#pike lure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowpokeomens · 6 months

Text

Blood Born

Hi hello! Sorry I disappeared, life has just been happening lately no matter how much I tell it not to. Anyways, below the cut you'll find Noah Sebastian with a mysterious secret doin the nasty bc I'm nothing if not a monster fucker.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of weapons, dirty nasty p-in-v smut, Noah's monster cock (canon), praise kink, there's some biting too. I think that's everything but I'm really tired so if I missed something, let me know! Enjoy!

________________________________________________________

New Orleans had always been one of Noah’s favorite cities.

He’d been partial to the French, anyway. Liked the way they baked absurd little confections, the way they fucked without remorse- the way they’d put each other’s head on a pike just to get a leg up in court. He’d been fortunate enough to be endowed with a pretty face, and there were few things the French liked more than that.

Which is where he found himself now, walking through the French Quarter, looking for dinner. There were approximately a million restaurants with old signs beckoning him inside, but Noah had lost a taste for that kind of food long before he stepped foot in this city.

He smelled you before he saw you.

It was the off season, if such a thing existed for a city like this. You were bundled up in a jacket, hurrying through the streets. It was chilly, even for this time of year, the wind making its way through your hair to whip in every direction. That must have been what blew your scent his way, the intoxicating scent of jasmine and an uninterrupted heart beat almost making him stiffen up where he stood, across the street from you. He mourned your scent as you ducked into a building, trying to escape the chill. You didn’t reek of alcohol the way most people in this area did- if he had to guess, he’d say you probably hadn’t had anything stronger than a glass of wine tonight. The thought of how that would taste had him darting across the nearly empty street to follow you into the building quickly.

He didn’t get a good meal often. The drunken strangers he usually managed to entice sated him in the way a pint of blueberries would satisfy a black bear. It was hard to find a sober person who would let you bite them, and the ones who did come along were, well, strange to say the least. As if he had any moral high ground.

The inside of the building was warm, dimly lit. He spotted you immediately, in a far corner by the bar, alone.

Blessed be to the old gods and the new. He thought to himself. He wouldn’t even have to lure you away from a group. He could easily seduce an individual, but multiples were hard when he was hungry.

He made his way over to where you sat, sitting around the corner so he could face you, but not be in your personal space. “Whiskey neat, please.” The bartender nodded once, pouring something foul and cheap-smelling into a glass with an ice cube. Noah fought back a grimace at the stench.

“Oh, come on, Remy, don’t give him the fucking Jack Daniel’s.” A voice called next to him. “If you want to cheap out, do Crown. Who the hell voluntarily drinks Jack?”

Noah slowly turned his head to where you sat, frowning at the bartender, who was rolling his eyes in return. He did remake Noah’s drink though, with something decidedly more palatable.

As he sat the drink down and walked to another patron, Noah turned to you. “Thank you. I was having a difficult time coping with the thought of that on my palate.”

You flashed him a grin. Briefly, he wondered what it would feel like to breathe again.

“No worries. Remy likes to give the tourists the bottom shelf shit, but you seem like the sort of guy who knows his whiskey.” You took a small sip of your wine, something deeply red that made Noah shift in his seat ever so slightly.

He inhaled once. “Grenache?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You know your wines, too. How could you tell?”

He shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Lucky guess.”

You cocked your head to the side curiously. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“I’ve never been here before.” Noah responded, emotionless.

“January is an odd time to visit for someone who’s never been here before.” You prodded further.

Noah couldn’t fight the smirk on his face. “Must you always play with your food?” Jolly had sighed once. “Maybe if I had a better tour guide, I would know that.”

He turns to look at you know, registers every emotion that crosses your face. Your pupils widen noticeably, your back going a little straighter. You were making this too easy for him.

“You’re in luck, I happen to know a gal.” You’re beaming at him- a sweet, lopsided grin as you take a gulp of your wine and introduce yourself. Noah watches the movement of your throat as you do so, responding with his own name. He takes a moment to drink you in.

Your jacket is gone now, but you’re still wearing a sweatshirt for a school he’s never heard of (Which, to be fair, is most of them.) Dark jeans cling to your legs where they sway idly from the barstool, your feet not touching the ground. Your hair has been pulled away from your face, but a few wisps escape and kiss the sides of your cheeks. He realizes, almost startled, that you’re beautiful.

A dignified kind of beautiful, not the otherworldliness that his kind manages. He knows he’s attractive, but it’s the same kind of beauty that humans see in tigers, snakes- A warning sign, a mark of predation. The kind of beauty you admire from the other side of bullet proof glass.

You, though- you’re so warm. He can feel your warmth, even from over here. It transcends physicality; Warmth that is visceral, in your eyes and your lips and the scrunch of your nose reacting to the cold.

“Hey, you okay?” Your soft voice shakes him out of his thoughts. “You looked sad.”

His eyes lock with yours, finding such human concern that if he could have wept, he would. You looked like you cared for people. He had not been cared for in a very long time.

“Yes, sorry. Zoned out for a second there.” He quickly finished off his drink. “I would love to take you up on that offer, though. It would be nice to see the city from a local’s perspective.”

He was a dirty liar. He knew the earth of this place before the French could even see it from their ships. It was wild then, and wild now- though in different ways. He could see the old wild in the eyes of workers practicing their vaudou and the shadows that lingered at the edge of the swamps surrounding the city. It beckoned, a siren’s call out to the murky depths of the region. Colonizers said they “settled” the territory, but everyone old enough to remember knows that lands like that don’t settle.

He supposed he was, in some ways, a marriage of those wilds. He remembered the things that lurked in the shadows… and now he was the thing lurking in that same darkness, however many lifetimes later.

“You know,” You interrupted his thoughts again, grabbing your coat in the process, “You get this really old-and-wise look on your face when you zone out. Are you thinking about war crimes, or mac ‘n cheese?”

He smiled despite himself. “Mac ‘n cheese.”

You blinded him briefly with a smile in return. He knew instantly that he would regret this, but followed you out the bar nonetheless, throwing a bill onto the counter without looking back.

You walked alongside each other in companionable silence until you spoke up.

“So, what brings you to the city alone?”

Noah smirked at the ground. You didn’t even try to disguise your inquiries. It was refreshing.

“I was supposed to be visiting friends, but they’re not here anymore.” It wasn’t a lie- not the truth, but certainly not a lie.

You frowned. “You didn’t think to check that your friends lived here still before you came?”

Noah shook his head. “I was actually just passing through- decided to stay a few days.”

You nodded, as if his non-answers made any sense. It reminded him of how he would nod at the eloquent words of his elders when he was a child, like pretending he was wiser than he was would somehow allow the wisdom to materialize out of sheer will. A thought occurred to him. “How old are you?”

“Oh, I’m 25.” You responded, turning to cast a glance up at him. “You?”

He found he didn’t want to lie to you. “Older than you.” Was the answer he settled on.

You snorted, surprising him. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Come on man, that’s like, the most ‘Guy Older Than 27’ thing to say.” You rolled your eyes at him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone rolled their eyes at him.

He grinned anyway, not looking at you. “Fair enough. I am older than 27.”

You gave him a sidelong glance. “Why so cryptic? Scared I’ll send you back to the nursing home you escaped from-”

You were cut off as he crowded you up against a wall, staring down his nose at you, arms on either side of your head. “You’re kind of mouthy, you know that?”

“Then shut me up.” Your words were rushed, like they escaped before you could think them over properly. He hesitated for only a second, then leaned in to kiss you.

You bloomed like a flower in spring for him, lips parting in a gasp, chest heaving as color rushed to your cheeks. He felt drunk as his tongue traced your lip, hands coming down to grasp your hips. You parted after only a few moments, breath ragged.

“I live about a block from here.” Your intentions were not lost on him.

He took a step back, gesturing for you to lead the way. You finished your nighttime stroll soon after, quickly pulling out your keys to unlock your front door.

Noah pauses at the door. Some of the superstitions were all too true. You turn around to face him, framed by the light of your entryway.

“Well, come in then. It’s cold.” You urge him, holding the door open. He lets out a breath he didn’t need.

He follows you inside to the warm interior. He’s taking in your interior decoration choices when you pounce, pulling him to your mouth. He happily obliges, deepening the kiss and wrapping an arm around your back. He felt your hands come up to his chest, pushing him away.

“Did you want to stop-” He began, until you interrupted him.

“No, but thanks. I’m just trying to get us to a flat surface that isn’t my hardwood floors.” You gave him a sly smile, taking him by the hand and tugging him through the house.

His eyes could see in pitch black, but he was still thoroughly impressed by how you could navigate in the dim light. You must have lived here for a while.

You flung open a door with ease, still pulling him behind you. He could see the bed as you shoved him onto it, crawling on top of him. He was grinning as you leaned in to kiss him again-

Then you stopped.

He suddenly realized, not reacting quickly enough as you scrambled off him and flipped on the lights.

“Your teeth-” You began, then froze as you took in the sight of him. He already knew what you were seeing. Blood vessels protruding around his eyes. His irises, sclera- blown pitch black. Cold skin even paler than usual. He could feel them now, behind his lips-

Fangs.

“What the fuck is going on?” You were too calm, given the circumstances, given your words.

Noah could only imagine the look on his face; Shame, embarrassment, regret. “I’ll go-”

“No no no, nuh-uh. You’re going to stay right there and explain what’s going on or I’ll scream bloody murder and Mr. Joe will come over with his 42 and we’ll have real problems.”

Noah stilled, though probably not for the reason you were wanting. “I’m sorry, did you just threaten to shoot me? I grew teeth, I’m a big scary monster, you can’t just shoot-”

“Yes I can! And I will! I’m crazy! I’m not scared of sexy scary monsters, I’m from backwoods Louisiana, pal! I’ve been hunting! I-”

“You think I’m sexy?” Noah could feel his eyes returning to normal as he grinned at you.

“Shut up.” Your voice cracked, betraying you.

Noah stood up, cocking his head to the side. His fangs were retracting now, disappearing from view. He gave you a long look.

You looked pissed, which was new. He was more accustomed to fear, knew how to respond to it, soothe it. You had a glint in your eye that looked different from just anger, almost like-

Betrayal. The earth whispered to him.

He took a deep breath. He could still smell arousal on you. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t… how I wanted this to go.”

“Then how did you want it to go?” You threw back at him.

“I- I don’t know! I thought we could hook up and then I’d leave when you fell asleep and I’d find some rando on the way home and-” He stopped short, unsure of how to continue.

“And what?” You prodded, sounding fearful for the first time that evening. Good. You should be scared. He was a monster- an old one. For all you knew he ate virgins and burned down villages.

He looked down, unable to meet your eyes. “And… drink their blood.”

You exhaled, long. “You kill people to eat?”

His neck snapped up at you. “No, no! Oh my god, no. Just a nibble and I’m on my way-” He stopped at the giggle you let out. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just,” You straightened your face. “You eat people and refer to it as a ‘nibble?’”

“I don’t eat people.” He deadpanned, giving you a look.

“You just drink their blood.”

“Right.”

You both stared at each other for a long moment.

“So why-” You began.

Noah motioned for you to continue.

You blinked. “Why the fangs, then? If you weren’t going to… y’know.” You averted your gaze.

A movement Noah quickly mirrored. “Oh, um. It’s like- an arousal thing. Pretty girl kisses me, fangs pop out.”

You were looking at him again. “You think I’m pretty?”

He met your eyes. “Yeah. Prettiest thing I’ve seen so far, and I’ve been around for a while.”

You took a slow step towards him. “How often do you eat?”

“Um, once a week, if it’s good. Maybe twice if it’s not.” He responded automatically, trying not to think about how bizarre this conversation was.

Your head tilted slightly. Another step. “How long has it been? Since you’ve… fed?”

He was watching you carefully now. Then, very quietly, he said “Two weeks.”

Something like concern flooded your eyes, and you almost winced at him. “That’s a long time to be hungry.”

He could see your jugular on your neck, pulsating with life. He said nothing in response.

You took another step. “Would it help if you… fed on me?”

He looked at you sharply, processing your words in seconds. “No.”

“Why not?” You countered, cocking a brow.

Why not? The earth whispered at him again, voice a caress in his ear. He could smell you- Alive, fresh and-

Fertile. The familiar voice supplied. He fought the urge to roll his eyes. I’m not going to tell her she smells fertile, he retorted.

“You can’t think of a good reason.” You assumed, staring almost directly into his silence.

“I could hurt you.” He supplied helplessly.

“And that’s worse than hurting someone else?”

He tried again. “No- it’s not, but-” A deep breath, “I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”

You placed a hand on his arm, too warm and too close. “Then I’ll just hurt you back.” You were so close to him, when did you get this close- “You look awfully hungry, Noah.” You murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.

It was impossible for him to misread your body language as his hands came up to grip your hips, tugging you closer to him. He could feel your nipples hardening where your bodies met.

“You can tell me to stop, okay? Whenever you want, just say the word and we’ll stop.” He was panting now, salivating in anticipation as his canines slid back out.

You nodded. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Then you kissed him again, sliding your tongue over his fangs in a move that made him outright moan into your mouth. He scooped you up in what was obviously a feat of superhuman strength, chucking you onto the bed.

He made quick work of your clothes, pulling your shirt over your head in a swift movement that had him pausing to stare. “Blessed be to the old gods and the new.” He breathed, taking in your pert nipples, breasts swaying at his hasty movements. He leaned in, running his tongue from your sternum, up through your breasts, stopping only at your neck. “Do you taste as good as you look, love?”

Your cheeks reddened. “Let’s hope so.”

He grinned, a wicked, awful thing, tugging on your pants until they slid off, leaving you in just your underwear. “Wanna see a trick?”

You did not want to see a trick, you decided as your body betrayed you and nodded anyway.

He came down to eye-level with your mound, slowly and carefully hooking a single fang on the fabric, sliding it directly through your panties until they were completely torn open.

You gaped, unable to form words.

“Sorry, those were cute. I’ll make it up to you.” Noah promised as he spread your legs open for him.

You felt exposed, vulnerable. Your entire body went red as he watched you. He ran a finger up your slit, making your entire body shudder. “Oh? Baby likes that?”

You nodded, blinking rapidly. Noah swatted your inner thigh, not enough to hurt, but enough to get your attention. “Use your words.”

Your cheeks grew even pinker. “Y-yes, I liked it.”

He leaned down, caging you in. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Please.” You whispered. His eyes went pitch black again.

“Good girl, already knows to beg.” He backed off of you, tugging off his turtleneck sweater, revealing a fully tattooed torso. Your mouth went dry at the sight. “Again.” He demanded.

“Please.” You obeyed, still barely above a whisper.

“Prettier.” He demanded again, unbuckling his pants.

“P-please, Noah, please-”

“Almost there.” His pants hit the floor, revealing a pair of equally as inked legs.

“Please, I’ll be so good, Noah, please, let me be good-”

“That’s a good girl, good job. C’mere.” He sat back down on the bed, the outline of his cock clearly visible in his briefs. You wanted to feel, to taste.

You obliged his command, crawling over to straddle his lap.

“Here’s how this is gonna go, pretty thing.” He began, sliding a finger inside of you as he did so. You gasped, latching onto his shoulder for support. “I’m going to get you nice and loose, then you’re going to ride me, like this. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” You stammered as he added another finger.

“Ooh, nice manners.” He praised, dropped a kiss to your jaw. You shivered at his touch. “When you feel like you’re close, you’re going to tell me, and then I’m going to bite right-” he rubbed a small line on the side of your neck- “Here. Does that sound okay?”

You nodded, then remembered to say “Yes, yes, sounds wonderful, sounds amazing, Noah fuck me please-”

He chuckled quietly, lifting you up ever so slightly to align himself where he had pulled down is briefs. “You ready?”

“Noah I swear to whatever gods, old and new- fuck.” Your rampage broke off into a moan as he slid himself into you. His thrusts were short at first, letting you adjust, until you finally sank all the way down.

You were panting when you finally bottomed out. “Big- ‘S so big.” You whined, clenching and unclenching on him involuntarily.

Noah’s breaths were equally as ragged. His hands had come to rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on them. “Whenever you’re ready.” He placed another kiss on your forehead.

You waited another few seconds, then pulled up experimentally. The drag of him inside you had a long moan escaping your throat. You dropped down, gasping, rising up again. You repeated this until you were riding him in earnest, moans and gasps escaping you both.

You didn’t know how Noah was managing to hit that bundle of nerves inside of you every time you sank down, but he was. You draped your arms on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him deeply, fangs tugging on your lip ever so slightly. “You look so good riding my cock baby, look so good with a big cock in you, like you were made for this-” Noah’s profane train of thought continued on until it was white noise in your ears. You registered that your thighs were shaking from the effort, but you couldn’t stop, not when you were so close-

“Close.” You panted. “Fuck, Noah, I’m so close, so close-”

He pulled your hair to the side quickly, teeth lining up with your throat.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum-”

The world went white as Noah sank his fangs into your throat and you came, release squirting all over the both of you as your body shook.

You panted as he sucked at your throat, eyes fluttering shut. One of his hands was rubbing at your back, the other snaked around your waist. You stayed like that for a few minutes more, until you almost felt light-headed and he released you with a soft “pop.”

You blinked at him sleepily as he laid you down against your pillow. He stood up, tugging up his boxers and turning to walk away. “Are you leaving?” You slurred, sounding sad even to yourself.

You could hear his little laugh. “No, I’m getting you a snack and some water. I know I’m dreamy, but I can’t have the ladies passing out on me.”

You rolled your eyes as he disappeared, faint clattering alerting you of when he found the kitchen.

When he returned, you were more alert, taking the water and gulping it down. You took a second to look at him.

He was beautiful before, but now- wow.

His hair was silky, skin still pale but not so lifeless. His eyes were richly dark, amusement seeming to dance in them. “Y’know,” You began, “You’re really pretty when you’re not starving to death.”

If he could have blushed, he might have. “Back at you.” Was his response, handing you crackers.

You nibbled on them while he went about dressing himself. “You’re not staying?” You did your best to not sound disappointed.

Noah shot you a smile. “Sadly, no. I have to get back to my hiding hole before the sun comes up.”

You nodded, looking down. “Will I get to see you again?”

“I have a feeling you’ll be seeing entirely too much of me.” Noah responded, sounding amused.

“What makes you say that?” You questioned, confusion written on your face.

“Because you broke the cardinal sin of running around with a vampire.” Noah grinned, looking devious. “You invited me in.”

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens x reader #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian x reader #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #vampire!noah sebastian

557 notes · View notes

thenativetank · 3 months

Text

Rating lures based on the accuracy to the species they protray:

Okay so I've posted a few posts now on some disappointing lures so I wanted to do the cool ones this time. These would be Orangspotted Sunfish which a) are my fave centrarchids, and b) are a cool fish overall. The body coloration reflects non-breeding colors which is certainly less vibrant, but pretty accurate overall. This is a fun guy I'd love to have as a pet. 9/10.

Pikes are so rare as lures I wanted to include them. The shape? Chef's kiss. The packaging gives the tail a weird kind of shape but we shouldn't judge one based on the conditions in which they are forced to live. The colors I'm less wild on. The patterning says Northern Pike but the specific colors seem to suggest Redfin Pickerel. Are you a hybrid, little dude? Let's say 7/10.

These fellas are Notropis spp. shiners, likely Rainbow Shiners (N. chrosomus). From the body color to the blue gill plates, these are pretty spot on. Most Rainbows have a dark horizontal stripe along the lateral line where these have pale, but you can find both patterns in this species. 10/10 I love them.

What a pretty guy! Labeled as a Bluegill, this lure is an inch or so long; with that in mind, these are adult colors, not juvenile colors. The white in there is also not accurate. But I like him! He gets an 8/10 from me.

You know, though Yellow Perch lures are a dime a dozen, I think these are pretty close to the mark. The colors (especially the orange) is a little neon-y and the head is an odd white color, but I think they have a nice mix of realistic and eye catching. 7/10

#fishcommunity #Fishblr

74 notes · View notes

idolatrybarbie · 6 months

Text

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader

word count & rating: 5.4k | explicit - 18+ minor free zone!

summary: it's not stalking if it's a casual curiosity. you would never do anything...you're just nosey. lonely, too, maybe. but that isn't your fault. yes—this is fine. only stalking if he notices. so what exactly happens when he does?

warnings: social isolation, touch starvation, marcus pike is a virgin (there is no virgin-shaming here - do not fear), alcohol, themes of alienation, allusions to failed relationships, everyone in this story is very normal, smut - kissing, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, handjob, protected penetrative vaginal sex(!!!), premature ejaculation, body worship (with mouth), exhibitionism, implied male masturbation, vaginal fingering, very enthusiastic oral sex (f receiving), cum eating, cuddling.

notes: i was depressed and am sick (again) but yesterday was a really good day, so you get a fic. @wannab-urs wanted to see virgin marcus - here he is. this slowly and subtly became a little more kinky than i intended it to lol? my own cat makes an appearance and yes he is really that old. this is also my 400th post to this blog. woohoo, enjoy! :)

He’s your neighbour. Kind of cute. Okay, lie—very cute. You don’t have much on him otherwise. He moved in about three months ago, right at summer’s end. At first, you thought he was a student. You see him around the house and the neighbourhood during weekdays, so that rules out a college schedule.

He likes to read books in the park. Thick novels with colourful covers and lengthy titles. You would think that he’s showing off, peacocking with the way that he’s got a new book in his hands every week. But no, the reading isn’t for show. He moulds them to his liking, dogears the pages and folds over paperbacks; things someone doesn’t do when they’ve got a book in their hands as a lure, a line.

Surprisingly, he seems to be single. You aren’t exactly sure why. There’s no short supply of wealthy single moms in the area, and the man himself is truly gorgeous. Maybe he’s recently divorced, or gay. Maybe it’s his mom’s old house and she’s passed, and he’s only here to settle things up before skipping town again.

You find yourself watching his windows at night, never able to catch a glimpse of him. The house glows orange with the lights still on inside—a welcoming lighthouse in the cold and murky sea of suburbia. When you start thinking like that, watching his house for more than too long, you send yourself to bed. The very last thing you want to be is the obsessed stalker across the street.

A part of you can’t help it. Your other neighbours, despite barely knowing them, don’t seem to like you very much. You have a feeling a certain washing-your-car-in-a-bikini-top incident at the end of this year’s boiling hot August might have something to do with it. With no friends to speak of in this cookie cutter county, you find yourself lonely. When you don’t think about it too hard, that’s justification enough.

This morning, you wake up before the sun. Sparing your eyes the bright glare of house lights, you use a near-dead flashlight to see down the hall. The cat in your care this week lives on a strict schedule. At fourteen human years—eighty in feline—Bender has grown accustomed to routine: breakfast at six-thirty, talk television at eight. Later mornings to early afternoons are a little less structured, leaving him to wander the house or settle in for a nap. Then he eats again at four, followed up by water and a monitored trip to the litter box. After that, he usually sits on the cushioned back of your couch to watch movies with you.

His owner is away in Florida with her grand kids. She’s been leaving him with you for the past six months whenever she needs time away from Virginia to let loose and explore. Bender isn’t really my cat, she’d told you the first time, but her daughter is in New York for school and couldn’t take him this year. You secretly hope that she never does. He’s excellent company.

Professional pet-sitting hadn’t ever been a career that you’d really considered. You’re still not sure if this is a forever thing or a temporary gig to pay the bills. Really, you’d like to put your degree to use in some capacity. But after being laid off so abruptly…well, you aren’t itching to get back out into the workforce quite yet. Especially not when sweet older women pay you a hundred dollars a day to revel in the company of cuddly creatures.

They aren’t all easy like the old man. Charlie, the St. Bernard you sat last month, is clingier than any ex you’ve ever had. The Fogelmans’ Dalmatian is nice to have for a day or two, but thirty minute runs twice each morning go from exhausting to borderline impossible by day three. Animals are exhausting. When you aren’t sitting, you’re sleeping.

Peeling back the tin lid on a can of wet food, you can already hear the light tap of Bender’s small paws on the floor. He joins you in the kitchen, waiting as he watches you spoon half of the can’s contents onto a dessert plate. You soften it, making it easier to chew before you slide the food over to him. He always takes a comically big first bite.

“If only they could all be like you, huh?”

Bender doesn’t answer, of course. He’s a cat.

Good Morning America rambles away on your flat-screen. You’re waiting for Bender’s owner, his travel carrier already baited with treats. The unopened food cans and his toys are packed away in a grocery bag by the door. When Anne-Marie sends you a text that she’s in the neighbourhood, you gently lead the cat into the carrier. The grated door clinks shut behind him.

Poking a finger through the slats, Bender meets you with his paw.

“Come visit me soon, alright?” you ask. “Maybe your mom can take a long trip to Canada or something.”

Anne-Marie doesn’t have to knock for you to know she’s there, her short shadow visible through the frosted glass beside the door. You stand and turn to open it, greeting her with a smile. She asks after you and tells you about her flight in.

“I hope he’s been a good boy,” she says.

“An angel, as usual,” you reply.

“He’s a little bit of a grump sometimes.”

“Perfectly fine with me. Bender’s always welcome back here.”

Anne-Marie takes the bag of food and toys first, tossing it into the front passenger seat before returning for the carrier. Handing it over, you watch as she walks down the steps and loads him into the backseat of her SUV. She buckles Bender’s glorified plastic box securely in the back, getting in herself. Anne-Marie waves at you from behind the wheel. You wave back.

Watching the vehicle pull away with your furry friend in tow, you see your neighbour’s house for the first time today. The weather is cooling off as winter grows closer. You don’t see him out much anymore, except when he gets home from who-knows-where. Even then, it’s only a glimpse of his short walk to the front door. Today, he’s sitting on his porch. With a fleece sweater zipped to his chin and a vest hugging his torso, you watch as pulls on a pair of muddy boots.

Cold air breezes past you, the draft pulling you back to reality. Just as you’re about to close the door, he peers up. And looks…directly at you. Then your neighbour smiles in acknowledgment.

Making eye contact for a second too long, you shut the door quickly. Leaning against the surface, you replay the last thirty seconds in your head. The car pulled away, he was sat there…he pulled on his boots and saw—

Three sharp knocks land on the other side of your door. You’re too much of an optimist, hoping it’s Anne-Marie again. Glancing at the glass from here, you find the realistic answer. It’s him, up close and personal this time—for the first time. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

He knocks once again, clearly waiting. There’s nowhere else for you to go. The man is standing at the only reasonable exit point. Caving, you take a breath and open the door.

The first thing you notice is his smell. Earthy-sweetness lingers with him as the familiar stranger smiles at you. Again.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” you return. “…Can I help you?”

“I figured that I’ve lived across the street for a while but never introduced myself,” the man says. He holds out a hand and you take it, his broad palm warming yours. “I’m Marcus.”

You tell him your name, still shaking his hand. When you let go, the smile falters.

“So Marcus, what can I do for you?”

“Well, I was wondering if I could borrow a cup of sugar,” he says.

You glance around the doorway, unsure how to respond. “Um—”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh,” you nod. Shifting your weight from right to left, the tiniest of squeaker toys lands under your foot.

“You've got a dog, right?”

“Sort of,” you say. “I pet-sit sometimes. They aren’t really mine.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to bring ‘em out for a walk, but I guess—”

“I could still go for a walk,” you say, the words rushing out.

The smile returns to Marcus’ face, strong as ever as he nods. “Sure. Great.”

“Just give me one second.”

You backtrack into the front hall, pulling open your coat closet for a jacket and your shoes. It only takes a minute before you’re joining Marcus on your porch. He leads you down the steps, taking a right onto the sidewalk. This is the direction he drives in from.

“So, pet-sitting,” he says. “Passion or hobby?”

“Well, I get paid for it. Not really a hobby.”

“Monetized hobby,” Marcus corrects himself. “Or is this what you do professionally?”

“In that case, hobby. I lost my job a couple of months ago. Still sort of figuring it out,” you say. Marcus nods. Then you ask, “What about you?”

“Why don’t you guess?”

You hum, thinking back on what you know about him. The car he drives is new, a dark SUV with tinted windows. Whatever he does must pay pretty well. He lives alone, fairly solitary; no kids, no spouse. You’ve seen him bring in a maximum of three grocery bags at once, and yet he hasn’t starved, so he probably doesn’t cook a lot. Sometimes it’s like he’s never home, and others he’s ever-present. That’s a pretty erratic schedule for a business professional.

Giving up on a real answer, you say, “Male stripper.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “I wish.” You and him both.

“A cop?” you ask.

“Warmer,” Marcus says. “FBI agent.”

“You’re joking, right? Are you even allowed to tell normal people those things?”

“I mean, sure. You’re not a terrorist, are you?” he asks.

“No,” you say.

“Then we’re fine,” Marcus says. He formally introduces himself. SSA Marcus Pike.

“So, Marcus the FBI agent. What draws you to Fairfax County?”

“The commute. And the house is nice, too.”

“You don’t strike me as a white picket fence kind of guy.” Looking out at the neighbourhood, that’s all there is.

“You don’t seem the type either,” he says. Touché. “When I first started planning the move, it wasn’t supposed to be just me. But uh…some things changed, and I’d already bought the house. Can’t let it go to waste.”

There’s something raw there. It softens his voice a little, taking away that clutch of confidence that seemingly brought him to your door.

You say, “I guess it’s better here than another shit-box apartment.”

“Right? That was my whole life back in Texas,” Marcus says.

“Texas?”

“Not born nor bred,” he says. “I worked in the Art Theft department at the bureau there.”

“Working on crafts for the kiddos?” you ask.

“More like nabbing art thieves, stopping criminal smugglers. Stuff like that.”

You hate to admit that this man probably has more courage in his pinky finger than you possess in your entire being, but at least now you can justify the curiosity.

“So you’re good at catching the bad guys, then,” you say.

“More so good at noticing things,” Marcus explains.

The air changes slightly, goosebumps rising along your skin. You ignore any potential implication. “Like what? Human behaviour?”

“Sure,” Marcus says. “Small stuff. Like if someone’s lying…or if I’m being watched.”

When Marcus doesn’t say anything else, you pause. A finely manicured lawn as your backdrop, you stare at him, disbelieving. You can’t imagine what you look like—the pictured definition of mortification.

“Look, I’m really sorry if I creeped you out. I just—I don’t get out a lot without a job and all, and I don’t really have any friends here. You seemed interesting, but none of that’s an excuse and I should’ve come over and said h—”

He says your name, stopping your rambling. “It’s fine,” Marcus says. “A little odd but…flattering?”

With your heart racing in your chest, you scrub a hand over your face. “Oh my god,” you sigh. “I really am sorry, Marcus. My life isn’t very…normal anymore. It makes you do some weird things.”

You can’t remember the last time you were outside before today. Direct grocery delivery took away any need to get out to the store, and with it your last real connection to the outside world. Except the pets. They keep you from losing it entirely.

“We’ve all got our fair share,” Marcus says. Why is he being so cool about this? He should be calling the police, or in this case, himself.

So you ask, “Why are you trying to make me feel better?”

“Well, if I don’t then you might not want to come over for dinner later."

At seven o’clock, you make your way across the street to Marcus’ front door. You hesitate in knocking, checking the time on your phone again. He says it’s fine, but maybe this is a mistake. You’re not over the embarrassment from earlier. You really don’t know how to carry out social interactions anymore. Maybe it’s for the best if you turn around and quietly slip back into your house…

Before you get the chance, the door before you opens up. Marcus has changed. He’s wearing less layers this time, only a simple white Henley shirt and a dark pair of jeans. Cartoon sharks bite the ankles of his socked feet, and you find yourself smiling when you finally look at his face. God, this man is fucking gorgeous. It almost makes you mad.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey, come on in.”

He stretches his arm to open the door wider, stepping aside to make room. You take your boots off at the door and note the details of his home. The walls are cherry red, different to the sage green of your place across the street. The wall space in the kitchen is filled with paintings where yours stay bare, all of them neatly hung—Frida Kahlo and Elmina Moisan are the artists you recognize.

Marcus tells you that his mother is Chilean, that he was born over here once his American father could get her stateside. They moved down to Mexico when he finished high school. He’s visited every summer since, and each time he brings back a painting. There are only four here.

"You're missing a few," you say.

"The rest are upstairs," Marcus says.

Maybe you'll see them later.

Tonight, he's making fried rice and soy sauce chicken.

"Or See Yao Gai, if you want to get fancy with it," he says, concentrating on the pan.

Watching Marcus work over the stove is mesmerizing. He knows what to do and exactly when to do it, never letting anything burn or sit too long. You feel more like you're watching a professional chef than a guy that cooks "on occasion.” Even the way he washes rice has technique.

Jesus Christ, get it together.

Before plating the food, Marcus offers you a drink. He pours himself a small glass of something red.

"I'll have what you're having," you nod.

He sits across from you at the table. You imagine yourselves as your respective houses, the cloth runner that sits in the middle of the table acting as the paved street. They say people look like their pets, but homes take on characteristics of the people who live in them. Everything here is warm, like his hand. Vibrant and pleasant. The place smells like him too, all sweet and saffron.

The first bite of dinner explodes with flavour in your mouth.

"This is fucking delicious," you mumble, still chewing.

"Thank you."

"Of course." After a sip of wine, you say, "I mostly sustain myself off of hot pockets and spinach wraps. This is like, gourmet."

"You don't cook at all?" Marcus asks.

"Eh," you shrug. "I used to. A lot, actually. But it's not the same when—"

When what? When there's no love in it? Something like that. There's no one to feed, no one to come home to. So who fucking cares?

"When you're only cooking for yourself."

"I understand." They should sound like empty words, but something in Marcus' eyes tells you he really does.

"It's just…hard, I guess." Oh no, where are you taking this? "To keep caring? I’m sort of—"

"Going through the motions?" he asks.

"Yeah. Exactly," you say.

Marcus scoops another forkful of rice off his plate, chewing before he swallows. He says, "Well you know, I'm right across the street. Maybe twenty feet away? So if you need to, you can always go through the motions over here."

You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds nice. Someone to talk to. "One day I might just take you up on that."

When you're both finished, you help Marcus with the dishes and re-organising the table. You're showing yourself to the door with him in tow. You open it and cross over the threshold, the cold hitting you all at once. The sky is much darker than it was only an hour ago. A streetlamp behind you highlights Marcus’ face just so.

"Thanks for dinner. For all of it," you say. "It's been a long time."

"You're always welcome," Marcus says. And then he kisses you. Your hand moves over his shoulders, wrenching him forward to pull his body closer. You both stumble back into his house, the door closing behind you.

His hands remain respectfully north of the equator until you grab them, pulling them down to your hips. You break away from the kiss to say, "I don't usually…um. But do you want to—"

"Yes," he whispers. That's all the confirmation you need.

The combined stumble up to his bedroom has you bumping into walls, almost tripping on the landing. Marcus’ hands are hurried across your body. He can’t seem to make up his mind, palming your ass before he slides his hands over your ribs, squeezing your breast. Right outside his bedroom, he stops you.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says.

“Sex on the first date?”

“Sex…period.” You watch the way he cringes at himself, instinctively holding him closer.

Carefully, you say, “We don’t have to.”

“I want to. I just—it’s good to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“It’s fine,” you say, giving him a kiss. “And we can take it slow.”

Marcus nods.

Inside the room, he lets you take the lead. You begin with your clothes, shedding your top, socks, and pants. Marcus mirrors you, leaving him shirtless in blue underwear. He’s already on his way to being fully hard, a bulge visible beneath the fabric.

Standing in front of his bed, you wave him over with a light come here. He’s drawn to you, a snake to its charmer, strong arms encircling you in his hold. You revel in the warmth of him. Marcus’ closeness has you leaning into his body, skin-to-skin. It has been so long since you’ve had this. You can’t remember the last time you’ve even had a hand to hold, an arm to brush by accident—so you take it. You revel in it, only god knowing the next time the opportunity will present itself.

“Are you okay?” Marcus asks, breath warm against your ear.

“Yeah, uh… I’m sorry,” you say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve touched somebody.”

The admission makes your stomach twist, Marcus’ face relaxing into a softer shape. Instead of the usual look of pity, he keeps his expression open. When he kisses you again, it’s long and slow; languid passes of his tongue against yours as the pair of you fall to the middle of the duvet. Marcus settles against you, assuring that his weight doesn’t crush yours before he peppers pecks across your mouth and forehead.

You can feel him hard against your thigh, steadily rocking himself into your skin with every smooch. He asks, “Can I touch you?” and you breathe a yes.

His right hand moves from its place on your torso to glide down the side of your body, cupping your ass before Marcus slides two fingers into the band of your panties. He smooths the pads of his fingers over the skin below your stomach, dipping below your pelvis to feel you.

Marcus brushes against your clit. You tilt your hips higher, chasing after the sensation.

“Here?” he asks.

“Little to the left?” you whisper. Adjusting accordingly, your breath catches when he finds it. “Yeah, there.”

Marcus rubs at it with his fingers, drawing tight circles around your clit as you wedge your face in between his shoulder and jaw.

“Can I kiss your neck?”

“Sure.”

Slowly, mindlessly, you peck at Marcus’ skin to ground yourself. Closer to his ear, he smells powdery, like vanilla. You’d like to know if it’s cologne or all him. You gasp when his fingers move to collect some of your wetness, returning to your clit and doubling down on the light pressure. Tongue darting past your lips, you lick him. He groans.

“Does that feel good?”

Gathering your thoughts takes a moment. “Yes, Marcus—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He watches you now, eyes closed as you’re worked closer to the edge. With Marcus’ free hand, he slides the strap of your bra off your shoulder, pulling the fabric away from your breast.

“Use your mouth,” you instruct him.

Marcus doesn’t need to be told twice, ducking low to take your nipple into his mouth. His lips and fingers working in tandem as your body narrows in on the edge of pleasure. You keep a hand at the back of his head as he licks and sucks your nipple. When he takes the sensitive bud between his teeth, you cry out and tug at Marcus’ hair. You push his mouth closer, closer—you wish he would eat you.

It doesn’t take very long for you to cum. A few more tugs of his teeth at your nipple and a harsher pass over your clit has you seizing against him, lips parted as a harsh noise leaves your mouth. Marcus slows his fingers to an eventual stop. When you look at him again, he’s eyeing the stickiness left between them.

You hold his wrist, pulling it to your mouth and slipping his fingers onto your tongue. Marcus watches you clean them intently, like he’s committing the sight to memory. When your done, he holds your face and kisses your nose. You laugh.

“What else do you want to do?” he asks.

You slide a hand down his stomach, lightly prodding his belly button just to see him flinch. The smile he gives you makes you ache.

Hand hovering close to his clothed cock, you say, “I wanna touch you.”

He nods. “Please.” The single word comes out high and whiny, stoking that fire in your belly once again.

Slipping a hand into his briefs, you feel the wetness at the head of his cock as it smears against the elastic. You start there, taking the sticky tip into your palm to gather some of Marcus’ precum. When you work your hand over the rest of him, the glide is easier, his skin like slick velvet underneath you. It’s your turn to watch as his eyes flutter closed, mouth twisted into a pout as Marcus breathes hard through his nose.

“You can make noise, baby. Let me hear you,” you say.

Marcus gives you a quick nod, eyes opening again when you squeeze him at the base of his shaft. He moans, long and low, lips parted beautifully. You speed up, watching the effects of the faster pace as he curls further into your body. The slope of his nose drags against the skin of your shoulder as he breathes you in.

“Fuck,” Marcus whispers. His curses are said softly into your skin. Suddenly, his upper half draws away from you. “Fuck, wait, wait—”

You don’t realize he’s cumming until the first stripe of spend lands across your hip. Marcus groans, a reluctant purr from the back of his throat that mixes in with another low, “Fuuuuck.” Your hand frozen around him, you wait until he’s done to move.

Immediately, Marcus withdraws from you entirely. His eyes are glued to the cum on your skin, face twisted with something unreadable.

“Hey,” you say, touching your clean hand to his. He looks up at you. “It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“I’m really sorry,” Marcus mutters.

“Why?” you ask. With the shake of your head, you join him closer to the end of the bed. You slide your fingers through the mess of his spend, bringing them to your lips. Again, he watches as you clean it up. “Totally natural. Normal. You felt good, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“That’s all that matters. I felt good too.”

“Do you still want to…” he trails off.

“If you want to do more, I have no objections,” you say. “And if not.” With a shrug, you quirk your lips up. There’s no pressure here. You’re grateful to have him at all tonight.

“I have an idea,” Marcus says. He shakes off the funk, shoulders rolling back again easily.

“I’d love to hear it.”

Noses close enough to touch, your hands never leave his skin as Marcus confides in you his thoughts. When you say yes, he positions himself below you. Starting at your ankles, he nuzzles his face against your skin, slowly moving upwards as he presses kisses to your calves. Eye-level with your left knee, he readjusts your leg. He lightly slides his tongue over the slot of skin behind the joint, pulling giggles from you as you squirm at the feeling.

From here, Marcus makes sure to take his time. He alternates between soft, wet kisses and flat licks up your thighs. He noses along the sensitive skin, rocking into the mattress every once in a while.

“This is probably bad timing…” he trails off. You wait for Marcus to continue, but he’s too preoccupied licking at the skin of your mid-thigh. Running your hand through his hair, you try to capture his focus again.

“Marcus?”

He looks up at you, those beautiful brown eyes melting your heart and sending it dripping down to your cunt. “I’ve known the whole time. That you were watching me.” Then Marcus returns between your legs, nose at the crux of skin between your thigh and where you need him most.

You can barely map out your words. The anticipation is killing you. “You—you did?”

“Mhm,” he hums. He’s so close now.

“You never said anything.” The bridge of his nose presses directly against you, your hips stuttering against his face. “I would’ve…god, I couldn’t stop,” you confess.

“I kind of liked it,” he whispers to your pussy—a secret between them.

You groan when his nose brushes your clit again, breaking into a light pant when Marcus licks a fat stripe across the lips of your cunt. His words short-circuit your brain. You squeeze your eyes shut, imagining Marcus in this very room, touching himself as you unknowingly watch him in the dark. All those nights with the lights left on. Is that what he was doing?

Marcus slides his tongue directly over your pussy, prodding with care. Forcing yourself to look, your gaze falls from the ceiling to his lowered form. He’s already watching you, drinking in every bite of your lip and crease in your forehead. With your attention on him again, Marcus doubles down on his efforts, making out with your cunt as you whine.

“Please, please, please. Marcus—inside, can you use your fingers?”

“Anything,” he says, slipping two inside of you carefully. “Anything you want.”

They move in tandem with his tongue. Finally having something to grip and clench around has the heat of your second orgasm growing to a full forest fire. Picturing yourself now, you wonder if any of your other neighbours have taken an interest in the new guy in town. If they’re watching now, catching a glimpse of you through his window. The thought has you moaning again, picturing inches of soft, revealed skin and Marcus’ hands on you through the eyes of a stranger.

Marcus fucking you in the dark SUV that occupies the driveway, taking you against the translucent accent window of your front hall. Privacy with that hint of exposure. The delicious subtlety of risk.

Maybe you kind of like it too.

Marcus sucks on your clit and the sensation consumes you, flames licking up your spine. You cum with a shudder and a curse. He slows his hand down, removing his index and middle from you to share another kiss.

“I’d like you inside me,” you whisper.

Teeth gnaw at your insides. You crave the closeness, his warmth. Leaning to the side of the mattress, Marcus pulls open his bedside drawer. He fishes a condom from its depths.

“You’re prepared,” you say with a smile.

Marcus shrugs as he carefully tears the wrapper. “I was a boy scout.”

You sit up to help him put it on, spitting in your palm before you wrap it around his length. “Of course you were.”

He watches your movements, rolling the plastic on at the head before you remove your hand. Marcus slides the condom down the rest of him, keeping the end pinched.

“I was expecting brownie points for that presentation,” he says.

You lean up to meet him on your knees, teasing him with the promise of another kiss. You just miss his lips with your own, planting a peck at the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t get a prize for watching your hot English teacher roll one onto a banana.”

Leveraging his shoulders, you have him seated and straddled in one swift move. Marcus sucks in a gasp as you hover your cunt over him, slicking his cock with your body. He holds himself, lining up to let you sink down easily. The stretch is slight, feeling a pinch as he splits you open. Grasping your shoulders, Marcus moans into the plate of your chest.

Grinding on him slowly, you pet his hair and hold the heat of his face to your skin. “There you go,” you sigh. “How’re you feeling?”

You squeeze around him right as Marcus opens his mouth to answer, words replaced by stuttering breaths. "Good, good. So good,” he says. “Feeling you…fuck. You’re beautiful.” Marcus rocks his hips up into you, taking over the pace as he grows a little frantic. The friction of short hair at the base of him keeps you sated, enjoying the feel as he follows his release.

“Think of you all the time,” he continues. “See you out and—god, ah—you’re always so beautiful. Shit… Always alone. I just—”

Marcus grinds into you a few more times before he spills into the condom, moaning into the kiss you give him. You stay together like that for a minute, reveling in the feeling of him. Then you slide off his lap, Marcus’ limp dick slipping from you. He stands to take the condom off and disappears into the en suite bathroom. When he returns, the two of you bundle up under the covers.

He lets you be little spoon, his hands swiping softly over your stomach. Marcus traces little shapes beside your belly button, lips meeting the top notch of your spine.

“How was that?” you ask, breaking the soft silence.

“An excellent first time,” he says. “More…more than I imagined it could be. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” You bring your own hand to the arm that wraps around you, feeling him. “It’s kind of a two-way street. I haven’t—I’m not really accustomed to closeness anymore.” His grasp on you has your head abuzz, high on his touch. Then you ask, “You said you saw me?”

“Oh, right,” Marcus says, remembering. “Saw you around the neighbourhood. I was mostly impressed you were able to keep a handle on that Dalmatian without turning into the evil coat lady.” His corny joke still makes you laugh, one more for the night, even as you shake your head. “And…I don’t know. I never saw you with anyone. I kept wanting to come over and say hello. Say anything, really.”

“I would’ve liked that,” you say. “Would still like that. If you came and talked to me.” Talking, fucking, going through the motions.

“I think we’re a little past that,” he says.

“You know what I mean.”

“I’ll always come talk to you.” A beat of silence. “Just you and me, like two lonely people.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedrostories #fic: lover be sweet

100 notes · View notes

foli-vora · 1 year

Text

run to you: chapter four

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: thank you for being patient! shit is hectic in the brain right now, but fuck real life amiright? feels good to write again and to come back to these two. not a whole lot of marcus this chap, or a particularly long one, but it's all about the story building or something like that lmao. i still haven't updated my taglists so i apologise for that. if you've previously requested to be added for this story, please do so again via whatever coz my mind is all over the place and i'll forget to check the previous chapters. enjoy angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 2.8k+

Warnings: the usual... angst, swearing, reader is a stresshead, golden retriever fbi agent who is bestie material, talk of lies/deception, brief talk of being arrested, flashbacks and the usual bitter saltiness one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

The sound of water running fills the empty silence of the bathroom, steam eventually swirling up from the spray and crawling along your ceiling. You pick at the paint dried onto the skin of your fingers as you wait, exhaustion creeping along the edges of your mind with an urge to pull you under.

It’s not as if the work had been hard, in fact, you had relished in the familiar buzz of music and paint strokes. It felt refreshing, despite having a number of works to get started on. So much of your time now consisted of working to pay the bills you only just managed to keep on top of, so there was little opportunity to enjoy your creative side.

No, the stress of the art had been lovely, the whole mental gymnastics and whirlwind of emotions because of him though?

Draining.

You hope Marcus won’t make a habit of waltzing in and screwing up your day. What did he even achieve coming in to get rid of Jacob? What was the purpose of his visit? Surely not to just get you to eat. There had to be some kind of ulterior motive here.

He’s a federal agent—of course there’s a hidden agenda somewhere.

Well you won’t fall for it. Any of it. Not again.

You would remain on your high guard around him until you finished with whatever they needed from you and then all ties would be cut. You would keep communications curt and simple—there’s no need for unnecessary small talk and chit chat. You’re here to work, and that’s it. Hopefully, it will all be over soon and you can really put it all behind you for good.

The car ride had been spent in complete silence. Your eyes didn’t waver from looking out the passenger door window, and Marcus made no effort to break the uncomfortable energy lingering in the vehicle.

You didn’t even look at him when he eventually pulled to a slow stop outside your building, barely waiting for the car to stop completely before you pushed the door open and slammed it harshly behind you.

He didn’t leave until you disappeared into your building.

The anger still lingers, even after a somewhat decent heavy sleep.

He had deceived and tricked you, again. You had briefly trusted his word, believed his empty promise, and for what? It was all bullshit. Again. It’d been a mistake. It’s all a game to him—lies are all he knows. He seemingly lies as easy as he breathes, for it all to come so naturally.

What else is he lying about, giggling with his little agent friends? Is Jacob in on it all? He seemed friendly and decent enough, and happily kept out of your way when you asked him to give you space the day before, but then again, he wouldn’t be the first man to lure you into a sense of comfort as a ruse.

To hell with all of them.

You won’t be laughed at, not again, not this time.

This time, you were on to them. This time, there was no hiding behind a pretty face, fake ID and false backstory. You wouldn’t give them—any of them—the satisfaction of watching you fall again. Marcus, Jacob, the rest of the team—they won’t break you.

—

Agent Wilson is promptly on time as expected, noticeably upbeat and bouncy, standing just outside of your door in a freshly ironed dark suit and navy blue tie, holding out a carry tray of various drinks that you try not to react to.

It’s all fake—the kindness.

It’s a lie.

“Morning, Picasso!” He grins, “I wasn’t too sure what you’re into, so I grabbed a few choices: cappuccino, tea—English Breakfast, I think?, Chai Latte and a chocolate Frappuccino with extra cream. Although, I’ve kinda been eyeing the frappe on my way here, so don’t break my heart.”

You study the selection carefully before letting your eyes roll back up to meet his bright green ones, careful to keep your face blank of any and all emotion.

“I don’t want anything—I’m not thirsty.”

He blinks at your hard tone, clearly taken aback.

You try to keep a hold of the slight twinge of guilt that blooms in the pit of your stomach, carefully schooling your expression into something firmer, unbothered.

“Oh, okay. That’s cool, guess that extra cream is mine, then!”

The small slither of guilt grows at the slight look of dejection that passes over his face despite the force of the smile curling his lips, but you don’t dwell on it.

He’s one of them.

You had made sure to be ready for his knock earlier that morning, so you simply step out of your apartment with your bag over your shoulder and lock the door securely behind you, shutting him out from your space and keeping him from prying into your surroundings like he had done the day before.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

“Okay then,” he murmurs, clearing his throat softly and turning to head to the elevator. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.”

Silence follows your sharp response, and Wilson takes it as a clue to stay quiet for the rest of the trip to his car. He disposes of the drinks in a nearby trash can and the guilt doubles.

He’d gone to the effort of grabbing you a beverage, probably left his home early to ensure he could do so… maybe you should’ve just accepted one to keep the peace.

You slide into the car and buckle up, staring at the early morning events unfolding outside the windscreen as he slides in beside you and starts up the car.

It doesn’t move however, and you look to him in question, only to find him already staring expectantly at you.

A small wall of defence builds at his gaze, and you start to wonder if now will be the time he uses his authority over you and reminds you of your lowly position in this case. Maybe he’ll tell you that he knows everything, that you deserved everything you got—

“Are you pissed at me for leaving you with Pike?” He asks, and you can’t help the brief flicker of surprise. Okay, maybe not. “Look, I’m sorry—I thought he would’ve cleared it with you, but if you want, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again. I mean, I don’t have much say, but if you’re that uncomfortable I’m sure I can talk to someone—”

He’d do that? For you? You desperately try to come up with a reason why he would even bother. He’d gain nothing from it, the team wouldn’t either. What’s his play? Where’s the catch here?

Maybe there isn't one.

A part of you refuses to believe that. The part that had been beaten and broken and had its trust torn to fucking shreds. He’s a federal agent, and they think of only themselves and their team. You aren’t a part of the team. You’re an outsider, a criminal. You’re nothing to them.

Maybe he just genuinely wants to help.

Maybe. Maybe.

You sigh softly, and shake your head.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I’m sorry, it’s not you. I guess I just… I’m just not feeling great about this whole thing. I’ll cut back on the bitchiness.”

He shrugs it off, another smile coming easily to his lips.

“Hey, if you’ve got history then it’s understandable. Just talk to me, okay? Let me know what you want. I’m here for you, it’s my job to keep you safe and happy, and if fighting my boss is what I’ve gotta do then so be it.”

You can’t help the pull of your lips at the mere image of it in your mind.

“You’ll fight him for me?”

He scoffs lightly, “Absolutely—I can take him. Just say the word, Dalí. I’ve got your back, clear?”

“Clear,” you reply softly. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I’m just not used to any of this. I uh… I don’t trust people very easily, and I’m having some difficulty adjusting to all of this.”

Understatement. It’s all a massive pain in the ass and exhausting.

“Yeah, I get it,” he replies, smiling comfortingly at you before pulling out onto the road and reaching for his drink, “but just know that I’m on your side here, okay?”

You nod quietly, not wanting to speak any more about it with someone who could be potentially relaying everything you say back to his team. Maybe they will take you down once this case is over, using the soon to be mountain of evidence as proof you’ve returned to less than legal painting activities. They’ll put you in for longer this time.

Shit, this is such a bad idea. You should’ve kept the fucking door shut the day Special Agent Pike came knocking.

You’re pulled out of the dizzying spin of your mind and its thoughts by a voice picking up in the car, breaking through the heavy dread quickly building in your system and pulling you from diving any deeper into the what ifs.

Jacob sings along to the music, completely unbothered by your presence in the car and swaying to the tune. You’re thankful for it, in a way. Thinking for too long on any of it makes you feel sick, so this is a welcome surprise.

And also highly fucking amusing.

“—hey Jude, refrain…”

He cuts off abruptly at your side eye, straw pausing just below his lips.

“What—you don’t like the Beatles?” he questions, almost shocked by the mere idea of it.

“I never said that,” you try to fight the smile, but it pulls at your lips before you can really help it, “I’d just rather hear them sing their song.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he drawls sarcastically, rolling his eyes and sipping his drink before licking away the smudge of chocolate building up in the corner of his lips. “You know, when I was little, I wanted to go on American Idol.”

You choke on a laugh before you can stop it. “You did not.”

“I did. Thank god I didn’t—I’m not being remembered as a fucking idiot on YouTube for the rest of my life.”

“You don’t need American Idol, or YouTube for that.”

“Shit. Ouch,” he breathes, making a show of clutching his chest and giving you a playful grin, “okay, I see how it is. Now you can get the full show… NA-NA-NAA, HEY JUDE—”

—

“You’re behind nine weeks of payments. We can’t continue—”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You knew it was bad, you had the mounting bills building at home, but surely this couldn’t be it. They can’t just kick you out. There has to be something. You’d already maxed out your credit cards, you have nothing in the bank. Maybe they could do a payment plan, organise a scholarship or loan or something—

“No, please… I-I’ll work out something, I just—”

“I’m sorry,” the administrator gives you a look of sympathy, “but we can’t continue your education until payment has been sorted. Look, you’re a bright girl, you clearly have talent—maybe you’ll do okay on your own, without classes.”

“No, you don’t understand. This is all I have, I can’t lose this. Please, there must be something I can do?”

“Unfortunately not at this point in time, unless you can come up with this amount within the weeek. I’m sorry, I’ve held this off for as long as I can, but the debt is just mounting. We can’t continue with a promise of payment.”

You’re sure you can feel your heart breaking. You’d found some semblance of normality here… going to classes, doing fun assignments, meeting new people. It was the opportunity you needed, the chance to go further—

And now there’s nothing.

You sink into the chair, fighting the tears that build and clearing your throat to rid it of the uncomfortable feeling growing there.

“I understand,” you mutter, “thank you for your time.”

“Keep your head up, sweetheart. I’ll keep a spot available should you manage to work something out, okay? We’ll get you right back into it.”

There’s no way to work it out. Your job waiting tables paid pennies. You needed something more, something concrete, but with limited experience behind you and the requirements most places wanted nowadays, there was little chance of landing anything else. There’s just nothing you can do, short of robbing a bank.

You’d been expecting it for a little while, the stress continuously mounting with every bill that was sent to your door. You knew you weren’t paying for classes, you knew the debt was growing and growing. You just thought you had more time, more opportunity.

“I appreciate that, but don’t bother—I have nothing. Your waiting lists are huge, someone on there deserves their chance.”

You had yours, and you blew it.

—

Marcus is waiting outside the building.

Of course.

Your heart starts to beat harder in your chest. What is he doing here? He pushes off of the dark SUV he’s leaning against when he catches sight of Jacob’s silver sedan, and waits for you both to get out of the car when Jacob pulls to a slow stop.

“What do you want me to do?” Jacob asks quietly, making a show of reaching for, and struggling, with his briefcase in the backseat to give you a bit of time to answer.

You try not to look at him, doing a final check of your things that you’d previously already triple checked before leaving your apartment and deciding you've probably spent too much time dawdling.

“Can you just get me up there? I want to start my work,” you reply softly, grabbing the strap of your bag and reaching for the door handle, “but there’s not really much we can do if he wants to stay around.”

The breeze bites at your cheeks when you step out of the car, and you catch Marcus smoothing down his tie as you start to walk towards him. You feel your heart thunder with each step, resenting the way he could still stir those little butterflies awake in your stomach.

He’s attractive—that’s all it is. Your body is just simply reacting to it. There’s nothing there anymore. No feelings. Nothing.

“Good morning,” he greets quietly, a strained smile curling his lips, and you briefly decide that you prefer him with a bit of facial hair rather than a clean shave.

Not that it matters.

“Hello,” you return shortly, stopping just a few paces away and waiting for Jacob to catch up.

“I’m not staying,” he mutters after a few moments of further silence, his gaze darting past your shoulder to where his fellow agent walks around his car to reach the path. “There’s been a few developments overnight, so I’ve just come to check in with Wilson and then I’ll be going to the office. I won’t be coming back.”

Your reply is immediate and blunt.

“Good.”

It’s brief, but you see the flicker of hurt that passes through his eyes.

He drops his gaze from yours, desperate to look anywhere that wasn’t you, and soon the scuffle of shoes behind you brings his attention from you completely. It’s almost fascinating how instinctively his posture changes, hardening into something of an authority figure, hiding the swirl of emotions swimming in his eyes behind high walls.

You wonder if Jacob saw it. Does he see the difference between man and agent? Does he catch the certain mannerisms that change? Surely you can’t be the only one who sees it.

“Morning, sir. We’ll talk out here,” Jacob says firmly, coming to stand beside you and holding out a small set of keys, “she has a lot of work to do this morning and she wants to start immediately.”

Marcus blinks, his gaze darting between the two of you almost questioningly before he gives a slow nod, “Of course, that’s fine. I’ll let you get to it.”

You take the keys without another word and stride past Marcus, quickly letting yourself into the building and letting the door shut loudly behind you, dulling them to your senses and giving you a chance to breathe again.

Unrelenting heat washes under your skin, blood rushes through your ears until you can hear the heavy beat of your heart echo in the canals. You take a moment to gather yourself in the dark, quiet hallway, rubbing a hand along where your heart hammers against your chest.

When will it all stop? Would you ever be able to look at him and not feel an immediate burning sense of rage? Of bitterness? Would your mind ever forget the way he would say ‘I love you’? Would your body ever forget how he would touch you, kiss you? Would your heart ever just let it all go?

It would have to. Surely, it would have to.

Time was all you needed.

Once finished with this case, you would be once again free to move on—if you don’t end up arrested—, and forget there ever was an Alex. A Marcus. Whatever his name is. Time would take it all away. It would happen one day, you just had to be patient and wait.

Taglist 1: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fic #run to you

279 notes · View notes

flippyspoon · 4 months

Text

Some Enchanting Linguist

Note: Just a lil SNW Scott/Uhura with a small side of Spirk because the mood struck me! Takes place after Hegemony but Gorn have been vanquished everything's fine now.

Summary: Uhura introduced Jim Kirk to the love of his life and Jim Kirk returns the favor.

Montgomery Scott had run out of things to do in engineering and only a few quiet gamma shifters were left, the lights dimmed as he sat on one leg, staring bleary eyed at his PADD. It was nearly time for alpha shift. Soon the lights would get bright again. He had already spent the better part of the last five hours hunched in a Jeffries tube rewiring a turbolift just to see if it could run a little more smoothly and swiftly, not that anyone had asked him. But it was something to do and in taking the lift with Captain Pike down to engineering the day before it had seemed slightly off kilter to him. And even if it was more likely his own edginess making him feel off kilter, well, he’d already finished everything Pelia had given him to do and then lied and said he’d go to bed.

Now all he had left were his old equations, a hobby since his last year at the academy and occasionally the reason his grades had sometimes suffered. The point right now was to keep busy. This didn’t quite fit the bill. It was too open ended. Tedious work was better. Tedious mindless work kept him from thinking about the Stardiver and how now the worst words in the world would forever be on his Starfleet record: sole survivor.

Still his little hobby was comforting even if he was fairly certain it was completely unsolvable.

A shrill whistle startled him and he frowned, scratching his stubbled chin.

“Y’ello!” A voice echoed in the shadows of the dark and dingy corner of engineering where Montgomery had holed up. “Anybody in here answer to Mr. Scott?”

“Aye!” Scotty leaned back in his chair, frowning in the direction of the shout. “That’s me!” He craned his head, squinting into the shadows as a figure stepped out in command gold. Scotty spotted the stripes and hopped to his feet. “Commander?”

“Kirk!” Kirk nodded, smiling easily, and stuck out his hand. “James T. I’m on the Farragut, but Captain Pike keeps luring me back over to the flagship and I’m not complaining. And you’re Scott.”

“Yes. Eh, Scott, sir.” He smiled tightly, shaking Kirk’s hand. Kirk’s eyes flicked down to his greasy fingers and Scott winced. “Montgomery. Lieutenant junior grade. Sorry about that, Commander. I’ve been at it a bit down here.”

“No worries, Mr. Scott,” Kirk said, winking. “Killer work ethic, huh? When’s the last time you slept?”

“Aye, well…” He scratched his head, pulling a face. “Dinnae think that’s goin’ to happen anytime soon.”

“Yes, I heard about the Stardiver,” Kirk said. He reached out and clutched Scott’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and there was something genuinely comforting about it. Scott had experienced just about enough pitying looks from some of the crew on the Enterprise. Not that it was their fault. But Kirk was matter of fact about it in a way he appreciated. “Been there. Trust me. Hey, could you eat? It’s about breakfast time already. I’ll be honest. Pelia sent me down to check on you and I was curious to meet you.”

“Me, sir?” Scott haphazardly wiped his hands on his pants as he followed Kirk out to the corridor. “And why’s that?”

“Haven’t you heard what they’re calling you, Scott?” Kirk said.

“Eh…no?”

“Montgomery Scott, Lieutenant genius grade.”

Scotty’s eyebrows jumped and he smiled genuinely for the first time all day. “Oh, aye? Cannae say I mind it then.”

“Can I ask what you were working on over there?” Kirk said, gesturing behind them. “Looked pretty wild.”

“Eh, last time I told anyone about it I got laughed outta the room, sir.” Yet Scotty suspected Kirk wouldn’t laugh.

“Try me.”

“Transwarp beaming,” Scotty said, half-whispering as if conveying a great secret. “Just a little project of mine since academy days.”

“Well, I’m not laughing,” Kirk said. “But that is certainly ambitious.”

In the turbolift Kirk grabbed the lever and said, “Deck five.” Then as it began to move, he frowned. “Hey! Lift’s movin’ extra smoothly today. Feels good.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Scott puffed his chest out a little. “I was workin’ on it all night.”

“Wow. Nicely done.”

The corridor to the mess was bustling as alpha shift was beginning shortly. He’d stayed up all night and he could feel it in his bones and behind his eyes a bit, but still he did not want to be in his quiet quarters and crawl into a bed alone. It was much better to be around people. Alive people. People. Not gorn.

“Commander, can I ask ye somethin’?” Scott said.”A bit…personal?”

“Sure, but if it’s personal, why don’t you call me Jim?”

“Aye. Jim. About the Stardiver. You said you’ve been there yourself.”

Kirk’s expression darkened and his hands were tightly clasped behind his back. “Yes. More than once. In a matter of speaking.”

“Does it get get any better then?”

“Yes,” Kirk said, nodding firmly. “But it will always be hard and I won’t lie, it follows you forever. Good news is, if you need a friend, this ship seems to be a good place to find one. So I hope you stick around, Mr. Scott.”

“I can think a’ worse fates,” Scotty muttered.

In fact, having gotten a good look at the Enterprises’s engines, Scott had already declared his undying love. They would have to tear him away with the jaws of life, he supposed.

The mess was crowded and Scott felt like a cloud of unwashed filth next to all the bright eyed and well rested and squeaky clean crew carrying trays to their usual tables, all of them smiling and amongst co-workers they’d worked with likely for years.

Scott stuck close to Kirk and loaded up his tray with two muffins, scrambled eggs, a pile of bacon, fruit, and a massive cup of coffee. When he turned around again, Kirk was gone, and he mildly panicked a moment before spotting Jim waving at him from an empty table.

Scott dove into his breakfast without preamble and was halfway finished before muttering to himself, “I am hungry.” It was a bit of a relief to realize it and to enjoy what he was eating, replicated or no.

Across from him Jim chuckled and lifted his coffee as if in a toast. “Good.”

Scott was swallowing the last of his bacon when he glanced up and breathed in sharply, feeling as if someone might have just brained him with a hyperspanner.

“Commander Kirk. Eh…who’s…who’s that?” He nodded vaguely at a figure across the mess, his gaze fixed on beautiful dark skinned young ensign in ops red whose incandescent smile was fixed on Mr. Spock as she carried her tray.

Jim followed his gaze and a slow and drunk looking smile crossed his face. “Oh yeah. That’s Mr. Spock.”

“Not the Vulcan,” Scott said. “The ensign. She’s so…” He shook his head, unable to think of an appropriately effusive descriptor.

“Oh! Nyota?” Jim took a swig of coffee. “I’ll introduce you.”

“No no nono wait!” Scott sputtered, but Jim was already standing and waving the ensign and Mr. Spock over to the table. Mr. Spock he’d already met. The Enterprise’s science officer. Whether Spock even remembered him or not, Scott had no idea. Spock’s eyes were fixed on Kirk as he sat at the table across from him. Eventually, he spared Scott a polite nod.

“Nyota!” Kirk said. “This is Mr. Scott. Scott, this is Ensign Nyota Uhura. She’s to linguistics what you are to engineering.” Jim clapped him on the back and said, “This is the guy who built the transponder and all those gorn traps out of nothin’.”

“Really?” Nyota said. “You’re that guy?”

Scott reflexively stood as the others were sitting down, blushed, and sat down again. He cleared his throat, dazed by Uhura’s glimmering brown eyes and the friendly smile now fixed on him. “Yes. That’s me. Scott. Montgomery. Lieutenant. Junior grade. Very nice to meet you. Ma’am. Er. Ensign, that is.”

Uhura’s lips parted and her eyes widened. “Your brogue is magnificent!”

Scotty blushed from the tips of his toes all the way up to his grease scuffed forehead. “Oh! Ah. Thank ye.”

She pointed at him and said, “You’re not from Aberdeen, but you spent some time there, didn't you? How long?”

“How did you know that?” Scott said. “I spent about seven years there as a lad.”

Uhura tapped her ears. “That’s what I do, Mr. Scott!”

“Oh!” He leaned on his hand, his breakfast forgotten. “That’s so fascinatin’. So how many languages do you speak anyway?”

“Thirty-seven Earth languages,” Uhura said, and Scott was entranced by the way she slightly batted her eyes. “But now I’m mainly studying as many non-Terran languages as I can get my head around. Vulcan, Andorian, Denobulan-”

“Crivens,” Scott murmured. “That’s amazin’.”

“You know, I was close to our former Chief Engineer. Hemmer?” Uhura swallowed, and Scott felt a pang of sympathy immediately recognizing the subtlest expression of grief. “He always said engineering was really quite similar to linguistics. Seemingly unrelated systems communicating?”

“That makes a lot of sense!” Scott said.

“Well, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said next to him. “Seems our presence here has quickly become redundant.”

“It would appear so,” Spock agreed. “I am not certain they are aware of our presence at all.”

“I’m sure they aren’t,” Kirk said, and smirked at Spock, leaning forward over the table. “I am certainly aware of yours however.”

“I am seated right in front of you, Commander,” Spock said, raising an amused eyebrow. “It would be odd if you were not aware of me.”

“Is it odd that I’m always aware of you even when you are not seated right in front of me?” Jim said smoothly, and Spock lowered his eyes, his lips curving up a little.

“You talked to aliens with music?” Scott said. He slapped the table. “Did ye ever hear the like?”

“Hey Scott- Scotty!” Jim had to wave to get his attention again. “I bet you’d enjoy hearing Ensign Uhura here sing, wouldn’t you?”

“Jim!” Uhura hissed and punched him in the shoulder.

“You sing too!” Scott’s eyes lit up.

“Sometimes,” Uhura said, sitting up straight. “Mr. Spock accompanies me on the lyre.”

“If you would be amenable to singing tonight, Ensign,” Spock said. “I am available to play.”

“Ooh!” Kirk rubbed his hands together. “Now I’m excited. Scott, you and I are in for a treat.”

“I just bet we are, Jim,” Scott murmured, sitting back as he and Jim gazed on Mr. Spock and Uhura. “I’ll bet we are.”

#uhotty #snw #strange new worlds #nyota uhura #montgomery scott

33 notes · View notes

fishluretacklebox · 2 years

Text

vimeo

The funniest lure on the net. Available at: https://www.fishluretacklebox.com/products/1-piece-specialty-shaped-crankbait?variant=40425863545027

#The big kahuna #Cock Lure #fishing lure #penis lure #crankbait #fishing #pike #bass fishing #Vimeo

2 notes · View notes

trulybetty · 10 months

Text

Baked Goods

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 815 Warnings: Baked goods, indecisiveness, a little fluff & early Sunday mornings. Summary: Sunday morning traditions for you and Marcus

A/N: I currently have no patience for my current WIP's and found distraction in @wildemaven's @wildemaven-prompts and I'm trying my hand at the second-person perspective, something very new to me. So, any feedback is very much appreciated, please!

Baked Goods.

The glimmer of dawn breached the quiet, sleepy town. The soft hum of the world waking up was just beginning to filter through, punctuated by the occasional far-off murmur of a car. You found yourself standing in front of Sweet Jane's, a bakery tucked in a cobblestone corner of your town.

Marcus stepped into the bakery first, the bell above the door announcing your arrival. You followed after him, the aroma of fresh dough and the sweet perfume of baked goods wrapping around you like a warm, inviting blanket. This was your local bakery, the kind of place where the faces were familiar and the pastries were heavenly.

A simple place with painted walls the colour of custard, and a glass counter full of tantalizing confections that never failed to lure you in. It was Sunday morning, a time when people were in no rush, enjoying their coffee, reading newspapers, chatting amicably about life and the neighbourhood, creating a humming background to your little drama.

“You're going to have to make a decision soon,” Marcus said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth as he observed you peering into the glass counter, your brows furrowed in intense scrutiny.

“How am I supposed to choose?” You replied, your voice holding a hint of desperate amusement. A sea of eclairs, danishes, croissants, and tarts seemed to call out to you, each promising a different, decadent delight. You were certain you could taste the pastries through your gaze alone.

Marcus chuckled, his closeness was a sense of calm that easy Sunday morning. He gestured toward the display with a playful nod. "Choose that one." he suggested, pointing at a raspberry tart glinting with sweet glaze on a bed of paper doilies.

Your eyes followed his indication, its glaze shimmering under the bakery's soft, warm light. It looked divine, but so did the eclair next to it, and the apple Danish on its left. "I don't know, they all look so good," you protested, the whine in your voice taking on a childlike innocence.

“The weekend will be over before you make a decision, and we haven't even ordered coffee yet,” Marcus warned, glancing at his watch. He was leaning against the counter now, one arm folded across his chest, a picture of patience, but increasingly exasperated, affection.

"That's easy," you countered, your gaze shifting from the pastries to him. Coffee, unlike the myriad of pastries, was a simple decision for you - a black americano, no sugar, just the way you liked it.

His lips curled into a smile, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, raising an eyebrow at you, "I'm glad something is easy."

“This is frustrating,” you grumbled, your eyes once again drawn to the beautiful pastries before you. In the low murmur of the bakery, the laughter of patrons, the soft hissing of the espresso machine in the background, your frustration felt comfortable, a ritual you both played out with warmth and familiarity each week.

Marcus’s laughed, his chest vibrating against your shoulder, was the melody against your frustration's discordant beat. "Imagine how I feel," he retorted, a playful note in his voice. His eyes sparkled with mirth and something else - something warmer, something that made your heart thump a little louder in your chest.

Choosing a pastry wasn’t just about tasting something delicious, it was the experience: the joy in the anticipation, the first bite melting in your mouth, the taste lingering on your tongue. It was an art, a sensory journey you undertook every Sunday with Marcus by your side.

Your attention remained on the pastries, but your mind was elsewhere. It was filled with images of Marcus. The way his eyes twinkled when he laughed. The way his arm casually draped around your shoulder when you walked side by side. The way his voice, always calm and steady, made you feel grounded. And suddenly, you realized that it wasn’t the allure of pastries making your decision hard, it was the comfort of this moment, the fleeting essence of Sunday mornings spent with Marcus in a bustling bakery. It was a haven from the week ahead where work for you both would mean small glimpses of one another before the weekend was back again.

Finally, you pointed at a custard slice. The bakery worker, who had been waiting with an air of amused patience, moved to box it up for you. As Marcus ordered the coffee, you looked around the bakery, taking in the comforting ambience.

And so, you let go of your worries, your eyes once now tracing the man to your side, Marcus’s warm laugh echoed in your ears as he made small talk with the server. Here, on this Sunday morning, you were more than content with the choices you had made - especially the one standing right beside you.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

76 notes · View notes

mensfactory · 1 year

Photo

Kenneth Paul Block (November 21, 1967 – January 2, 2023)

A Life in Fast-Forward

The loss of Ken Block is inconceivable. He was not just a racer or a TV figure; he changed automotive culture. To skim over his biography is impressive enough. After co-founding the successful skate shoe company DC Shoes, Ken Block decided to try rally racing, inspired by his friend Travis Pastrana. He was almost 40 at the time, and within a year was finishing in the top 10 in his class. He lived life in fast-forward, partnering with winning co-driver Alex Gelsomino, medaling at the X Games, and participating in five different rally series over the next two decades. At the same time, he was appearing on television shows like Top Gear and Stunt Junkies and racing one-off events like One Lap of America.

Perhaps most life-changing, for Block and all of us, was the start of the Gymkhana video series, which began as a marketing exercise for DC. It might be difficult now to remember the days before Block's Gymkhana, when "drift" to the mainstream was something tectonic plates did, and if you drove a Subaru, you wouldn't get out of bed for a Mustang, let alone a lowrider.

Block wasn't alone in blurring the lines between different racing disciplines and automotive cultures, but nobody did it with a larger audience. The Gymkhana videos scrambled car culture for the better, encouraging a mix of interests, and introducing young drivers to rare models, and legendary roads, like Pikes Peak. Block's incredible car control lured us in, but what keeps us coming back is his obvious love and enjoyment, not just of his own cars and skills, but of all the supporting drivers, riders, and those behind the cameras capturing the images. His joy was contagious, and it was clear that he wanted to share it.

Ken Block lived life unbound. He merged skateboarding with rally cars with lowriders. He moved effortlessly between the roles of marketing mogul, serious competitor, and family man. Heck, he didn't even follow the rules of gravity. His influence was needed, and will be missed.

Block is survived by his wife, Lucy Block, and their three children.

Rest in Power !

#art #driving #sports #rip #rip ken block #kenneth paul block #hoonigan #mill hollow #wasatch countu #DC shoes #rally #gymkhana #pro rally #electrikhana

220 notes · View notes

satanscatsworld · 1 year

Note

Would you do TWST head cannons with an introvert MC who has hella anxiety and nervous ticks (like skin picking, hand motions, head movements, etc etc). Maybe specifically that they have what can be serious limitations, however they selflessly insert themselves into situations that obviously trigger them but they do so because their help was needed/requested? (Could be romantic or platonic or ambiguous, I shan’t be unhappy with anything you write).

I don’t know if you have character limits or ones you don’t write for but if you do you could at least include Leona, Jamil, Azul, Floyd, and maybe also Crewel? 😇 Thank you!!

TWST boys’ headcanons with an introvert MC who has anxiety, nervous ticks and who always selflessly insert themself into triggering situations! (Romantic/Ambiguous, I made it platonic for Crewel)

Part 2 with Lilia and Cater right here!

Hi, hi, I’m soooo excited to write this, I hope you will like it!

Also, I don’t really have character limits, just say whoever you would like and I’ll write it! If there are a lot of characters, it might take more time. I'm sorry I took this long to fulfill your request, I was struck by midterm exams, they end tomorrow so now I can breathe a little.

English isn’t my first language btw, I hope it won’t be too bad.

And I mostly write MC with they/them pronouns to fit everyone in!

Okay, let’s go!

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a very observant person despite looking as if he doesn’t care about whatever surrounds him. Hence, he quickly caught up on your anxiety and nervous habits.

When he sees you skin-piking yourself the first time, he doesn’t think much of it. But then, it happens again, and again, and again and soon he understands what’s up with you.

Would not understand why you would put yourself into triggering situations. Why was his herbivore so selfless and reckless to put themself into that kind of messes?

Sighs

I see him acting as if he doesn’t care much what you do except that he does, in fact, care a lot. Especially about you, you’re special in his eyes, and even if he doesn’t look like it you have to pick up on those signs because it’s actually quite obvious once you know him well.

AND YET you would find him casually walk up to you, lifting you on his left shoulder (yes, even if you’re a big person he will do that, he’s literally STRONG), and carrying you to the infirmary if you have any scars or damages due to your nervous ticks.

Would scold you because you shouldn’t accept to help others like this, mostly because it triggers you that much.

Soon, you will find him more awake than usual, as he puts efforts into subtly be there for you into this kind of situations, soothing your anxiety away the best he can.

I feel like he would ask Ruggie to keep an eye on you so you wouldn’t be alone if he can’t be there, or to tell other people to scram when you don’t dare to say no when someone make a triggering request.

“You should learn to be more selfish when it’s needed, herbivore. You can’t help others if you find yourself unable to do anything because of how it triggers you, right? Think. If you really want to help, think of best ways to do it.”

Jamil Viper

I feel like Jamil would be one of those who would understand you the best.

I mean, he’s also an introvert himself, he doesn’t have anxiety like you do but he does understand the need to put others first, even before your health. He does it all the time with Kalim, since his birth even!

HOWEVER, he finds it unacceptable that you, of all people, insert yourself into those triggering situations.

You don’t take care of yourself? Then he will do it for you.

Offers you to help whenever he can to help you deal with those situations for you, and even if you deny him, he will do it because he doesn’t like the fact you could get struck by an anxiety attack whenever you fall into those situations.

I even see him discreetly using Snake Whisper, his unique magic, to lure people away from you when they make requests you struggle to refuse.

If it helps calming you, I see him taking your hands in his whenever he sees them shaking or doing unwanted motions from you.

Would then softly stroke your hand’s bare skin with his fingers to help you calm down and to distract yourself.

Also he would cook for you your favourite food at the end of the day, a way to remind you he loves you, cares for you, and is proud of you despite you acting so carelessly.

“Here, I made this for you… What? It’s only to show you how grateful I am for your efforts, please take more care of yourself.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Oh, Azul is a busy one, he can’t hang out often. If he’s not busy with his shady business, he’s busy at Mostro Lounge or with classes. But nevertheless, he would clear some time of his schedule and spare it for you.

And that’s when he would notice.

You become more tired, more anxious. And sometimes, when you full-fill one of those requests you love so much (please, take note of the irony), he’s here as well, and that’s when he would notice.

He takes mental notes of the spasms your body makes, the motions your arms or your legs make, that are not common when you feel at ease.

Azul is no stranger to anxiety, but he wouldn’t dare to ask you about those nervous spasms you suffer from. Not that he’s feeling uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want you to feel more uncomfy than you already are.

YET, he would try to find a way to help you. May that be one of his potions that could make you feel soothed, calmed, at best to help you through your triggering episodes.

If you talk to him about your nervous tics, anxiety and the causes of those, he would make sure that you don’t have to do those any-more by letting the requests be full-filled by someone else (probable someone who owes him…)

Azul would also show you support with quality time, and protecting you from whatever situations triggering you. He doesn’t want you to go out of your way for other people, especially if it causes you harm in the end.

(Would probably ending up scaring people away with his contracts if they ask too much from you).

Would 100% cover the fact he’s soft for you though, but the Tweels see right through him and mock him for it.

“My, my, MC, would you like my help? Don’t even need a contract this time, this is all from the goodness of my generous soul…. Heck, just now I sounded like Head-mage Crowley, didn’t I?”

Floyd Leech

Ah, the moody one. Alright!

Floyd isn’t the type to care about small details, despite being very aware and observant of his surroundings. But this fact is irrelevant when it comes to you, his little shrimpy.

You see, Floyd doesn’t get enough of you. He likes messing with you, chasing you down, spend time with you to kill his boredom that annoys him more than anything.

You’re fun to be with, and that’s the reason why he spends most of his free time with you (and when his good mood strikes in).

That’s how he would notice the grimacing faces you make, when you blink to much or the way your nose wrinkles when you feel triggered. He doesn’t miss how worse it gets when you really feel bad and anxious, and he doesn’t like it one bit.

He wouldn’t find it funny, nor would make bad comments about it because this is just the way you are and this is just he way he likes you.

But again, you do that when you feel nervous, your ticks mostly show up when you’re triggered. Floyd knows you, he isn’t dumb and knows that you’re selfless enough to willingly put yourself through all of this to help other people with their stupid requests.

Man, he would be so SCARY.

Would 100% spend more time with you, where he clings to you whenever he can. If someone has (read: dares to have) the bad idea to ask something from you, and that this something happens to be one of those triggering things, Floyd is on them and trust me, not for a fun time.

You would have to learn how to deny those requests because, if not, Floyd would do it for you but not as kindly as you.

He would make you feel okay and at ease with your nervous tics. He gets that it can become annoying.

Would also ask if you want to cuddle because he likes to “squeeze” you in his arms.

Any other students making fun of you would end up on his to-beat-up list, for sure.

“Little Shrimpy~, this is not good, you should not say yes if this is going to be triggering. OR… Would you like me to squeeze them to ease things up for you? Hehehehe.”

Crewel Divus (platonic)

Oh folks, this one hits good.

Ever since you came to Night Raven College, Crewel swore over his magnificent coat, that he never saw you catch your breath nor get proper rest.

It’s always “Prefect, please do this”, “Prefect, can you help me do that?”, and everything.

He’s already horrified and impressed that you, the magicless student, lived through and handled many powerful and traumatizing overblots. And yet it seemed that you still gave other people your help.

At first, he doesn’t really get involved. It’s your business, he doesn’t see you often and he doesn’t want to cross the teacher-student boundaries.

BUT he would tell you, with his own words, that you can go to him if you need anything, just like the lost pup you are.

Would get suspicious as to why you become more stressed and anxious, you’re mostly unable to concentrate in his class, and he noticed also your behaviour becoming a bit more weird.

Why is the magicless puppy so tired? What happened to them? They seemed to be able to handle things here, no?

Then, he happens to witness one of your triggering episodes and everything made sense in his mind.

Would absolutely tell you to come at his office at the end of the class to have a little talk with you.

If you break down in front of him, he will listen to your worries and at best, patting your head so gently you feel like crying even more.

Would ask if Crowley is involved. But believe me, if he is, Head-mage is in for a not-so-fun time.

Hence Crewel would go on protective dad mode, and Crowley would be left crying in his office.

BUT, if the requests are coming from your fellow students, it’s another story.

You’re in for advices from him about how to become more assertive and selfish when needed despite your introversion and your anxiety.

Would gift you something that can ease your anxiety (like a ball you can press in the palm of your hand, that kind of stuff).

If he hears someone ask something from you that you struggle to refuse, he would gladly tell that student to ask someone else because you’re busy doing something important.

That important thing being healing yourself.

Crewel would make sure you feel understood enough. He knows you can’t overblot, but you might in you own way (with panic attacks or getting harmed by nervous tics when they hit too hard).

And finally he would probably ask trustworthy students to keep an eye on you (it will probably be Jack, because ADEUCE are, sure, your friends but always drag you in their in mess-).

“Be a good pup and listen well to your teacher: taking care of yourself will be your most important work due this month. But also every month after that. Have I made myself clear, MC?”

--------------

I hope y'all enjoyed it, let me know if there is more request! :)

402 notes · View notes