick drenching your panties, heat emanating from your core. It's too irresistable to not reach down into them and tease your clit. Your thighs shudder as soon as you do; your fingers slipping as you're utterly soaking.

He bucks his hips up gently, rousing you to continue as he prods the back of your throat.

You slide your mouth back up his length and take a deep breath as you kiss the head. Then swallow him deep again, massaging him with your tongue, up and down. A process that repeats and makes his head swim and dizzy with the delight of it all.

“Oh fuck!” Marcus grunts. “You’re killing me.” He's puffing and panting as he stuggles to contain himself a she nitices your hand stuffed in your panties. "You touching yourself, gorgeous?"

"Mmhmm," you whine with your mouth full of him. It feels divine as your pussy contracts and tightens as you flick across your clit quicker and harder as you suck him deeper.

"Oh God!" He croons.

You could do this forever; make him feel so fucking good. Listen endlessly to the noises of him finding his pleasure at your mercy; just fucking him slowly and intensely with your keen mouth all day.

His head relaxes back into the pillows, eyes closed and a smile blooming around his mouth in satisfaction at the feel of you.

You whine and hum around his cock as you come again, bokeh glitter bursting behind your eyelids and you shudder keenly, back arching like a cat.

"Baby," he moans, hearing you come undone; your fingers wet and sticky from your pleasure as you wrap them around his cock.

You then lick around his balls, sucking and nipping on them gently as you jerk him with your come-soaked hand. His head whips up and looks down at you nestled between his legs.

“Yes,” Marcus sings with intense brown eyes fixed on you. “Oh, that’s so good!”

You slurp around them and back up his shaft before popping him back in your mouth for a few more sucks, and then he’s pulling you up to meet his gorgeous face and slack jaw, unable to deny himself from you.

Marcus wiggles his tongue inside your lips, tempting you to sample the fruits of him. You catch his bottom lip inside your teeth nipping on it gently and making him gasp as you stroke his wet cock with your hand, gripping around him and pumping him with gentle vigour.

"God, you're so fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He gasps. He glances down watching as you twist and flex your wrist in a steady pace. "Oh fuck. Just like that. I fucking love that..."

"You've got a mouth on you, Pike." You smirk as he gasps.

"Can't help it when you... ah shit! God, baby, you keep doing that and I'm gonna come already!"

You smile at him, beaming. You never want to stop touching him, never want to stop making him feel so fucking good like this. Never want to stop marvelling at how his mouth parts, how he stares at you as though he can't believe you're making him feel like this.

"I'm not ready to come yet." He grins.

Marcus sits up and lifts you into his lap. He rubs his cock against your slit over your panties, up and down slowly against it, and he can feel that hard bump of your clit protruding as he makes tracks through the outline of your wet, swollen lips.

Your nipples harden as he tongues around them. Then he takes one inside his mouth and sucks it whilst looking at you as you fall under his hypnotic spell.

"Mmm," you whine, throwing your head back, his mouth doing a complete number on you.

He lays you back on the bed and kisses down your body like you did with him, pelting you with his love. Once nestled in between your legs, he places your hand onto your pussy, over your panties, and watches as you start to rub.

“Mmmmmah,” you whine.

“I love watching you touch yourself.” Marcus encourages.

Your fingers press against your slit and you can feel how soaked you are. It feels so good, so wet.

He licks over your knuckles, kisses them, as you touch yourself there, moaning. He smooches your digits and soon you feel his tongue dart in between them and lick over your sticky, cottony mound.

Marcus pulls your panties off and down your legs, and you spread them for him.

"So wet, baby. Look at that." He keens. "All for me?"

He plays with you; toys with you, thinking that he’ll go right for you, but he grazes his mouth barely past your wet cunt lips and bites you gently on the inside of your thigh instead as your pussy is throbbing and stinging for him.

“Marcus,” you whine, fisting in his hair, and he chuckles. He knows how much you need it, need him.

"You don't want me to tease you today?"

You pout, smirking.

"You just want my cock, is that it?"

His tongue makes tracks around your outer lips and you can feel his breath warm against your clit.

"Want my cock fucking into this gorgeous pussy, hmm?"

"Oh God," you groan, fisting through his hair. "That damn mouth on you..."

He grins. Then, he sucks on that swollen hub of aching nerves, ending your agony and sending your voice ribbing into the air.

“Oooh yes!” You wail as you feel his tongue cause carnage within you.

Marcus takes his time tasting you, drinking from you; savouring every last drop of you as you flood his mouth. Your head winds back into the pillows, eyes closed and drunk on heady bliss. He tongues your hole, flicking it in and out in quick darts and watching as you lose your shit.

“Fuck, Marcus! Don’t stop...” You coo as your body shudders. He slides his middle finger in, twisting as he does so. He pulls it out and slides back in. He kisses and sucks your clit as he pushes another finger inside with it, beside himself and groaning into your pussy.

He strokes you, finding your spot and applying the right pressure as he makes come hither motions with his fingers.

The pressure mounts deep inside you. Your thighs buck, vibrating tensely, and all you can see is the sun.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, Marcus! Fuck! Yes!" You rile.

"I know," he smiles. "Come for me."

Marcus loves it when you come in his mouth; tasting your juices as they pool and froth. He makes delicious groaning noises in satisfaction as he licks up and down your pussy, tasting your lips around his.

"Come for me, baby" he urges again as he tongues your clit faster, his fingers stroking deeper and harder inside you as you clench and tighten before releasing with a strangled groan into the air and fingers twisted in the sheets.

“God, I need to be inside of you,” Marcus groans and kneels up, coming to you and lowering himself down on your body. You kiss him like it’s the end of days and you’ll never see him again.

"I need to feel you, Marcus." You pant.

"Need me?"

"Yeah, I need you. Always need you." You groan.

When he enters you, it’s like the world has imploded around you both - there is no-one else here.

Just you and him, existing purely in this moment together where you become connected in mind, body and soul instantaneously. It'a unspoken, but you can see it in his eyes. Feel it in his touch. Hear it in his groans.

You gasp every time he slides in; filling you wholly and bottoming out with a heady, lusty grunt.

Time slows down; you can hear him breathe like it’s a loud echo all around you, like the ocean crashing into the shore, and it vibrates inside the air.

It’s just Marcus. Just him.

No-one else as he holds your attention and you feel every inch of him sliding deeper into you. His strokes are slow and intentional to get you to feel all of him, and he watches as you contort underneath him; feels your hands pressing bruises into his arms and shoulders. Your chimes filling his ears; your cunt so wet and tight for him.

Him. Him.

Fuck, it's always been him.

You both behold one another around parted lips and dilated pupils. His pace increases as you both heighten your pleasure from one another, feeding off of one another’s energy and love.

Heavy, thick slaps of your flesh pounding upon one another resonate as you go harder on each other. Both climbing together.

Marcus feels it when you come again; your forehead pressing up onto his, and breathing deeply into his face, gasping - calling out his name.

Clawing at his skin, falling apart around him as he scoops you up and pieces you back together before doing it again. An endless repeat of his affection and adoration for you.

Coming so hard for him as he pushes his hips into you relentlessly.

He fucks you hard, deep. He keeps on coming at you, devouring you and smothering you.

You’re his goddess, his woman. What a woman! The one he gets to live inside, to feel you from the inside. The one he can taste, the one he can cradle in his arms as he feeds you every piece of him.

The one he can love.

“M-Marcus!” You call as you release and let go.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you," he swoons. "Coming for me. So gorgeous when you come for me like this... fuck."

You roll him onto his back, straddling him and riding on top of his cock and owning every part of him now.

His hands are all over you, pulling at your ass cheeks and winding you back and forth on top of him, feeling you contract inside as you tighten around him again.

Marcus stops thrusting up into you to just watch you come; marvelling and just stunned at how beautiful you are shaking on the end of his cock and rasping for him.

For a second, it stops all coherent thought. It stops time.

It stops his heart, you utterly kill him.

He then ploughs right on in again as you gasp and tremble, starting the hazy wind of building you up all over again and starting the chase after his own release.

He needs to fill you up with him so badly.

You falter and weaken; your body is a jangled mess and groaning; it’s so sensitive and tingly still. You collapse on him and once more he gets you back underneath him.

“You make me feel so good,” you whisper to him and he smiles knowing that he does. It's his raison d'être.

It's all you. You, you, you...

Marcus pushes back in slowly, watching as he pulls out almost the whole way; his cock greased up with your sopping slit coating him. He slides back in quickly, feels as you rib and squeeze around him each time.

“Fuck, I’m gunna come in this gorgeous pussy,” Marcus puffs, his eyes rolling back into his head as he does it each time. “Right now, right inside of you.” He pants.

"Fill me up," you plead, grabbing a hold of his ass and pushing him deeper into you. "Come for me."

And after a few more deep strokes, you feel him burst; the thick vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing and twitching as he releases inside you, warm and plentiful.

"Fuuh..." The hot expletive loses its way as he empties.

His whole body shudders, crawling up from the base of his spine right into his shoulders as he comes and pumps out. He groans out on a deep, laboured breath.

He falters, weak and unsteady, supporting his own shaky weight and collapses on top of you this time; his hair sticking to his forehead as you brush it away and kiss all over his salty face as he puffs and smiles contentedly, wrapped up in your arms and body alike.

You hold onto his face and look at him, look into him. His cheeks are a flush, matching the scarlet of his lips now as he catches his breath. Those chocolate eyes so warm and sleepy in satisfaction. Hair a tugged on mess, shoulders clammy with sweat.

“I love you,” you say to him in absolute awe.

Marcus smirks and kisses you; a big, plumpy smooch that you still feel on your lips even when he pulls away from them slightly. Never too far away.

“I love you, gorgeous.” He replies earnestly, and smiling with glistening eyes.

He nestles into you further humming in contentment as you stroke through his damp hair.

"I should definitely take more vacation." He beams, chuckling into your neck.

Yeah. It's always been him.

Thank you so, so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this Marcus Pike story of mine. If you did, please consider re-blogging and leaving a comment to let me know your thoughts. Thank you 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

#marcus pike #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fics #marcus pike fic #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It (Peña x f!Reader x Pike) Series Masterlist

Series Summary: (Javier Peña x fem/afab!Reader x Marcus Pike) You've recently transferred from a promising job in D.C. to Texas when DEA Special Agent Javier Peña approaches you with his current case. Rumor has it you have an in with the FBI art crimes unit, and the DEA could use your skills and connections on a suspected narcos money laundering case. You need to do well on this case to prove yourself, but you're not sure Marcus Pike will even help after the way you left.

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Series Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Pike x f!reader), future Javi x Reader x Marcus (MFM/FMM dynamics), masturbation (m & f), fantasizing, Dom/sub dynamics, praise kink, workplace romance, initial slowburn (Javi x f!reader), so much yearning, additional chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter 1: The Javier Peña comes to you for help on a case.

Chapter 2: You’re reviewing the case file Javi gave you when a memory of your last night in D.C. distracts you.

Chapter 3: After a bit of a brainstorm, you decide it’s finally time to call Marcus and get his opinion (he always has the right words). Javi has opinions of his own on the matter.

Chapter 4: Marcus is still reeling from your phone call and can’t stop thinking about the last time he saw you. Peña is ready to get things moving.

Chapter 5: Peña has done more than you expected by making you the Customs Agent in Charge, and you’re already starting to feel the pressure. While preparing to give your first official brief, you reach out once again to Marcus for reassurance. The call leads you down memory lane to the last conversation you had with Marcus face to face.

Complete Evidence Locker Flashback This is the complete flashback, which was originally pieced out across chapters 2, 4, and 5.

Chapter 6: Javier meets you at the office the next day to help you with the big briefing, then shows you a different side of Houston.

Chapter 7: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

WIP Wednesday post with a lil' sneak peak of Chapter 8!

Chapter 8 Before going any further, you set some ground rules with Javi. Then it's fucking game on.

Chapter 9 (NEW! Posted 4/5) Flashback: All rules go out the window the first time you and Marcus are truly alone.

Chapter 10 - Coming Soon!

#rumor has it fic #senorabond writes #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #javi x reader x pike #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #narcos fic #narcos #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #the mentalist fic #the mentalist

[demigoddessqueens]

Headcanons of how would Vox Machina react to their crush has stuff that reminds them of him/her? - CV-Non

Aww, so sentimental 🥹

Percy

He thinks it’s an endearing side of you to have a spare pair of glasses for him or when you collected his old bullet casings, melted them and used it to help him make Diplomacy

Keyleth

You were admiring her staff one day, pointing out how intricate it looks only for butterflies in her stomach when she noticed your antler and elemental tattoos

Pike

She had misplaced her Everlight pendant only for her to find it in your hands, with you replacing one of the strings on it. It’s sweet to her that you hold onto it let alone look after it

Vex’ahlia

It could literally be anything. Her white sash, blue feathers or a stray arrow. She’s looking for it and lo and behold you’re holding onto it like it’s precious

Vax’ildan

He gave you his dagger one time and just let you keep it all the time. Now with his wings, you gather the stray feathers and tie them to the hilt. He thinks it’s endearing you accept all these different sides of him

Scanlan

He gave you his loot pick to hold one time only to forget, then ask you moments later where his misplaced it. Yet he’s surprised you have a whole stash of old picks he’s given you.

Grog

He doesn’t carry much but any time he’s misplaced his axe and you’re carrying it for him, there’s a bit of blush seeing your small frame dwarfed by such a blade

#critical role #inbox requests #tlovm x reader #tlovm imagines #tlovm #my writing #critical role x reader #vox machina #headcanons #percival de rolo #percival de rolo x reader #percy de rolo #percival de Rolo III #vox machina x reader #Vex’ahlia #vax’ildan #keyleth of the air ashari #vax’ildan x reader #pike trickfoot #grog strongjaw #scanlan shorthalt #the legend of vox machina #writeblr #percival fredrickstein von musel klossowski de rolo iii #percy de rolo x reader #writers on tumblr

[ladamedusoif]

Long Distance - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2000 

Warnings: SMUT; Established relationship; Reader lives in Europe; No physical description of Reader; Older!Marcus; Marcus with a PhD; FaceTime sex; masturbation (F and M); oral sex (F receiving); unprotected but safe PiV sex; dirty talk; come (cum) play

Summary: Happily settled with you on the other side of the Atlantic and now working primarily in consultancy, Dr Marcus Pike sometimes finds himself travelling back to the US for work. But there’s always video calling, right?

A/N: I got...carried away. Ahem. I'm not really using taglists any more so follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications. Thank you @agentjackdaniels for previewing this smutty little story.

You never really sleep easy when he’s not here. Strange, after all those years on your own, comfortably splayed out across your large mattress. A year of sharing a bed with Marcus, though, and you feel unsettled without him.

The display on your sunrise alarm clock reads 1.30am when your phone lights up with a message.

You still awake? x

Your fingertips tap out a swift response.

Very much so. x

You settle yourself and your phone as the call comes through. A moment of connection, and there he is: Marcus. Your Marcus, looking so very distinguished with his wavy, silver-streaked hair, warm eyes, and mischievous, boyish smile. He breaks into a wide grin as you appear on the screen.

“There you are, baby.”

"Here I am, love. How are you doing?” You cast a glimpse over the schlubby old FBI t-shirt he sometimes wears lounging around the house. “Are you in bed already?”

Marcus groans and rolls his eyes. “Yup, pretty much. I’m so tired, the clients all want to start at the crack of dawn. Why are they all so obsessed with breakfast meetings here?”

You chuckle. “Sweet man, you’ve become Europeanised.”

"I mean, you do have the better coffee.” He props himself up, resting his chin on his hand. “I miss you so fucking much. It’s only been three days and I’m going crazy.”

"I miss you, too. But what is it - tonight, and then two more nights? And then you’re all mine again.”

Marcus’s chocolate-brown eyes soften as he smiles softly, taking you in. “God, I can’t wait. Fuck, you look so good. Is that the, uh… that nightdress?”

You preen a little for the camera, innocently moving your body ever so slightly. You’re confident that he’s now got an even clearer picture of your tits, nestled in the burgundy lace of your - and his - favourite strappy chemise. 

“This old thing?”

He shakes his head and bites his lower lip, grinning. “You are a tease. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

"And what am I doing, Dr Pike? Use all that agent training, tell me. Decipher me.”

He licks his lips. “You’re showing off your beautiful tits, knowing perfectly well I can’t stand not being able to touch them right now.”

You keep eye contact but trail a finger along the soft line of your cleavage, slipping it under the lace to flick gently over your nipple. All the way across the Atlantic, Marcus groans on his DC hotel room bed.

"Oh, I see. You liked that, hmmm?”

He nods. “You know I liked it, baby. Fuck, you are gorgeous, you know? Just…perfect.”

You notice his right arm moving a little, working at something off-screen. 

“Are you hard, darling? Are you touching your cock?”

"Mmmm. Yeah, just - just through my shorts.” His gaze flits from your tits to your eyes and back, his breath a little laboured. “You turn me on so much, feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Will you jerk off for me, Marcus? Let me see how hard I make you. Please.” With a flutter of your eyelids you slip down the spaghetti straps of your chemise to reveal your breasts, nipples hard and soft flesh spilling over the lace cups.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck. Yes. Hold on -“ He reaches for his phone and angles it just so, so you can see him tugging down the dark grey sweat shorts and his hard, thick cock springing free against his tummy. He wraps his right hand around it, gently pulling back the foreskin to reveal the head already weeping with pre-come. 

Now it’s your turn to whine as your pussy clenches around nothing, reacting to the sight of his cock ready and waiting and so far away. Marcus grins as he continues to stroke himself.

"Think you need to play with your pussy, too.”

You nod and slip a hand between your legs, gathering some of your growing wetness and displaying it to him on your fingers. “See how much I miss you, love?”

He speeds up a little, fucking into his fist and never taking his eyes off you. “Fuck, I wish my mouth was on that pretty little cunt of yours. Wish I was eating you out right now, baby.”

"And I wish I had your gorgeous, hard cock in my mouth, darling.” You start to rub harder, insistent circles over your swollen clit and moan as you listen to the sound of your boyfriend jerking off. 

He moans and closes his eyes. “Talk to me. Tell me, what would you do?” 

“I’d use my tongue - lick the shaft, first, the way you like it.” The sound of your wetness is lewd and arousing. “Then - oh, fuck - take you into my mouth, suck the head, stroke you with my hand…”

Marcus pauses to spit into his hand, a poor substitute for the lubrication offered by your slick. “Keep going. Keep fucking going, love.”

“Fuck, I wish I had that gorgeous cock inside me.” You slip a finger inside your pussy and whine at the sensation as you press on the sensitive spot he knows exactly how to work. “M’finger is nothing, need you.”

Marcus pants as he continues to stroke his cock, and pulls up his t-shirt to expose his belly. He’s getting close. “Wish I was fucking you, too. Feeling - oh, fuck - all of you on my cock, pulling out and…” He screws up his face and groans and your cunt aches for him. “Fuck, I want to come on your tits.”

Your free hand finds your breast as you continue to rut against your hand, fingers pinching the nipple and massaging the flesh. It’s your Marcus. He deserves a show, and you’re only too happy to deliver. He grunts and groans, never taking his eyes off you. 

“I’m really close, Marcus.” Your hips buck upward as you near your peak. “I’m gonna come for you - fuck, gonna -“

He strokes himself furiously, desperately, as he watches you reach orgasm - and talks you through it.

"Jesus, look at you. Coming on your own hand - oh, fuck - getting yourself off for me. Good girl. Good - fuck, gonna come - fucking good girl.”

He comes hard, angling his cock so that the white, viscous come hits his bare tummy. Your cunt still aches for him. 

“I wish I was there to clean you up, Marcus.”

He chuckles and lies back on the pillows, curls damp with sweat and a huge smile on his face. He grabs his phone so you can see him. “Right back at you. Bet you’re so wet now, huh?”

“Soaked.”

“Fuck. Hope you’re ready for when I come home, baby.”

In the early morning, your sleeping form rests peacefully in your large bed, an arm cuddling a pillow to your torso for comfort. When you’d set your alarm the night before, you reminded yourself that you just had two more nights before he was home again. 

Two more nights. Two more sleeps. And then: him. Him. Only him. 

A shifting weight on the mattress stirs you, still halfway between waking and slumber. In the hazy half-light, you turn your head and find a beautiful, familiar sight. 

“Hi, baby.”

“M-Marcus? What are you - did I get my dates wrong? I thought you were back tomorrow…”

“I was supposed to be,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “and I took an earlier flight because I just missed you so much. Hey - is that my shirt?”

You nod, turning your body wholly towards him and nuzzling against him. “It is. Your Georgetown T-shirt, I just - it feels like you.” He pulls you close and kisses the top of your head. “Marcus - what about the work?”

He hums happily. “The clients were happy, and there isn’t much more to do that I can’t do from here.” 

He moves his lips to your neck, softly nipping and licking the delicate skin as his big hands work their way under the T-shirt and up to your breasts. 

“I have been thinking about this the whole way home.”

You giggle. “Oh really? And you were able to keep yourself under control?”

Marcus kisses you on the mouth as he nods, fingers kneading your tits. “My self-discipline was tested, I admit, but oh, fuck, baby…”

Your hands are on his crotch, feeling the growing hardness under the grey sweatpants he likes to wear on long-distance flights. You lean into his ear as you tug down the sweats and his boxers, taking his cock in your hand. 

“Why don’t you see if I’m still wet from the other night?”

With a groan, Marcus slips his hand between your legs and finds the wetness already pooling at your core. “Pretty fucking wet, baby.” He sucks his fingers clean of your slick before shucking off his sweatshirt and tee.

“Good.” You sit up and quickly straddle him, his thighs between yours as you peel off the old T-shirt so you’re completely bare for him. “I’m going to make you feel so good, darling man.”

You gather some of your own slick across your palm and fingers before taking his cock in your hand, stroking the velvet skin of the shaft and gently bringing your palm over the head in a fluid motion that you know drives him wild. Marcus watches your hands as you pleasure him, little animalistic noises issuing forth from his beautiful mouth as he grows ever harder under your practiced touch. 

“Do you want me?”

He nods furiously and you lift yourself up to shift forward, notching the head of his cock at your entrance. 

“Tell me, Marcus.”

"Need you so fucking bad, baby. Please.”

You take him inside you in one stroke, your wetness easing his thick cock into the tightness of your pussy. Marcus cries out as you begin to ride him, hands pressed into his broad chest. 

“Better than the phone sex, huh?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you hiss, hips rolling in a well-established rhythm as you fuck him. “Liked watching you jerk off to me, though.”

"Me too, baby.” Marcus grips your hips and grins as he admires you: your body, your curves, the way you’re letting yourself go as you ride his cock. You bite your lip and roll back your head, lost in the sensation of how your man stretches and fills you so perfectly.

When you slip a finger against your clit, he practically growls, meeting your rhythm as he starts to fuck up into you.

“‘M not gonna last, baby,” he pants, fingers pressing into the flesh of your hips and ass. 

“You want to come on my tits, like you said?”

His desperate nod is your cue to lift yourself off his cock, glistening with your slick and his pre-come, and shuffle down the bed a little. You press your breasts together as Marcus wraps his broad hand around his cock and pumps it quickly. 

“Fuck, your tits are pretty. So fucking soft and perfect and -“

He stutters and cries out as he comes, his release hitting your breasts and gathering on the hard peaks of your nipples. 

You gather some of it up on your finger and suck it clean. 

“Jesus, baby. That’s so fucking hot.” 

You release your finger with a pop. “Thank you, love. Can you get me a cloth?”

He wanders off and returns with a washcloth, gently cleaning your body and his cock before returning it to the bathroom. By the time he gets back, you’re tucked under the covers again. He grins as he joins you, pulling your naked body to his. 

“Missed you.” You wind an errant, silver-streaked curl around your finger. “It feels like there’s something missing when you’re not here.”

Marcus kisses your forehead and you nuzzle up against his chest. “Don’t I know it? I felt exactly the same in DC, wondering where you were. Missed going to sleep beside you, waking up with you.”

You chuckle against the warm, sweat-damp skin of his chest, pressing your lips to the freckles dusted across his golden body. “And fucking me.”

He laughs, and the sound makes your heart soar. “That, too. But trust me - I’ll make it up to you.”

"Oh you will, huh?”

His coffee-brown eyes are as sincere and honest as ever. “Always and forever. Even with jet lag.”

dividers by @cafekitsune

#long distance fic #ladameecrit #la dame writes #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

[undercoverpena]

call me inspired 💁‍♀️

credit to thedeadthoughts on instagram

#writerblr #writing things #javier peña x reader #Frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x reader #jo: inspiration