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#soft marcus pike
simpingcowboy · 1 year
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Lovelight
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Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader, established relationship
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: Being aggressively in love with Marcus Pike, light use of pet names, getting almost stood up, feeling of romantic inadequacy, just a teensy bit meta, The Wizard of Oz spoilers?
Summary: Even the worst of days are made better with your boyfriend Marcus Pike around
A/N: Another one down for my Year of ABBA as part of the "Year Of" Creations @yearofcreation2023 February edition!!! I've been on a Marcus kick so here we are!
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It was a miserable day. A long, terrible, tiresome day. Even your room, your personal sanctuary, felt dreary and gloomy. The wide window offered no comfort either. The rain falling over D.C. clouded the skies. The whole world looked dark from inside your apartment. You let out a sigh of exhaustion; surrendering to the comfort of your bed. As you stare up at the blank old dirty ceiling, a soft knock is heard from the door.
"Babe?" The voice calls, slowly unlocking the door.
You perk up at that voice. Marcus…you smile to yourself, realizing your partner is at the door. Finally, using the spare key you'd given him ages ago.
"I'm here! Come on in." You call back to him.
You sit up on the bed, and make your way over to the door. The two of you practically bump into each other as you meet in the narrow doorway. Marcus looks as perfect as ever. Nicely clean shaven, hair just a bit tussled from the day, in his usual black suit and blue button up combo, a beautiful bundle of flowers in his hands.
"Woah!" Marcus says, trying not to knock you over. "Hi Baby," he says cheerfully, "I heard you had a bit of a day so I uhh thought I'd surprise you." A big smile overcomes his face as he tilts the flowers towards you. "Tada!"
Your eyes shift down to the bouquet. You find yourself giggling at the barcode still peeking out from the top. Imagining Marcus running out from the office to the corner store to grab these. Still, the colors are vibrant. Your favorite. The smell is bright. As you gaze back up at Marcus, the whole world feels brighter too.
"Do you like them? Sorry I couldn't go to the usual florist but I-" Marcus rambles on.
"No." You answer with a smile, taking the flowers in your arms. "They're perfect. You're perfect."
A tinge of red flushes his cheeks at your statement. "Far from it but I'm glad you like them. I also-" he reaches around the still open door to grab a bag from the hallway, "got take out! It's your favorite." He smiles bashfully. Suddenly concerned he'd gone a bit overboard. "I hope it's okay."
"You really are perfect, huh?" You tease, pulling him in and shutting the door behind him.
"I try." He concedes with a shrug. Moving the take out over to your table. Carefully pulling the food out of the bag.
You go to the kitchen, grabbing a vase and filling it with water. Dropping the bouquet in and rushing it over to show Marcus. "Look how pretty they are!" You can't help but smile at them. They fit perfectly. Suddenly, you could ignore all the old stains on the table top.
He chuckles at you, "They look good in here." He agrees.
You inhale, getting a sniff of the food. "That smells so good!" You exclaim, taking your seat across from Marcus.
"Ugh you're telling me! I had to stop myself from just eating it all in the car." He laughs, taking the plastic utensils in his hands.
You eagerly dig in. The flavors hitting your tongue like a firework. It was so rich. Cooked to absolute perfection. Though you know it had likely been some fifteen minutes of waiting in Marcus's car, it was somehow the perfect temperature. "Oh Marcus…I swear the food is never this good when you're not there! Are you sure you're not tipping off the chef or something?"
He scoffs, smiling at the absurdity. "Babe, the first time I went there was with you. There's no way I would have been able to do that."
You squint your eyes at him, a look of fake suspicion on your face. "I'm onto you Agent Pike."
"Yeah yeah," he rolls his eyes, taking another bite of his dinner, "eat your food!"
You continue chatting through dinner, airing out all of the day's frustrations. To which Marcus dutifully listens. He then goes on to talk a bit about his day. Nothing exciting, just writing up reports on his latest sting. Though he just so fails to mention how he left most of them piled on his desk when he heard of your bad day. Still- you cling to every word. At times it felt like Marcus could be talking about nothing at all, and you'd still be totally fascinated about it. Eventually you both finish. Marcus is quick to insist on cleaning up. Claiming as he always did that he had "brought the mess over" and therefore was responsible to clean it. Knowing that fight was yours to lose, you allow it. Watching from the table as he neatly stacks the takeout boxes before throwing them in the trash.
"All done!" Marcus claps his hands together celebratory. "Any ideas for how you'd like to spend the rest of the night?"
You pause to think, "Maybe a movie?"
He smiles with a nod. "Sounds good." He pulls on his tie, loosening it from around his neck. "Do you mind if I change first?"
"Be my guest. Your clothes are in the second drawer where they always are."
Marcus rounds the corner to your bedroom to change. You take the opportunity to get comfortable on the couch. Your body sinks into the soft cushions. A relaxed sigh leaving your body as your hands trace over the smooth material. Everything felt so cozy.
"This look alright?" Marcus steps out into the room giving you a spin. A white V-neck t-shirt on, paired with his comfy grey sweatpants.
You smile up at him, he just looks so snuggleable! "You look great. Now, come here!" You reach for him with outstretched arms.
Marcus, never one to keep you waiting, is quick to join you on the couch. Sitting besides you, pulling you into his chest in a tight embrace. "Alright, what are we watching?"
"No clue." You shrug.
"Channel flipping it is!" Taking the remote in his hand, he begins scouring for something to watch. "Ohh here's something, The Wizard of Oz?"
You watch him with wide eyes. A sense of sentimentality taking over you. "That's the first movie we saw together."
Marcus pauses for a moment, remembering. "Yeah…it is, isn't it? Though, I think we missed the opening of it."
"Which was your fault by the way!"
"Traffic was bad!" He defends.
You can't help but tease. "Excuses, excuses!" You huff as the memory of that date.
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You stood impatiently on a corner downtown, across from the movie theatre. Tapping your foot and struggling to stop yourself from sending another text asking if Marcus was standing you up. It'd been about ten minutes since the movie started, and another twenty minutes since Marcus was supposed to have been there. Suppressing the tear in your eye, you bite the bullet and turn to head home. A hand grabbing your waist from behind to stop you.
"Wait-" the man pleads with a voice you recognize, Marcus. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. The traffic was so bad and I- I got here as fast as I could. I didn't see your texts until I was here. And I-" he pauses.
You turned slowly, with half a mind to tell him off for almost making you cry. But you can't. As soon as Marcus was in view, all your frustrations disappeared. It didn't matter that he was late. Only that he was here. And that those big brown puppy dog eyes were all yours again.
"Fuck-" he cuts himself off, leaning in to kiss you unable to resist the urge.
You relax even further into his touch. His hands still on your waist pulling you closer. Your hands wrapping around his neck, holding him to you. "Marcus…" you murmur softly, pulling away briefly.
"I'm sorry." He repeats against your lips. "I should have been here." He kisses you once more, pulling you tight against him.
Suddenly, the traffic seemed to get a little lighter.
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"Marcus?" You grab his attention, your mind focusing back on the present. "What happens in the beginning anyways?"
"Of The Wizard of Oz?"
You answer with a nod.
"Well. We start out in Kansas with Dorthy who just got out of school. She's just kind of going about her day. Running into a whole little cast of characters that make up the main cast. A mean neighbor who's the witch. Lion, scarecrow, and the tinman are this group of guys who work on the farm. So on and so on. Same as the end of the film. She sings a little song and then a tornado happens. And we're in Oz!"
"There's a transition, right? When the movie switches into color?"
"Ah yes! That's the really cool part! After the tornado, she opens the door and the world outside is in color. I looked up how they did it but…it kind of ruins the magic." He says with a guilty smile.
"I know the feeling. Of Dorthy I mean. That feeling of the world suddenly being in color.'
"Yeah?" Marcus prompts you, asking for more.
You lean into his ear, with a low whisper, "The same feelings I get being around you."
He playfully pushes you off, "Okay now you're just teasing." His cheeks red with embarrassment.
"I'm serious, Marcus." You wrangle your way back into his arms. "I felt horrible earlier, but there's just something…when you're around…I don't know. My days are just so much better. It's like this aura? Or vibe?"
"A lovelight?" Marcus offers.
"Love-light?" You repeat.
"Yeah, you know…like the ABBA song?" He sighs and begins to half heartedly sing, "You must have a lovelight, everything around you is lovelight."
You chuckle, Marcus's affinity for old media never failing to entertain you.
"You've gotta know that one!"
"I do, I was just hoping you'd sing it for me." You smirk, knowing your plan worked.
He laughs, hiding his face behind his hands. "You got me."
You smile at him, moving his hands to plant a soft kiss on his lips. A smile tucked into each of your faces. "I like it." You quietly say into the kiss.
"Like what?"
"Lovelight…it fits." You nuzzle against his cheek. "You light up my whole world, Marcus. All the things you do. The things you say. Just the way you are. Everything around you is…lovelight."
His face goes red at your turn of affection. "You like it? It's not too much?" Insecurity creeps up his neck. He knows previous partners had felt suffocated by his attentiveness. But if you really liked it maybe…
"Yes. I love it. It makes me feel good. Being with you feels right. Everything about you is right." You lean, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Don't let anyone dim your lovelight, Marcus."
Under you, Marcus anxiously bites his cheeks. His sweet dimples popping in and out as he tries to hide a smile. His eyes, dancing around to avoid catching yours. Though he has lots to say, "I love you…" is all he manages to vocalize.
You smile into his jaw, "I love you too Marcus. Now, I believe we have a movie to watch!" You relax back down at his side.
Marcus flashes you a quick grin. "To Oz we go." He says as he turns on the film.
The rest of the night is peaceful. Full of behind the scene facts from Marcus, and snacks you'd been saving for moments like this. After the film ends, you're both quick to agree to turn in early. Both you and Marcus are tired from your day, and know the next will be equally as tiring as well. Marcus takes his place in bed beside you, turning off the bedside lamp.
"Goodnight Baby." He gives you a soft kiss before tucking himself under the comforter.
"Goodnight Marcus." You return his notion.
As you get comfortable under the covers, you notice something. With Marcus around, even that old dirty ceiling seems a little whiter.
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meganwoods-author · 1 year
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Joel tells Ellie that she and Sarah would've been friends because in his mind Sarah is still a 14 year old girl even though she would have been in her 30s if she had survived on outbreak day.
My heart💔
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I know you've probably received alot of asks for the Marcus Pike and kink game... but I was thinking he has a serious Jones to finally see his partner pregnant. Specifically cause he turned on by the fact she carrying his child... she has a part of him in her. After everything he went thru now he knows someone wants part of him forever. And it just turns him on to the point he can't keep his hands to himself..
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Marcus Pike, my possessive little shit [affectionate].
We've already established the man's got a breeding kink a mile wide, but ohhhhohohoho, once you actually start trying to have children with this man?
He's so unhinged about it that it honestly drives you crazy.
(18+ smut under the cut. talk of pregnancy and babies. duh.)
It doesn't take long for you to get pregnant. At all. Marcus fucks you every day, multiple times a day, for the entire month. Ovulation charts? Who the fuck cares--he'll fuck you so many times that there's never a minute of any day that you aren't stuffed full of him. You're exhausted. You're not sure how he isn't. But when you miss your period, he starts all over again. He can't keep his hands off of you for a second.
"Marcus," you say with a breathless laugh the third time he reaches for you that night. "It already took, baby."
"I can't help it," he whispers. "You're... you're mine and we're gonna have a baby, and it's mine, and it's like... shit, it's like there's a part of me that's always inside you and--"
"Shhh," you soothe him gently, guiding him inside you yet again. "I know. It's okay."
"Gonna have a family," he mumbles into your neck as he starts to rock his hips into you. "Gonna--fuck--have so many babies with you."
"H-How many?" you ask with a little laugh that ends in a soft cry as he rubs up against something devastatingly sensitive inside you.
"I dunno, three," he says breathlessly, not slowing down his thrusts, "or... or four, or five, or six, or sev--"
"Marcus!" you squeal, giggling.
"As many as you'll give me," he admits hastily. "As many as you want. Anything you want baby, I'll give you--fuck, anything, just--"
"Shh," you whisper again. You take Marcus's face in your palms, stroking his cheekbones with your thumbs. "I want that," you reassure him. "I'll give you as many as I can, yeah?"
"So good to me," he murmurs, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. "So good to me, so good, so good--"
You feel a splash of wetness on your cheek, and you hold him tighter.
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creedslove · 6 months
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clean shaven pedro pascal makes me weak on the knees 🫦
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heythere-mel · 1 year
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Cinnamon
Marcus Pike x F!Reader
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*gif by @uuuhshiny ✨
W/C: 629
Warnings: pure Marcus fluff
A/N: Hi my loves! Here is fic number 2 from my 1K follower celebration. Short but sweet, and just what I feel our bby boy Marcus needs. Inspired by the song Cinnamon by Tash (some lyrics I used are in bold orange.) Enjoy!! 🤍🤍🤍
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Sunday morning, his favorite day of the week.
Marcus reflects to himself as he quietly pads down the hallway of your shared home. He follows the scent that stirred him from his sleep. That aromatic spice he loves so much nips at his nose and making his mouth water. He wondered where you went so early. Your vacant space amongst the sheets giving him that extra push to come and find you.
He turns the corner of the living room, stopping just short of the kitchen and stares, arms crossed and hip propped against the entry way as he watches you move about the room.
You’re making pancakes. Your specialty and his favorite comfort food. You’re in one of his older band shirts, one that he’s had since his college days. It’s the softest you once attested, so he rightfully conceded it to you.
It looks better on you anyway.
Then he hears it. You’re singing along to the song that has just started playing off of your phone. Voice sultry without even trying. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard it before, but this particular song seems to resonate with you from the conviction in which you sing it.
I'm addicted to the fiction that I'm always wishin' to be true, true..
I know it's distant but I'm still persistent when I know it comes to you, you…
You turn slowly, having seen him out of the corner of your eye as you plated the last of the pancakes. You begin walking over, continuing the song. An open invitation just on the tip of your tongue as you extend a hand toward him. Dance with me?
Am I out of my mind?
To want you all of this time
Left my conscience behind, behind…
He takes your hand, bringing it to his lips.
A silent agreement. Your arms fall lazily over his shoulders, his hands gliding slowly down your back finding your waist. He clings to your every word. The hopeless romantic in him thinking this is all too good to be true.
Loving you is the sweetest thing
If only I could show you, what I mean
But by the way you sing to him; the warmth in your smile as you roam his features, gaze dreamy as if he’s hung all the stars in the sky, the feeling of time stopping for just the two of you, he chastises himself for ever thinking he deserved less.
Loving you has me, giving in
Can't resist the love like
Cinnamon, baby…
There’s a comfortable silence as the two of you continue to sway to the beat of the song. He’s the first to break it.
“You sing beautifully.”
“Thank you,” you shyly mutter. “This song always reminds me of you.”
“Yeah?…”
“Yeah. Loving you, it really is the sweetest and easiest thing I’ve ever done Marcus.”
You always knew how to render him speechless. Eyes glossing over as his forehead leans into yours. His hands are anchored to your sides, wanting nothing more than to stay in this moment. And you let him. His silence may have concerned others but to you, it spoke volumes.
Take your time.
Then you feel them. His lips ghosting gently over your face before cupping your cheeks and bringing you into the most saccharine kiss.
There’s your Marcus.
“Mmmm, cinnamon.” he breathes in, making you giggle.
“Just a little something extra in the pancakes today.”
“You know you’re my actual dream girl, right?”
“And you mine.”
Marcus chuckles at that.
“Come on, let’s have breakfast before it gets cold.”
You lead him to the table, not before turning and placing one last lingering kiss to his plush lips. A hushed vow only for him, to make every Sunday just like this.
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nerdieforpedro · 1 month
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for your recent wip game: either weddings 101 with dieter or we're the leftovers, author's choice 😗
My dear, since it is my choice and I feel like rambling extra, I’m not choosing! 😆 You’ll hear about both.
Weddings 101 with Dieter is my one of my rom-com babies. It’s a series featuring Dieter Bravo and a plus size OFC named Maya. She’s trying to get to her little brother’s destination wedding, issues with flights. Enter Dieter who…maybe had other intentions at first for getting her on his private plane. But despite what people believe about Dieter, he’s a sweetheart. They spend time together in Hawaii and randomness happens. Dieter has a pet goat named Daisy- she quickly be came a favorite supporting character. The villain - Oscar Isaac.
I love Oscar as I’m sure you’re well aware but he’s playing a fictionalized version of himself who has a major beef with Dieter. There’s goats, asses, guitars and more used between these two guys.
I could talk about that series forever ☺️
We’re the leftovers is a planned series with our favorite Art Crimes FBI agent who’s unlucky in love and deserves all the hugs and cuddles: Marcus Pike. The plot is supposed to take place after Pike comes back to DC from California and finds that the woman he proposed to doesn’t come with him. Devastated, he takes some time off and makes a small local trip around the DMV area trying different food places he’s wanted to try. He meets Seraphina while she’s tracking her cheating boyfriend (been making some of my female leads unhinged). Marcus and Seraphina are disappointed that they’re never anyone’s first choice.
I feel like I rambled quite well. 🤗
Below is Dieter with his goat just because. ❤️
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in-for-a-pennyx · 2 years
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So soft 🥺
Old photos of Pedro that are new to me 🤎
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mandoshoney · 2 years
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currently thinking of listening to showtunes in the kitchen with marcus p or javi g after a hard day and having “you matter to me” from waitress come on. he hears the slower guitar and moves to start swaying with you as he sings to you really softly. and eventually he stops dancing just to hold you
bonus: this may not be for everyone but maybe during the “dear baby” monologue you reveal to him you’re pregnant or you both start thinking of starting a family together
i’m soft :(
fic writers, you have my absolute blessing to make a blurb out of this specific idea. if anyone would like
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janaispunk · 3 months
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28 "No one ever cared about me like you." for Joel or Marcus Pike, please?? Thank you for writing all this amazing stuff for us <3
no one can hurt you now
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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
word count: ~1.2k
summary: You’ve been traveling through the country with Joel and Ellie. After finally arriving in the safety of Jackson, you realize how much Joel means to you.
tags/warnings: post outbreak, mentions of infected, fighting and blood, reader doesn’t value her life that much tbh, angst, anxiety, comfort, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n (please let me know if i missed something <3)
a/n: dearest anon, thank you so much for your kind words and for sending this prompt in! this started out as a drabble but got out of control, so i hope you enjoy this little fic 🫶🏻
dividers by @saradika-graphics who is amazing <3
full masterlist here / follow @janaispunknotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates!
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The clicker’s teeth snap at you inches away from your face, your arms straining desperately to hold the creature off. A shot rings through the air and the clicker stills as blood splatters across your face.
You push the now lifeless weight off of you and try to stand back up, your shaky legs underneath you barely cooperating.
“Thanks,” you mutter, gasping for breath.
“The fuck was that?” Joel barks, the gun still grasped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles are turning white.
“It was- running at Ellie, I just-“
You’ll admit that you hadn’t really thought it through when you lunged at the clicker that had charged in the girl’s direction without any weapons in your hands. Not her, had been the only clear thought in your head. She wasn’t replaceable.
You were.
“You just what? Thought you’d get yourself killed?”
“No! I don’t know, okay? I still bought us time, and you got it, so-”
You don’t like the way he’s glaring at you, like you did something fundamentally wrong. You took a risk, yes, but his main objective is taking the girl across the country. You’re just… there.
“So?! Fuckin’ stupid, is what it was,” he snaps before he turns around abruptly and stomps further into the abandoned house that you’re hoping to spend the night in. You wait until your legs finally stop trembling before you follow him.
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It’s the middle of the night when Joel finally speaks to you again. You had settled down in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor, not before searching the house extra thoroughly after the clicker incident earlier.
You can hear Ellie’s soft snores from across the room and you would have sworn that Joel was asleep too. Your mind didn’t rest, replaying the scene over and over, the way Joel snapped at you making your chest hurt each time.
“You don’t get to not make yourself a priority, you hear me? I won’t let you.”
You flinch at the unexpected sound from his corner of the room, but his voice is gentle, like he’s approaching a scared animal.
“But Ellie-” you still try to protest.
“I care about Ellie just as much as you do.” He hesitates for a second. “But I also care about you.”
You feel heat flushing your cheeks and you avert your gaze, even though it’s too dark for him to see your face anyway.
“You shouldn’t,” you mutter, “she’s the one that matters.”
“So do you,” he grumbles.
“Not like her.”
He heaves a sigh and you hear him moving closer to you in the darkness.
“Listen to me.” His tone is gruff, but you can feel the intensity behind his words. “I couldn’t- shit, I couldn’t do this alone. Just take care of yourself. Don’t be stupid. Okay?”
“Okay,” you agree in a hushed voice.
You know that this is the closest that Joel Miller will ever get to admitting that he doesn’t hate you. You try to fight the feeling, but warmth is spreading through your chest at the thought that he actually wants you around, that he’s not just letting you tag along because he doesn’t know what else to do with you.
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It’s your first real night in Jackson, the first time that you’ve arrived at a place and didn’t immediately make plans on where to go next. The first night that you’re spending in a real bed in god knows how long. The first night that you don’t have to sleep with one eye open, always waiting for the next danger to find you.
And the first night in a bed with Joel. Neither of you had protested when you were assigned to one house with him and Ellie. You know what Joel and you look like, from the outside. You don’t think that you care, not really.
The house has three bedrooms anyway, so it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you thought, until you had all said good night to each other and you were lying alone in the darkness, wide eyes staring up at the dark ceiling, as you were trying to stop the anxious shivers running through your body.
It was too quiet, the mattress too soft, the room too… empty. You had gotten used to the steady breathing of two other people around you, and now that they weren’t in the room with you, everything felt wrong. What if you woke up tomorrow to find them both dead, to find yourself alone in the world once more? How were you supposed to make sure they were safe when you weren’t with them?
Before you could overthink it, you got up, checked on Ellie who was sleeping soundly and padded over to the room Joel was in.
“Can’t sleep?” his low drawl had greeted you as soon as you cracked the door open.
You wordlessly shook your head and he sighed.
“Me neither. Doesn’t feel right like this, does it?”
That’s how you ended up under the covers next to him. No touching of course, both of you keeping a firm distance. This was just so you could both catch some sleep. Just for tonight.
Except that you’re still not able to let sleep drag you under. Your body is tense, acutely aware of his presence next to you, his body heat easily traveling the short distance between you. You could bridge it just as easily, just reach your hand out to - do what, exactly?
You huff out a breath and turn onto your side, shuffling the sheets with your movement.
“What’s wrong?”
His voice is barely above a whisper and before you can open your mouth to respond, his fingers find your face and graze over your cheek in a barely there contact.
He had touched you before, of course, checking you for injuries, soothing you with a hand on your arm or a brush over your hair, but never like this. Never in the darkness of the night and never when you could sense the tension in the air between you, could almost feel his breath on your face. You have never been so acutely aware of the warmth of his fingers that’s seeping into your skin right now.
“I just- I never thanked you for taking me here, for taking care of me.”
It’s not what’s on the forefront of your mind, not the thing that’s plaguing you in this moment, but it’s still true, and much easier than admitting to him that feeling his body so close right next to yours has you practically burning up, has your fingers itching to touch him, to breathe him in.
Joel hums.
“You don’t have to. Of course I did that.”
You try swallowing the lump that suddenly builds in your throat.
“No one ever cared about me like you,” you admit in a whisper.
“Hey,” Joel mumbles, alarmed at the thickness of unshed tears in your voice, “come here, sweetheart.”
Both of his arms reach towards you and his hands splay over your shoulders to pull you into his chest. His warmth engulfs you and you feel the tension in your body subsiding as you’re resting your head over his steady heartbeat.
“We’re safe now,” he whispers into your hair. “I’ll always keep you safe.”
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if you liked this, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging - nothing would make me happier 🤍
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l0ngschl0ngking · 1 year
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Not his type
Javier Peña x f!reader
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summary: you are helping at Chucho’s ranch and Javier thinks you are still definitely not his type
warnings: as usually SMUT ( vaginal fingering, oral -m!receiving, male masturbation, protected p in v, biting, hair pulling), cursing, soft!Javi - cuz that’s my favorite genre of Javi -, just a smudge of angst, mentions of bullying, mentions of food, fluff  
word count: 10.5 k (I like them big I guess *wink wink*)
A/N: I planned to start my Marcus Pike fic but then this idea popped into my head and I just had to write it. This is basically just a long friends to lovers fic.
Javier Peña is not a simple man – far from it. He is bitter and hot-headed, and he feels small no matter what he does – he should have done better, he should have been smarter, quicker. He shouldn't have been such an idiot. Maybe then he wouldn’t be now standing in front of his childhood home. Maybe then...  
But no matter what Javier thinks of himself he is a good man. He is caring and always wants to do the right thing – even if the consequences of his actions make him look like a bad guy. He doesn’t care – or he does but doesn’t let it show. Doesn’t want people to know that perhaps he is not as strong as he seems. Doesn’t want them to know that he cares – sometimes too deeply. Doesn’t want them to know he might feel – it's better if he seems unapproachable and looks like if you'd touch him, he'd burn you too greatly - so much that you would want to do nothing with him ever again.
So Javier feels the weight of all of his sins drop into his stomach when he keeps standing on the porch of Chucho’s house with a suitcase that he had packed with himself from Bogotá. He wanted to leave all of his old life behind but some memories stay with things that are bound to them.
He feels like a little boy again when he came home crying because lads – older and bigger than him – were picking on him. He feels like the little boy who hid behind the skirts of his dear mama when guests came to visit. That’s why he wants to look so tough, that’s why he is so hard around the edges – he changed, Bogotá changed him so he wouldn’t have to feel that small ever again. But even that didn’t help. Deep inside he is still that little boy. He can hide behind his bravado - his stern scowl and cold gaze- but that fact will never change.
He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there until the door swings open – almost hitting him in the face – and he sees Chucho standing in the doorway. His signature cowboy hat on his head and that old red flannel shirt he bought him on Christmas ages ago seems a little tighter around his middle than he'd last seen him in it. He is older – slower, the age showing on his face. But when he smiles as he sees Javier in front of him he looks 30 years younger.  
Javier looks a lot like his pops – he has the same nose that he hated when he was younger – and pops had the same colored dark hair once that curls if it gets too long. They have the same dimple on the left side of their face if they smile too hard and like his pops, Javier could never really grow a proper beard.  
Pops hugs him as if he hadn't seen him in ages – and to be honest, that is true. Work and life always got in the way and he regrets all the time he missed with him. He also didn’t want to come home – his mother’s things were still everywhere in the house. Her pictures, the warms blankets - that Javier loved to wrap around himself on the colder nights in Laredo - scattered on the armchairs and couch. He didn’t want to see Pops sad and so he stayed behind in Bogotá drowning in work, booze and women. The Peña men had different ways of grieving. Chucho never said anything to Javi though – he didn’t blame him for not coming, didn’t yell at him for letting him be alone on holidays – and he should have. He should do all those things because maybe then Javier wouldn’t feel like such a bad son.  
When they part Chucho smiles – he didn’t smile a whole lot after Javi's mom died. “It's good to see you, Javier.” He pats him on the back – a little clumsily, Javier notices but he puts a tight smile on his face. He missed a whole lot.
“You too, pops. How have you been?” It’s a question he knows the answer to. He always answers the same – busy. After the death of his wife Pops seemed to spend most of his day outside working on a ranch. Barely coming home to eat or drink. Wanted to occupy his mind. “Seems like you started actually eating as I said.” Pops waves his hand back at him.
“You calling me fat, mijo?” Javier opens his mouth to answer but Pops beat him to it, his belly shaking a little with laughter. “Someone has been helping me out for a while now. Cooking and cleaning the house once in a while.” Javier quirks an eyebrow at this and he pushes the small suitcase as he enters – now his home, too. It didn’t change here in the slightest. Pops throws him a look above his shoulder as he looks him up and down quickly. “Seems like you have been skipping out on meals, my boy. Come, Bee is here and the lunch should be already done. She made Pozole de Pollo o Guajolote. Your mother's recipe.” Javi stands straighter at the nickname. Surely he didn’t mean...
The delicious smell coming from the kitchen makes his stomach rumble and he doesn’t remember the last time he had a proper meal. He abandons the suitcase in the hallway after he takes off his boots and jacket that he puts on the old wooden hanger for coats he made with Pops when he was around 12 –its asymmetrical and weird-looking seeming like it was made by a child – which it was but it’s a memory Javier is very fond of.  
The floors creak under Javier's quick footsteps and he stops in the doorway as he watches you fuss around his dad. His entire body softens, the crease in his forehead disappearing as he sees you in the Peña kitchen. The past coming into the present. Prepping the silverware on the table that lays in the middle of the smaller kitchen. He sees that Pops kept everything in place like it was even before the death of Javi's mother. He missed this place. Even though bittersweet memories crawl out on the surface of his mind and his heart aches like it hadn’t in a really long time.
“Seems like you are a busy bee, Bee.” Javier smirks when you look up at him. You didn’t really change after the last time he had seen you. Sure, you aged – as has he – but you still kept your spark from all those years ago. You smile fondly – and a little unsure – at him as you quickly wipe your hands on the apron wrapped around your middle. And Javier notices - of course, he does. The hesitation in your step when you walk to him. The little twitch of your lips you make when you are nervous.
He is an observant man. He watches and analyzes. And he is good at it too - you squirm under his intense gaze. As if he could see every little part of your soul, even the deepest secrets you kept hidden somewhere back down inside of you. That’s why he is such a good agent. Was, at least. His dark eyes shift to your cleavage just for a second. You don’t notice - his eyes quickly scanning you up and down.
He looks good. Even better than the last time you saw him. The mustache he grew suits him. His hair is longer than he had when he went to high school with you. He is broader and seems even taller. He is a man now, not the little boy you played hide and seek with. He still wears the same smirk on his lips though - that kind of smirk that meant trouble when you two were younger. His jeans hug him in just all the right places and the black shirt he is wearing makes him somehow look even hotter. All man.
“You know me. Never could keep still.”
And he does. He does know you. Or at least he did - when you two were just young kids, then stupid teenagers and suddenly - strangers too. You grew up at the Peña dinner table as much as your own. Your mothers were great friends, your fathers old buddies. You had a farm right next to them which you eventually sold when your folks passed away and it was just too much work for only you alone. You bought a small house with the money you received.  
Javier still remembers when he first saw you – all toothy grin and two braids sitting on top of your head. You wore that stupid flowy dress in an ugly mustard color. You were more of the outgoing type and Javier – to everyone's surprise – was more of the lonely kid. He was smaller than his peers – smaller than you even, when you first met him. And he doesn’t remember why you started talking to him and wanted to become his friend but he didn’t complain at that time. You visited him almost every single day – looking for mischief all around. Broken glasses and bones were nothing new to both of you. The two of you were inseparable – until high school. Javier – for once in his life, thanks to you - didn’t feel so small anymore. He grew up to be a handsome and smart, confident and funny, pretty charming and self-assured young man. Girls started noticing him and he loved the attention – when their heads turned around to look.  They thought he never noticed. But alas, Javier was an observant boy even back then and he noticed – his cockiness getting on your nerves sometimes. He never wanted to feel small again.  
And like almost every girl – you developed a huge crush on him.  But it wasn’t because he was tall and cocky, no. It was simply because you knew the real Javier – your Javi. Who hated being alone and who hated going to the church every Sunday – hiding in the dusty, covered in spider webs attic. He never noticed you – like he noticed the other girls. He never gave you that loop-sided grin or the puppy heart-filled eyes. You were just great friends - even when you wished for more. And one day you weren't even that.
You should have seen it coming, really. With Javier becoming popular, he started hanging out with you less and less. When you came to Peña's household he was already out with his new friends. And you always came running to him like a pathetic little puppy who comes to his owner no matter how many times they kick him. His friends laughed at you. And later on, he started laughing with them. He got a girlfriend – Lorraine, the sweet and perfect Lorraine – before you two stopped talking. The old memory still stings when you think about it.  
It happened on one of those super warm summer nights in Laredo. You wore one of your favorite dresses. It hugged your curves and you thought you look absolutely beautiful in it – your mother said so too. You asked Javi if you could meet up at your spot – the old scrap yard just a couple minutes' walk from both of your houses. When you arrived there your stomach dropped to your feet – his friends sitting with him on your favorite car that was reserved for only you and Javi. Laughing and drinking booze, the atmosphere lose. But you didn’t feel lose – your muscles taunt and all you wanted to do was just turn on your heels and leave. Cry about this stupid little crush you had on this stupid Texas boy. But Javier spotted you before you could do so – somehow he could always spotted you even in the biggest of crowds.
“Bee! Come and join us!” He yelled, one of his hands shooting into the air as he held an unopened can of beer. And with his other hand...he was holding Lorraine. They were close to each other – her almost sitting on his lap as she placed kisses on the column of his throat. You swallowed the ball of anxiety that was building in your throat as you heard them whisper: “Why did you call her, man?” He didn’t answer as he smiled at you. Lorraine's eyes squinting at you in annoyance.
Clearing your throat you asked: “Javi, can we talk?” He just shrugged his shoulders as he hopped off from the roof of the car mumbling a quick “sure”. He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt – you noticed just then. The sun was slowly setting and his golden skin shined. The butterflies in your belly made you want to go home and squeal into your pillow. You gulped and a few of his friends whistled – noticing the once-over you gave him.
“Someone has an admirer here, Peña. Too bad she is so fat and ugly! Like a pig – oink oink!” All of them bursted into laughter and to your surprise – so did Javier. He laughed straight into your face and you fought the tears in your eyes to not spill as you finally turned on your heel – as you should have done much sooner – and left. You didn’t see the remorseful look in his eyes and the way his muscle twitched, his mind screaming at him to go after you. He never wanted to feel small ever again and his friends said you were a loser – people like him shouldn’t talk to people like you. He didn´t want to be loser again.
Lorraine pulls him by the shoulder back to her – her tongue plunging into his mouth and when they pull apart she grins, the long nails of hers scraping across his golden-tanned chest.  
“Forget about her, Javi. You don’t need her.” He nodded – unsure – but he didn’t have time to think about it too much as her tongue fought with his once more – the heavy taste of beer on her tongue filling all of his senses.
After that, you stop talking to Javier. You still came to his house - with your mama - but you didn’t greet him anymore and he was pretty sure you told your and his mother as well, as they always threw him a dirty look whenever he was in the same room as you. You didn’t look at him and you didn’t acknowledge his presence anymore. He hated that he felt so small again even though he didn’t have a reason to. He had friends and a girlfriend, and all the girls threw themselves at him. So why does his stomach pull tight anytime he is near you, why does he feel like he lost peace of himself?  
One day he decides he has had enough. Both of your mothers went outside to catch the last rays of the sun and you are alone in the kitchen – baking your famous apple pie. He sneaks behind you and cages you in. You feel his breath on your neck, the slow raise and fall of his chest. You turn around – your noses almost touching – and he sees the hot fury in your eyes. You are covered in flour and Javier thinks – just for a split second - he had never seen you look so fucking beautiful. His gaze lingers on your mouth maybe a little too long because he sees you are talking – your mouth opening and closing.
“What do you want, Javier?” You ask and he had never heard you so annoyed, so drained. You didn’t look like yourself anymore and didn’t sound like it too.  
“Us to start talking again, Bee.” Because Javier is selfish and he takes and takes. Sometimes forgetting to give something back in return. He widens his eyes when he feels the sting on one of his cheeks – his head moving to one side with the force of it. You slapped him. He looks at you – you are all wide eyes and snarling teeth.  
“Fuck you, Peña.” You quickly try to scramble away from him because you feel like crying again. No because of sadness – no. That sadness turned into raw fury after the incident at the scrap yard. Because of how idiotic and stupid he is. And because – no matter what he had done and told you – you can’t seem to shake off the crush you have on him. He grits his teeth and his hand grabs your wrist. Both of your breathing erratic.
“It's not my fault you are not my type, Bee.” He didn’t mean to say that - the words coming from his mouth sound foreign to him. Not right. But his hot temper gets the best of him and the way he said and what he said should not hurt that much. But it does. It feels like he had just stabbed you in the heart and then twisted the knife – deeper and deeper.
You yank away from his grip and you point a finger at him – your hand shaking with the hurt, anger, sadness, Everything coming at you in waves - it feels so fucking overwhelming. You want to scream at him, kick him, hurt him as much as he had hurt you. But what good would it do? None.
You exhale shakily and Javier waits for the fight but it doesn’t come. You shrink into yourself and turn to leave. You look at him above your shoulder as you whisper. “I hate you so fucking much, Javier Peña.” And you are gone.
The heavy weight of your words lingers in the air and he feels the hot tears running down the apple of his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away. His ears are ringing and he doesn’t hear your mother yelling at you about what happened. He doesn’t smell your apple pie burning in the oven. He fucked up. Because he will never get to talk to you again or feel your touch. He will never hear you laugh and he will never get to comfort you again when you cry. Because the only source of your sorrow is him – the stupid Texas boy you now despised.  
Javier comes to present and you give him a quick side hug telling him to sit down. Chucho watches both of you and he prays that you are both wise enough now to sort out this little grudge you have. But you are also both too stubborn and the dinner passes in silence. The only sound is the clinking of silverware cutting through the thick air and sometimes Chucho quips in to ask Javier about Colombia - Javier doesn’t want to talk about that, though. So he stays quiet as he chews - the food tastes exactly like his mother’s.
When Javier sneaks a quick look at you he thinks that maybe he wasn’t such an idiot. The bitterness from your last talk makes his face twist. He hates how - even after all these years - you seem to not acknowledge him even though you try to stay as polite towards him as possible. As if you just look through him and not at him. He watches as you pass his pops a salt and you grin at something he says.
And yeah, you are still definitely not his type.
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Javier sees you almost every day. It drives him fucking crazy. The way you just nod at him when he passes by or is in the same room as you – which is mostly kitchen -, the way you don’t answer his questions about you. How have you been, what did you do after high school? He only knows your folks passed away shortly after he left for Colombia – Chucho told him over the phone. Your parents felt like second ones to him. He wanted to call you after Chucho told him, he really did. But he didn’t know your number – that was just an excuse, he knows that and he also knows Chucho would have given it to him if he asked. He feared that you would hang up on him, that if he heard your broken voice he would book the closest flight to come to you. After all – you were best friends a long time ago.  
Javier wants to know everything about you – but you give him nothing. You are just a big complicated riddle to him and he has no hints to figure you out. He notices you though and the things you still do. You still enjoy watching sunsets as you did when you were younger. And that you talk to plants when you water them or that you still secretly go and feed horses a few sugar cubes even though you really shouldn’t. That you still hum when you cook and squint your eyes on either him or Chucho when they enter the kitchen because you don’t like when somebody disturbs you while you are in you’re your element. You always liked to bake and cook – often sneaking into the kitchen with him late at night because he wanted cookies and you gave in and baked them. Because he asked you to and said please – Javier never said please often and that habit he kept.
So because you don’t seem happy when he wants to talk to you or occupies the same room – you actually don’t seem happy with his presence in general and that makes his heart tighten even if he doesn’t understand why – he spends most of his day tending to the ranch. Feeding the animals and fixing the old barn. Today he started fixing the old fence that didn’t even look like a fence at all anymore. He grunts as he stands up – he is getting old and his back is fucking killing him. The Texas sun makes him sweat, he smells and he feels thirsty – has felt thirsty for a while now. But he knows it's afternoon and you are probably in the house cooking. He contemplates it – he doesn’t want to see you uncomfortable around his sheer presence but fuck. He feels like he could drink a whole gallon of water. Fuck it, he thinks as his steps lead him to the Pena house. You knew he was coming back home – if you didn’t want to stick with him, you wouldn’t.  
When he is finally inside and the sun doesn’t burn his face, he takes off his yellow aviators and the thick working gloves. He is covered in sweat and dirt and as he enters the kitchen you think he never looked better. But he always does in your eyes and you hate yourself for it. You gulp and turn your back to him as you try to quickly scribble the things you need to get at the farmers market today. Your body stiffens when he walks behind you – his shirt brushes against your shoulders - and grabs one of those old funny-looking glasses you painted together when you were probably around 9. The air thickens and the atmosphere is awkward – you both want to say something but nothing comes out of your mouths. Finally, Chucho enters and he looks at Javi and then back at you.
“Go shower, mijo. You are going with Bee today.” It's an order and Javi doesn’t want to argue. His house, his rules. Quite the opposite – maybe the change of setting will finally let you loosen up and you will talk to him. He wants to say to you so much. He looks at you and you gape at Chucho as he throws you a pointed look. You swiftly shut your mouth – Javier taking the steps by two as he wants to scrub himself squeaky clean as soon as possible. He feels positively giddy – it reminds him of the times when he got his first car and drove around Laredo with you.  
When he comes down the hushed conversation between you and Chucho comes to a halt and he looks between you two before Chucho almost pushes you out of the house. You drag your feet behind you and the giddiness he felt leaves him as he sees your “enthusiasm”. He wants to go and hide in the nearest hole, lick the wounds he pretends he doesn’t have but you are already sitting in the passenger seat by the time he gets his head out of the gutter.
The ride is awkward, filled with silence and you squirm every once in a while in your seat. You glance at Javier's profile a few times – his strong jawline and his aquiline nose. You stare at his hands and how come they are so big? The veins are prominent on the back of them - leading to the thick fingers, nails trimmed neatly. His hair is longer now after a few weeks already spend at home. He looks better than when he arrived. Now he didn’t look as...tired. And as skinny – he always devours the meals you cook and you can see him filling up around the middle. His arms were much stronger and more muscular than before because of all the work he did on the ranch. Domesticity looks good on him. You watch as he grips the wheel and see his jaw tick before he sighs.
“I am sorry, Bee.” You raise your brows at him when he glances to see your reaction to his words. He never was good with them “actions speak louder than words” he always said. “I am sorry for what I said and how I treated you during high school. I was a fucking idiot and if I could take it all back-”
“You were.” It's a simple phrase, your words coming out fast and he grips the steering wheel tighter when your hand lands on his thigh. “But that’s all I ever wanted to hear, Javier. Yes, your words and actions hurt me in the past. And they still hurt me now when I think about them. But there's nothing we can do about it now. We were kids and if it didn’t happen I don’t think I would become the person I am now so I accept your apology even if it could have been a better one. You should really work on your people skills.” You shrug your shoulders as you tease him and the hand that was resting on his thigh moves into your lap once again. He wants to tell you you could have kept it there – it felt too fucking good even if it was such a simple and innocent touch. It grounded him and Javier is touch deprived.
“So, that’s it?” He asks, his tongue poking out to lick his lower lip as he raises his eyebrows while he watches the road.  
“Yes, that’s it.”
The conversation flows smoothly after that and Javier can't believe it was that easy. If he apologized much sooner he could have been talking to you for weeks now. He missed this – your talks. You talked with your hands a lot and he enjoys how expressive you are when you are telling something. He learns a lot about you. You own a little bakery here - that’s why you are so flexible and can come almost anytime to the ranch. He feels proud of you – your dream was always to open a small bakery somewhere. At least one of us could make their dream come true. 
You laugh and talk, and tell stupid jokes or occurrences that happened in your life. He missed a whole lot and so have you. Your favorite story of his is when he told about the time his neighbor – an old lady – saw him butt naked because the woman he slept with locked him out of his own apartment after he told her he wanted nothing serious. His neighbor called him over to have some fun which he politely declined. You double over laughing and Javi grins, his cheeks hurting. He missed your laugh – he didn’t feel this comfortable ever since...well ever since you stopped talking.  
The ride passes quickly and when you step out of the car you come around – grabbing Javis's hand as you mumble something about “want to show you around here, Javi, so much changed after you left” as you throw him a quick grin. He can only concentrate on your nimble fingers between his and how it feels so fucking right before you are dragging him behind you.
You are not his type he has to remind himself as he squeezes your hand tightly.
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Javier comes into the house all muddy once again. It has been raining in Laredo for the past few days - the land all soaked soil and dirt. He takes of his boots before he enters. His nose drags him into the kitchen as he catches the smell of pie. Sweet and delicious - or was it just you, standing here all soft and pretty? He can't tell anymore. These past few weeks were filled with nothing but joy – almost. You played cards with him and Chucho late at night, drinking beer and listening to Chucho's stories. Sometimes you went riding with him on the ranch. Your love for horses didn’t die out and you always were natural with them. You have your favorite one too – the small chestnut-colored mare with a fiery temperament that seems to tolerate only you. Chuho wanted to sell her a long time ago but you begged him on your knees – literally – not to. His eyes softened and he agreed reluctantly – he could never say no to you. Something both Peña men had in common. 
 Anytime Javier looks at you he feels his stomach tighten with something – sometimes arousal but he blames that on the lack of sex, sometimes on something entirely else. He tries to push it deep inside him but whenever he catches your smell his head gets all dizzy and he has the need to find you and talk to you, be near you He hates it. He hates it so fucking much. He doesn’t know what you did to him. He can't seem to shake you out of his mind. He thinks of you anytime he sees the sun setting down or the last time he picked violets for you as he saw them growing a few miles away from the ranch. Because you love violets. He gave them to you with a darker shade of red covering his ears as he scratched his neck. You thanked him and kissed him on the cheek then – his heart hammering in his chest, his pulse quickening and his lower half seemed all too interested in the skin-to-skin contact. As your lips lingered on his cheek as he thought about against what other parts of him would they feel so soft.
  Javi leans against the doorframe as he watches you knead the dough – one of the pies already in the oven. You look so nice in your overalls. He could just bend you over the kitchen counter and -
 Shut the fuck up, Peña. Don’t even think about getting hard.
 You startle when you turn around and see him, your dough-covered hand flying to your chest as you yelp. “Javier Peña, don’t scare me like that!” You scowl at him, your lip pursed and he grins – his hands shooting into the air in a silent apology. 
“Didn't mean to, Bee.” The corner of his lips pulls up as you murmur “sure you didn’t" and turn back around to put more flour in the dough. He quickly washes his hands in the sink and comes behind you – he inhales your scent and closes his eyes. The hair on your neck stands up. “You smell so fucking good.” It's a quiet statement. You look at him wide-eyed and he gives you a confused look in return.
 “What did you say?” Your throat pulls tighter. Shit, shit, shit. 
“Uh-um, that if you'd show me how you knead the dough.” He closes his eyes – idiot, idiot. You breathe out a small “oh” and shake the shock off of you as you nod and come behind him as you grab his hands in yours. 
And fuck, Javier thinks his pulse went from zero to a hundred in this second. His heart feels like it will jump out of his chest any second. Your small hands on his makes him think back to a few weeks ago.
 You stayed at Peñas that night.  You always drove back home but that night it was raining a lot and it was too late anyways. You agreed as Chucho asked you if you wanted to stay – they had a smaller spare room right next to Javis. You bid them both good night and fell asleep quickly after that. You were exhausted but a scream woke you up and you swiftly stood up on your feet and scrambled into Javier's room. He sat on the bed – all sweaty, his breath quick as his head rested in his palms. He looked up at you when the old wooden floor creaked under your footsteps. He cleared his throat and tried to hide from you. You crouched in front of him and offered him a little smile. 
 “You don’t have to hide from me, Javi.” And then he was pulling you into him, breathing you in, his hands pulled around you tightly as he sobbed into your shoulder. He was exhausted of pretending everything was fine. The weight of all the things that he did in Colombia came crashing down on him. You just shushed him as he listened to your heartbeat – his head on your chest, your hand in his as you stroked the back of it. When he finally calmed down he told you everything – the things he did, the things he should have done and the things he shouldn’t have. He told you about Los Pepes and Carilo, and the nightmares that still haunted him. 
 “I am just a shell of a man I once was, Bee.” He whispered into the night and you grabbed both sides of his face as you frowned at him.  
“You are far more than that, Javi.” He wanted to kiss you right there and then but you pulled him on your chest again and he breathed you in once more. The slow rise and fall of your chest lulls him to sleep. He never slept that well in his life.  
When he woke up the other side of the bed was cold but the smell of you – like an apple pie – lingered on the other pillow and he wanted to drown in it. He stroked himself at the thought of you as he smelled the pillow. Your soft hands and the feel of your breasts against his face, the small brush of your lips against his forehead. He came embarrassingly quickly and couldn’t look you straight in the eyes for a few days after that. Neither of you talked about that night. As if it never happened.
So now he curses himself as he feels how he twitches in his pants – the soft swell of your breasts pressed up against his back. The collar of his shirt is a bit too tight as well as his pants. For fucks sake, Peña. He hasn’t slept with anyone since he came back home and it showed. You don’t seem to notice though. 
“You are pretty clumsy with your hands, Javier.” He chokes on seemingly nothing and almost pushes you onto the ground as he stumbles a few steps back. Let me show you how good with my hands I can be - 
“Gotta take a shower.” He says and he takes the steps by two - almost falling over. He closes the door of the bathroom with little more force than necessary. He scrambles with his closes almost ripping them from him and he grabs his aching cock – tugging on it firmly as a spurt of precum shoots out of the head. He steps into the shower – the spray of cold water not helping him calm down his hammering heart or the way his skin seems to be on fire. He strokes himself quickly – the strokes measured as he thinks of your pretty lips around him or that pretty pussy you sure have. He thinks of the swell of your breast on his back, your breath on the back of his neck, your hand in his, your pretty smile and kind eyes. He thinks about how you would feel around him if he pounded into you from behind or what sounds would you make when he would go down on you. How wet would you be? Are you the quiet type or would he have to put his fingers – or something else – in your mouth to shut you up?  
He grunts and his forehead bumps onto the cold tiles of the shower as he cums. He watches how the water downs his spend and he tries to wash the guilt he feels off of him too. 
You are not his type, he thinks as he tugs on his cock for the final time. 
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You are going on a date. Javier watches with a frown on his face as you fumble around to finish the dinner. You are wearing a pretty dress – a light green one with a flowy skirt that exposes the whole expanse of your back. The strings on your shoulder are the only thing keeping it in place. You look absolutely incredible. He didn’t want you to go. Fuck, what if the guy was some kind of psycho? Or worse, what if he was actually a decent guy and you'd stop helping Chucho because you would be too occupied with your new little boy toy? What would Chucho do without you – yes, Chucho of course, not Javier. Javier wasn’t jealous and he definitely wasn’t praying that your date would end up in disaster...Okay, he felt jealous. Like “I will rip that guy in shreds” type of jealous.  
And Javier would be alone tonight – Chucho left in the morning to visit his “friend” - he knows he went to Mária living across from the barber's shop. He didn’t say anythimg – the lie falling out of Chucho’s lips easily. And he felt happy for him – him moving on meant he was healing. Slowly but healing. Javi wanted to do something nice for you two tonight– the store-bought cheesecake lying in the fridge. He thought that you could watch TV today – watch anything you wanted. Maybe then he would slip his hand under the hem of your dress and he would -
“Javi!” You wave your hand in front of his face and he blinks a few times. You even put on makeup – the red lipstick making your lips look downright edible and he licks his own lips. He could pull you in and make you forget about your silly little date. But for once in his life Javier didn’t want to be greedy when it came down to you – you seemed so excited when you told him you had a date and he planted on the best fake smile on his face he could muster. Even though he felt sick to his stomach when you told him, his fingers twitching to catch your wrist and pull you close – to tell you you should fuck that guy and stay with him tonight. “You listening?”
“Sorry, what did you say?” You groan in annoyance – already running late – and you grab him by the collar – oh, he likes this a lot. You are so fucking close he feels your breath fan across his face.
“Listen, Javi. I don’t have time for this. The Chiles Rellenos are in the oven so they won't get cold as quickly. If it gets cold just put it in the microwave.” he nods – he knows this, of course – but wants to keep you busy because maybe then your date would cancel – no, he can't.
“Okay.” He says slowly and you let go of the collar of his shirt – just now noticing you grabbed him by it. You pull away from him. “If anything-”
“I call you. You already told me. Don’t worry, dad. I'll be fine.” You grin and turn on your heel waving a quick goodbye before the doors shut behind you. Javier gulps the growing ball in his throat and curses at himself. Idiota. But you know - of course you are not his type.
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Javier watches the starry sky tonight. The cheesecake forgotten in the fridge alongside your dinner – he felt so sick to his stomach he was pretty sure he'd throw up if he ate anything. The warm blanket his mother knitted lays heavy on his shoulder as he looks at the sky – millions of stars showing tonight. You'd love to see it – maybe you already are. Star-watching sounds like the kind of date you would have loved. He fiddles with the handle of his mug filled with hot cocoa in his lap and thinks. About how he got here, about his fuck ups – and the biggest fuck up he has ever done was to let you go on that stupid date, he concludes. Okay, maybe not the biggest fuck up but close enough. He straightens up when he spots a car pulling into the driveway – your car. A small grin makes its way onto his lips until he sees your sagged shoulders and the slow way you drag your heels behind you.  
“You have room for another in there?” You ask – your voice small compared to when you left. Pointing a finger at the spot next to him. He nods quickly and when you sit he immediately wraps the blanket around your shoulders – your head resting on his shoulder. It's quiet for a while as he offers you his mug and you drink from it leisurely. He knows you will tell him what happened if you want to. The silence is not awkward – it’s a comfortable one. He always feels comfortable with you. You pull away from him and put the mug on the ground – pulling your knees close to your chin.
“Can I ask you something?” You look at him from the corner of your eye, your words muffled by your knees.  
“Anything, Bee.” And he means that. You could ask him anything in the world and he would answer you no matter what question.  
“Why am I not your type? You know, cuz it seems I am no one's type.” He knows you are referring to the time when he was angry at you after you slapped him. But he didn’t mean to say it. He doesn’t know how to answer – his tongue heavy all of the sudden and fuck, why is so hard to just tell you.
Rather than answering you he twists his torso so he can look at you – really look at you. The moonlight shines on half of your face and how did he never notice how pretty your eyes were? Or your plush lips, your soft hair? He gulps as he reaches forward tentatively – his palm resting on the side of your face now. And he expects you to pull away – to tell him to fuck off. But you don’t. His throat is dry and he feels like his lungs can't seem to have enough oxygen in them because his brain seems to stop functioning too. He brushes his fingertips across your cheek and you would have never expected that Javier Peña could be so gentle with his touch. He looks at your lips – your mouth open just a tiny bit and he sees your Adam's apple bob. Do you want this as much as he does? Or is he imagining things and projecting his own fucked up desires and feelings onto you at this very moment? He doesn’t have much time to think about it before your fingers tangle into his hair at the back of his head, his breath picks up and your mouth surges forward – your lips meeting his.  
He feels like fireworks just exploded in his stomach. His skin tingles and his hands brush against the front of your dress. Your hand on his nape makes him groan into you and he brushes your collarbone with his calloused hand. He wanted this for so long and he didn’t even know about it. The other grabs you by the neck and pulls you even closer – the blanket falling off of you two when you swing your legs on either side of his narrow hips. He presses his lips against yours with more force and he is confident and greedy with it. He curls his hand around your waist and his fingertips dig into your hip while the other hand presses into your shoulder blades. He can feel the blood rushing through his veins and he is warm and fuzzy all over – his body humming with something he never felt before.
You were never kissed this way before – Javier takes, and takes but gives back even more in return. The kiss is impatient and hungry – like he waited for this all of his life. His hands on your skin make you hum out in pleasure and you trail your hand to his jaw – you can feel the stumble he has under your fingertips. You open your mouth to him and the hand on your hip squeezes you tighter, and he wants you closer, closer – this is not enough. Not close enough. And you feel the same as you pull him closer by the collar and he groans into your mouth.  You can taste the warm cocoa on his tongue and his smell invades all your senses – cigarettes, his cologne and something entirely him. Musky and sweet. Your cheeks burn and your palms are sweaty when he pulls away from the kiss – his hands brushing along the exposed skin on your back, his thumb circling your hip. His forehead rests on yours as he tries to calm down and your nails scrape across his exposed chest – he always has a few buttons unbuttoned on his shirt and it drives you insane. He moans when he feels the sensation of your nails on his skin – his hips bucking up to meet yours and you mewl as you feel the bulge press up against your core.
“Fuck, Bee. I want to fuck you so badly. Do you want that too? Tell me. Tell me, please.” Javier Peña said please. He never says please. Yoou nod furiously as you peck him on the lips – his mouth surges to meet yours once again and you lap at his lower lip, your hands fisting into the material of his shirt.  
“Wanted this since I was 16 and crazy in love with you, Javi.” You whisper against his lips and your confession makes his heart beat with joy. You loved him. He grips the flesh on your hips and mumbles a breathy “okay” before he stands up and carries you with him – your legs wrap around his middle. He stumbles a few times and almost trips on the stairs as he keeps kissing you – his tongue nibbling at your collarbones, his hands supporting your weight as he holds you by the back of your thighs.  
When you arrive in his room he throws you on the bed and starts to quickly undress. His fingers shake and he can't seem to unbutton the fucking shirt. Fuck. He stands in front of the edge of the bed and you lean back on your elbows – your gaze heavy with lust. As you see him struggling you crawl onto the edge of the bed and loop your fingers between his belt. He stops and looks at you – you eye the heavy bulge between his thighs and he gulps when your fingers trail his jean-clad cock which jumps with interest under your touch. He has never been this fucking hard before and he knows it's not because for the past few months, the only thing he has been fucking was his fist – it's because of you. “Let me.” You murmur and he nods, he watches your nimble fingers working on his buttons and when he shackles the piece of clothing off him your hands map out his chest, coming down to his belly button and you lick your lips when you see the trail of hairs leading down into the waistband of his jeans. You kiss him right there – on the soft swell of his tummy – and he jumps forward, his hands gripping your head to keep you there. You grin against his skin and your tongue pokes out of your mouth to lick him there – he shudders, and the grip on your head loosens. You pull away from him and your hands start working on his belt – it falls to the ground with a quiet cling of the metal.  
You cup him in your hand through the fabric of his jeans – even now you can feel how heavy he is and that he will feel fucking big inside of you. “You are a big boy aren't you, Javi?” He whimpers at your question and nods furiously as he looks down at you – your gaze immediately locking with his as you are already peering up at him through your eyelashes and you pout at his state. You never expected Javier to be so...needy. He closes his eyes when you squeeze him again and then he hears the sound of a zipper, he feels your breath ghosting over his tip. “No underwear?” He shakes his head and chokes when you lick the salty precum.
“No-no. Fuck. Too uncomfortable.” His eyes close as if he's in pain and his nostril flare when he feels the first velvety slide of your tongue against his cock. Your pulse quickens and you feel too fucking powerful right now as you feel him swell even more in your mouth. You hold his gaze as you pull off of him and flatten your tongue – licking your way to the underside of his cock. His hands cradle the back of your head, his pupils completely blown as he watches you put open-mouth kisses onto the hard warm flesh that jumps under your attention.  
And he is fucking big – his size obvious by sight and by the way he feels around your hand – heavy and warm. But you really feel it when you take him deeper into your throat the girth of his cock opens your mouth wider. The broken sound between a whimper and a groan makes you clench around nothing and he tastes exactly how you imagined him – clean and delicious – exactly like Javier looks. You can't fit all of him in your mouth but you try – focusing on your breathing and relaxing your throat – the squelching sounds of your mouth bobbing up and down his length filling the room. You try to take him deeper and deeper – until you gag around him and pull away. Javis's mouth is wide open when you pull off of him – spit trailing from your lips and connecting you to the swollen tip of his cock. His chest heaves and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip – collecting the saliva – and puts it in his mouth – he groans with approval and it makes you want to give him more.  You sink your awaiting mouth back onto his cock once more and moan when another spurt of precum lands on your tongue. Your hand is securely wrapped around the base of his cock as you stroke him slowly and you look back up at him.
He looks absolutely and positively wrecked – his hair falling in front of his eyes and sticking to his forehead as he grits his teeth struggling to not make you take him deeper – to not fuck your throat. His grip on your hair tightens as he starts panting harshly and you feel him twitch in your mouth – you can feel he is almost there – but then he pulls back from you.
He almost lifts you into the air as his tongue delves into your mouth – wanting to taste himself on you. The bitterness of himself on your tongue makes him groan into your mouth and you never expected him to be this vocal. He steps out of his jeans and then he is back on you – his fingers working on the straps of your dress while he plants butterfly kisses on the column of your throat. He discards the piece of clothing as if it has offended him somehow and he pulls back to look at you – you can see the muscle on his thigh flex as he tries to keep his balance on his heels. His hands reach back for you – grabbing you under your knees before he is pulling you closer to him. His fingers dip into the waistband of your panties before they are too thrown somewhere behind him.  
His thick fingers work their way inside you without a warning – two of them plunging deep. You are soft, and pliant under him. Your walls squeeze him tight when he moves his finger up, up – until you sob and grab his wrist - to stop him or to plea for him to keep doing that you aren't sure. It never felt like this and he grins against the flesh of your cheek – kissing you there softly. His other hand grabs one of your tits and he pinches the nipple – it hardens under his hard touch. He bends down to suck it into his mouth and your hand shoots out to the back of his head – keeping him there. One of your thighs is firmly planted on his shoulder and his fingernails dig into your ankle, the blunt nails creating crescent shapes. Your heel digs into his shoulder with a particular shove into your cunt – the tips of his fingers brushing against something that makes you hold your breath.
The way you keep repeating his name makes him want to never leave your perfect cunt. His name and the wet sounds of your pussy sucking him in make him light-headed. He wishes no one would call him Javi again after he hears it from your mouth – whiny and high-pitched, filled with the need to let go.  
“Come on, Bee. I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking give it to me. I want you to soak my fingers.” You nod vigorously and sob when his thumb starts drawing harsh circles against your clit. He hits nerves inside of you you didn’t even knew you had before. You take everything he gives – the flick of his wrist, his fingers petting your walls, his mouth on yours. You cum when he bites you into the juncture between your shoulder and neck – his tongue smoothing the bite. You feel him smile against your mouth when you cry out into him – his fingers still working inside of you until you wheeze and tell him to stop. He pulls them out and maps your body with your juices – the slick trail shining under the moonlight that falls onto the both of you.  
He reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom – ripping the foil packet between his teeth before he puts it onto his length. He sits up on his heels – his cock bobbing with the movement and you gulp as he pats his thigh – telling you to come to him and you do – all jelly legged and sedated after your first orgasm. He pulls you close by the small of your back and his cock nudges against your entrance when you swing your legs around his waist. His hairy legs stick to the back of your thighs and you can feel the sweat rolling off him – his hands supporting you as you sink down on him. Your mouth forming into an “o” and you let out a breathless moan. You knew he was big – as his girth opened up your mouth more and the weight of him heavy on your tongue. But this feels entirely different. You squirm on his lap and he grunts – his other hand coming down onto the flesh of your ass. The pinch you feel as he fills you completely is uncomfortable and you grip his bicep – your nails digging into the flesh there. He hisses and kisses you – the kiss languid and slow. His tongue traces your mouth and your grip loosens – your muscles start to relax.
 “Javi, you are so big.” You don’t say him to make him feel better or feed his ego – it's just a fact. Clear and simple. His nose bumps against yours and he looks into your eyes – he is so close he is breathing the oxygen you exhale. 
 “I know, hermosa. But you can take it. Can’t you?” The new term of endearment falling out of his mouth is surprising but welcome nevertheless. He waits for your answer as he fights himself not to move – your walls squeezing around him and he counts to five so he doesn’t cum right now like some kind of fucking teenager.
  Javier slept with a lot of women. One night stands, prostitutes, his fiancé. But he never felt like this with anyone. His heart never hammered in his chest so quickly and the blood in his veins didn’t boil. His skin never felt like it was on fire by a simple touch. It's new and he welcomes it with open arms. He is tired of fighting and running. This is his new life and it's not too bad – it's better than it ever was. He never feels small with you and he chases that feeling.
 “Yes, I can. I can take it. Please move, Javi.” He listens to your command – the first drag of his cock through your walls feels intoxicating. His hot breath fans against your chest as his forehead rests on it and his hand that was gripping your ass moves to your hip – dragging you up and down his cock as you meet his every perfectly measured thrust. He maps your body and listens to your reactions – he figures out what you like or what you really don’t after a few minutes as he pounds into you.
You don’t know which one of you is louder but it makes him even sexier – the guys you’ve been with before weren't so enthusiastic about it and you felt like they didn’t even wanted to be there – the only hint of them enjoying it was when they came with a quiet grunt and fall onto the bed next to you. Javier is different – he always was – and you live for all the sounds he makes. How he gropes you and maps out your body – his fingers dipping into every crease and curve of your body. And you can feel that in each thrust there is this hidden emotion that he doesn’t want to show. But you grew up with him and can read him pretty well – and your heart swells with the unspoken words. You don’t need to hear them. He will figure it out himself eventually.  
He feels that you are close after he gives you a particularly hardh thrust and you squeal – your nails scratching his muscular back that you’ve been ogling anytime he came out of the shower without a t-shirt or when it was too hot outside and decided the piece of clothing wasn’t necessary in that kind of weather. His mustache scrapes along the flesh on your breasts and you feel his hips shift – the change of position making him feel even bigger. He puts his thumb into your mouth as he looks at you and you suck it – it tastes of you and sweat but you don’t care – as he pulls it out and starts rubbing your clit with it.
 It only takes a few drags of his cock before you are cumming – your clit throbbing as he keeps pressure on it. Your walls squeeze him and he feels like he can't move any further. Your fingers curl into his hair and tug him so he is looking at you. He is all lust-blown eyes and his baring teeth turned into a snarl. You can feel every vein and bump in his cock with every thrust and he twitches inside of you – his hand coming to hold the hinge of your jaw as his tongue tangles with yours once again. It's frantic as are his deep thrusts and you are pretty sure he will break the bed soon – the headboard hitting the wall with every pass of his hips. You admire how fucking lost in you he looks – slack-jawed and dazed. You tug on his hair once more and the reaction is almost instant – his hips faltering for a moment seemingly losing his rhythm. 
“Come on, Javi. I want you to look at me when you cum.” Your requests makes him shut his eyes before he shudders and opens them – your name a broken record when he spills into the condom. You scratch him on the back of his head – your movements slow and languid. He pulls out of you after a moment – when he catches his breath and his heartbeat evens out – even though when he is with you it seems impossible. 
The aftercare is soft and sweet as he lays on his back and pulls you close to him – stroking your spine and kissing the top of your head. 
“Do you want me to leave?” He pulls you tighter against him after you ask him that and he grips your chin so you look at him. 
“Never again, Bee. I want you right here with me.” You sigh in contentment and give him a sweet kiss.
 You are definitely his type, Javier thinks as he feels your breath even out and slowly, he falls asleep too – you in his arms – and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 
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simpingcowboy · 1 year
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Marcus Pike and His Cat Headcanon
I feel like Marcus Pike thinks he wants a dog. But really he's a cat man. AKA you surprise Marcus with a street cat that he is forced to befriend
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Marcus Pike has always wanted a dog. It fit into his dream nuclear family ideal.
So when you tell him you're bringing home a pet to surprise him with he's all about it!!!
Searching up pet stores near by, dog parks, already trying to think of a name
Then you get home and he sees the small box you're carrying the pet in. He's thinking perhaps it's just a puppy? Or maybe a really really small dog
Nope! Just a stray tabby cat and at first Marcus is soo not into it.
He tries at first. Playing with the cat and just trying to get close to them. But the cat is just not having it
So Marcus tries bribing with toys, treats, even some weird cat massage video he found on the internet. Nothing.
The cat is not overly affectionate. Kinda cold and distant, especially to him. Even after all his attempts to win his affection
Marcus just decides to ignore the cat since he can't seem to win them over.
Then suddenly one day he's just sitting on the couch alone and the cat comes and sits in his lap.
Marcus is totally shocked at this change in attitude
As the cat calmly purs in his lap, he finds himself rethinking everything he ever believed about cats
Like full life crisis levels of confusion
He just doesn't get it! Was he purposefully trying to play hard to get or something? Why is the cat now deciding he likes him??
Marcus is hesitant at first, but slowly moves his hand down to pet the tom cat who the rewards him by rubbing his cheeks against Marcus's hand
It doesn't last too too long before the cat's automatic feeder goes off and he's bounding off Marcus's lap
He's totally awestruck by what happened
Marcus is racing to you when you get home to tell you all about it
You kinda laugh at his amazement "Yeah Marcus, you can't just make a cat love you! They come to you when they want to."
He feels a bit stupid when you tell him that. A bit hard to believe the mistakes he made in his romantic life were the same ones he'd made with a cat
But he takes you're advice. Not so much ignoring the cat anymore, but just trying to make himself open to the furry thing
He notes how much the cat likes sleeping on the radiator and goes as far to totally non-conspicuously move an arm chair close to it
Marcus faithfully sits by it everyday hoping the cat with get more accustomed to him
And the cat does!!! He shifts first from the radiator, to the plush top of the armchair (that had been very nicely heated by the radiator)
Eventually working his way to Marcus's lap after realizing that Marcus Pike's own body heat was some how even better than the radiator
So they sit there, almost everyday between dinner and bedtime. All cozied up by the radiator together. Usually while Marcus reads or does some work on the laptop off to the side
Unknown to the cat, Marcus had an undercover thing for a week or so. Nothing too big, but it out him out of the house for the duration of it.
You had noticed the cat seemed a little moody, so you tried to make up for it with extra pets and treats. But it was obvious. The cat missed Marcus
You even caught the cat circling around the arm chair meowing at the empty spot. As if trying to figure out if Marcus had somehow gotten stuck between the cushions
The final day of Marcus's undercover job, he returns home very late. You were already asleep upstairs, but the cat was wide awake
At the sound of the keys jangling, the cat was at the door.
Marcus opens the door with a smile, as he sees the tomcat waiting for him. The cat let's out a loud happy meow at the sight of Marcus
He curls around his feet, practically tripping Marcus with every step. "I see you Buddy just hold on. I gotta put my stuff down"
Marcus uncharacteristically tosses his bags to the side, not caring where they land
The cat trots over to the arm chair, meowing with each step.
"Buddy you want? You want me to sit with you?" Marcus asks as he follows. His heart feels so full as the sight of his cat waiting by the chair for him
He feels like he could almost cry, that is until the cat impatiently meows at him again to sit
Marcus chuckles and sit down to appease him. "There we go Bud." He relaxes into the warm chair, smiling as the cat instantly curls up in his lap and begins purring
Exhausted from his trip, Marcus yawns. Eyes slowly flutter shut. He knows he should go upstairs. Knows he should tell you he's arrived home. Knows his back will pay for sleeping in the armchair like this. But right now he doesn't care about any of it
In the morning you go downstairs and are greeted with a beautiful sight
Marcus and the cat cuddled up together on the chair. Both totally knocked out
You go closer to see around the corner.
Marcus 's head is leaned back against the plush chair, a bit of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
The cat very comfortably curled in a ball in your boyfriend's lap. A large hand still slowly rubbing his head as he sleeps. A loud purr emitting from his small form
A part of you wants to roll your eyes at the man who once so desperately wanted a dog now looking like he's in heaven with his cat
You smile. Marcus Pike is definitely a cat man
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morallyinept · 7 months
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Pedro Boys & Sex Sounds
Clearly, I have thought about this waaaay too much. Thoughts. Thots? Head canons… I dunno what this is. Lack of an actual life? 🤔 Quite possibly.
But I hope you get a giggle out of it nonetheless. 🖤
☝🏻I'll mention that this is probably NSFW... it's kinda tame-ish, but just incase.
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Joel Miller - Grunter.
Joel is a rabid grunter. Oh yeah. Grunts, snarls, snorts, you name it. But he's not infected. You're safe. Just sounds likes he is when they roll and rumble out of him. Right in your ear so he makes sure you can hear what you do to him, darlin'. Joel's also a bit of a goer. He can last pretty good. But due to his advancing years, he can soften quickly, but he stays harder for longer if you're on top grinding onto your big guy. Then he gets to look up at you and those grunts, man. They just snuffle endlessly out of his nose and into your face as you lean forward to kiss him. Overuses the word 'fuck' when he comes. Fuck yeah... Fuck baby... Fuck. Fuck... So fuckin' good... Fuck, you're killin' me, darlin'... Fuck! Fuck darlin'... FUCK! And so on. Absolutely no clicking involved. Unless it's from turning the vibrator on.
Frankie Morales - Stammerer. 
Frankie moans a lot. Makes all manner of ungodly noises when he sucks his fingers clean, licks his lips, nips on your neck… Hums in abject satisfaction at a job so well done. Grizzly, hungry moans roll up from the back of his throat. Frankie likes to be close up in your face watching as he pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. Frankie's a hella attentive lover (hail the pussy eating king 👑) that he wants to know what feels good for you. Wants to learn your body controls and dials, and all those things that make you propel for him as he makes you fly. That feel good, hermosa? You like that? Yeah, look at you taking my cock like that… Fuck, I can't get enough of this pussy. Frankie can be a bit of a talker during sex, but is nowhere near as annoying as Ezra. When Frankie comes, he stammers in both clumsy English and Spanish inflections as he forgets what dimension he's in for a second or two. May need to be flown out. Standby, pilot.
Ezra - Rambler.
Ezra won't shut the fuck up. Even when doing the nasty. We all know that Ezra likes to talk and he'd be as equally vocal in the sack. He wants to tell you what he's going to do to you in sordid detail. Then will tell what he's doing to you, as he's uh, doing it to you in sordid detail. You get a full blow by blow - if you'll forgive the pun - of your fuck session. With subtitles. He can be soft too, this man is multi-faceted like Aurelac gems. When he's gentle, he's like descriptive poetry; sweet and candescent and all about your pleasure. He's a connoisseur for filthy, dirty talk. Ezra says all the right, rancid, disgustingly perverted things in your ear between gritted teeth. He's also a growler. He'll grunt too. Lots of swears will flow out of him really fast like garbled gibberish as he comes. Fuckfuckfuckshit!OhKevvashitahfuckohshitohshotohshit! Almost like he can't believe it's happening, bless him. I mean, it's been a while, stranded on The Green...
Marcus Pike - Huffer.
Marcus fogs your eyes up with those breathy huffs like the Little Engine That Could. Marcus is a leg twitcher. A leg tenser. Either way, when he comes his leg tightens or stiffens. Or breaks. Easy there, bud. Marcus tenses right up and does a little shudder. If he's jerking off solo, then that leg rises up a little and bends at the knee. If it's a hard orgasm then his knee might even click with the strain. Those little breathy moans chug and puff from his nose regardless. And you can bet he'll get a cramp in his leg too if he's going at it for a while. Has to switch positions regularly because of it. Not caused by an injury; the guy just gets too fucking excited that parts of his body just lock up. This guy is the maestro of making love. He'll prefer to spend hours fawning over you rather than quick fuck sessions. Because he's so husband like that.
Oberyn Martell - Hummer. 
Exhibitionist Oberyn wants everyone to know that he's taking you to pleasure town. Groans. Whines. Grunts. Even hisses like a viper. Can be a little nasally as he breathes, and when he comes he almost gasps. Eyes roll into the back of his head with the pleasure of it all. Neck cords strain and he may even pull out a croon-like laugh of satisfaction as he watches you come undone as he spills that sumptuous, bastard seed inside you. Screw the Iron Throne, the only throne you need is this man's face. He'll give you that smarmy eyebrow arch as you come down because you both know he just utterly fucked your shit up. And so does everyone else in the brothel. Que the applause.
Javier Peña - Hisser.
We all know what Javier Peña looks like when he fucks (thank you very much Narcos 🥲). Javier bears his teeth when he fucks hard. Growls and grunts. Pants and moans. Small, pitched whines will flow out between his teeth and curled lips as he comes. He's a jolter too. Hips will jolt and twitch into you as he empties. Thighs will jerk. When he's making love and not fucking, and there is a difference, cariño, Javier's breaths are more laboured, controlled. More nasally sounding and deep. You'll hear them in your ear as he kisses and licks around them. He'll utter Spanish obscenities delicately to you in that soft, gravelly tone that haunts your blood. He could be telling you how to parallel park for all you care. Either way, it sounds utterly delicious. Oof.
Marcus Moreno - Panter. 
Marcus is in pretty good shape from fucking up supervillains on the daily, so when he gets his sexy on, he hardly breaks a sweat. 💪🏻But he does pant. Gentle, raspy pants that flutter into your mouth as you swallow them down like powerups. He'll moan around your lips because you feel so good squeezing him like that; he'll barely last much longer as he tightens on your hips to control your pace. The embarrassment of losing a life if he comes too soon isn't worth it. This gentle daddy knows how to rock your world and take you to new heights.
Dave York - Grunter.
Dave can be a talker when he's in the mood to play dirty and has the time. More often than not though it's a quickie in the shower before the girls are up, or late at night when he comes home after moonlighting as a murder daddy under your nose. He'll climb into bed next to you and he can't sleep. So he'll slip inside you and wake you up as he's grunting softly inside your ear and growling gently as you turn to kiss him whilst he plunders deeper. He presses his mouth hard against yours to quell your moans and whines so the girls don't wake up. When he comes, his jaw locks, he grinds on his teeth and growls out between them. His eyes close and he won't open them until he's fully empty. He often falls asleep almost immediately afterwards as he's satiated - and fucking exhausted from living a double life. 
Dieter Bravo - Wheezer.
Dieter likes to know it feels good for you, and also likes to tell you how good you feel around his cock. Most of the time he's high, so sex is a whole ethereal experience. Sometimes he's even present for it. Lots of oh wows and fuck yeahs mutter out of him. He's quite chill, his hips do most of the work but he can tire easily so likes you to take the reins and ride. Partying hard is catching up with Mr Bravo. But he lives for sex of the kinky variety. It's weird and he likes it. But when he comes, his back tenses and he fists the sheets or whatever he can squeeze at the time. Dieter wheezes like he's out of breath, particularly after a hard session. It's all the shit that he smokes on the regular. He'll also hack up a bit afterwards, coughing into the pillow as he tries to catch his breath. Be trained in CPR and adrenaline injections, just in case.
Agent Whiskey - Crooner. 
Another talker. That feel good, darlin'? Let me see you. Eyes on me, sweet thing. Christ, look at you. So fucking gorgeous, darlin'. That's it now, work it. Like that. Aw hell yeah, like that. Ride it, baby! Who can resist that smooth cowboy, huh? Whiskey will always be smirking around those wet, moustached lips as he watches you fall apart and coaxes you through it. He moans softly with lots of yeahs thrown into the mix. He's a true Southern gent; likes to make you feel good. Likes to know he's making you nut. He'll make mince meat outta your insides. Then when he comes, he likes to tell you, naturally. Oh, you got me shakin', baby. I'mma need to calm down for a sec. Fuckin' Christ. 
Din Djarin - Panter.
When Din has his helmet on, you hear his breath whooshing fiercely against the inside of it. The modulator will only increase the gravelness of his breathing and make it louder. Like holding a shell to your ear and you can hear the ocean? Yeah. He crashes over you like thunderous waves. On the rare occasion that Din removes his helmet, he bears his teeth, bites down on his lip (and yours too as he lets it go with a squelchy pop) as he comes hard and whines out in a squally, panting moan that fills the Razor Crest. Luckily, Luke is babysitting The Kid. Sex with Din is like surround sound. You hear every delicious noise he makes. This is the way, mesh'la. 
Pero Tovar - Grunter. 
Pero fucks likes he eats - like he never will again. Fast, clumsy and handsy. A little bit of the animalistic about him. He needs the release, but needs you to release first. His partner always comes first, despite his less-than-gentlemanly ways at times. Grunty, deep breaths bounce up from out of his ribs, almost like he's wheezing. When he comes he growls and mutters incoherently. Words literally fail him as his jaw goes slack and his body flops over onto yours as he pants into your face, and it takes him a moment to remember where he is and that his supper is still waiting for him. Pero is a man that always goes back for seconds. 
Maxwell Lord - Screamer.
Max takes the only position for the guy who is most likely to holler and actually scream louder than you do when he comes. Makes loud, high pitched cries and pants that sound faster and more garbled the closer he gets towards blowing his load. The excitement in him just comes out, he can't help it. He'll pant and clutch at his invisible pearls as though he can't believe the audacity of you riding hard on him. Mouth open, starry eyes and wails rising in tempo. This would-be supervillain has been well and truly subdued. He loves every second of it though. Especially when you lasso him up with rope. 
Comandante Veracruz - Murmurer.
Controlled breaths. Slick smirks. Deep pants. Veracruz is a man in charge that knows what the fuck he is doing to you as he drives deep and ploughs you into the sweaty mattress in his jungle hideout. Favourite position is probably the mating press or from behind. The man likes it deeeeP. He's a smarmy bastard even when he's fucking. Taunting. You want this cock, baby? You want more, hmm? When Veracruz comes he shudders; the veins in his arms and wrists tense. You bet those cords in his neck pop too, pow, pow! Growls, bears his teeth and presses his clammy forehead into yours as he empties. Then softly murmurs into your face that you're his and only his, menacingly. But you love it. It's called Stockholm Syndrome, sweetheart.
Silva - Silent. 
Silva doesn't need to make any noise at all. All that escapes is a small, ragged breath that catches in the back of his throat, that you barely hear, ebb out of him. Doesn't mean he's not enjoying it by not being vocal - this wild gun is absolutely loving it - but more so that he's completely lost in the awe of how good you're making him feel right in that moment. Stunned and drowning in euphoria. Lips part with a silent groan, just the barest husk escapes him as he edges closer to the drop. Then a small grunt as though he's clearing his dry throat, and a soft nasal whoosh is heard when he finally lets go and finds his way back to you. 
Javi G - Giggler. 
Javi G giggles when he comes. Don't try to tell me he doesn't. Sometimes he can't stop and you end up tittering with him. I mean, sex is supposed to be a little funny, right? Even when he jerks off alone, a little giggle slips from his lips; it just feels too fucking good not to smile and chuckle like he's five years old and just discovered his junk for the first time all over again. During the act, sweet Javi G is all up in your grill wanting to know how good it feels, hermosa. Searching into your eyes as he moves and shifts to get deeper inside you. Adjusts how he touches you. Watching for your reactions and giving you more of the things that make you appear like a cross-eyed mutt he wants to pet. Javi G is a feeder - he wants to feed you the utmost pleasure. And then giggle incessantly like a little girl when he finishes inside you. 
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🖤
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Pedro boys fashion matrix
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* Click for higher resolution
• Masterlist •
This one took me ages to make, and it's probably one of my favourites I've made so far. Which is your favourite category?
Commentary below the cut:
Survival chic
Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Mario
These boys have it tough. Be it an apocalyptic world, somewhere in the Colombian jungle, or on another planet entirely. And yes, I had to add Mario.
Fun fact: all four survival boys wore gloves in the show/movie.
Office basic
Dave, Max P, Javier, Mr. Ben
I do love a shirt and pants ensemble sans suit jacket. I might be biased, but Mr. Ben might have stolen the show with his sexy specs.
Office chic
Whiskey, Javier, Max Lord, Marcus Pike
These are some sharply dressed boys. The tailoring on Whiskey's suit in particular is *chef's kiss*.
Military chic
Javier, Dave, Veracruz, Pero
Pedro boys look good in fatigues, huh? Although Pero does steal the show with his medieval armour.
Extra AF
Oberyn, Din, The Thief, Meemaw
These guys (and meemaw) need no introduction, am I right? Neither does meemaw, with her rip-off Anna Wintour bob and fancy frames.
Comfortcore
Javi G, Dieter, Joel, Charlie
These are the guys you know would be so soft to cuddle with. Except Joel, who's definitely all contractor™ muscle underneath that tshirt he keeps wearing inside out.
Leather mavens
Marcus Moreno, Dio, Zach, Oberyn
The people have spoken - they want Moreno in this matrix, and I’m not complaining! We know these boys look good in leather, but Oberyn’s head-to-toe leather fight look is something else (tragically it proved to be fashion over form).
Related posts:
Pedro boys hair matrix
Pedro boys facial hair matrix
How long will Pedro boys survive the apocalypse
Pedro boys chattiness matrix
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creedslove · 5 months
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I think it's been a while since the last time i reminded you all that marcus pike is the best boyfriend and soon to be husband in the world and that teresa lisbon is worse than devil
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5oh5 · 5 months
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i've got a crush on you
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soft slow jazz has marcus written all over it
summary: after several dates with marcus, he invites you over to his place for thai food. when you arrive, food is the last thing on your mind.
pairing: marcus pike x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+, MDNI)
wc: 2.8k
content tags: smut, mostly marcus fluff to cure a broken heart, sultry winter jazz deserves it's own tag, slow dancing, oral (f!recieving), pet names (baby doll, honey, baby)
a/n: another installment in my little 50's and 60's song fic series. is this any of my main wips I should be focused on? no. either way, I hope you all enjoy. wrote it over the weekend along with sixty minute man because I needed a sweet distraction. as always, divider by @saradika, and don't worry @adamantiumspy their food'll still be hot 😘
songs mentioned in the fic are linked at the bottom!
read on AO3 | masterlist
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You stare at the golden numbers that are nailed into Marcus’s front door, willing yourself to knock. He invited you over for Thai food and an old movie, which you’d wholeheartedly agreed to, but now that you were standing at his front door, the golden letters taunting you, nervousness was pooling in your stomach between your ribs. 
You’d been out with Marcus several times, first for coffee, then a walk, then a few dinners. He seemed to know all of the best places in D.C., impressing you with each choice. You liked the white cloth napkins and dancing candles, but your favorite had been the small, family owned Vietnamese restaurant he’d taken you to last weekend. Pho warmed your limbs as the weather outside turned from an autumn cool to a winter cold. You had shared summer rolls, and you couldn’t take your eyes off the way his lips parted around them.
But for tonight he had invited you over, and this felt like a step. He hadn’t seen your place yet, though you had been cleaning it nearly every day, all of your nervous energy channeled into dishes and vacuuming, not wanting to be caught off guard in case a date brought you back there. 
You look again nervously at your phone. 18:56. You were four minutes early. Was that okay? Should you pace up and down the sidewalk for four minutes? You didn’t want him to think you were over eager. 
You chew on the inside of your cheek. There was one fairly giant step that the two of you hadn’t taken yet, and you wondered if tonight was the night. The thought of it made your palms sweat. The last time you saw him, Wednesday night, you’d kissed for what felt like hours in the front seat of his car, the sweet taste of chocolate gelato still on his tongue. His hands had splayed up your thighs, across your back, wrapped around your face, but he never went further than that.
Come on, it’s four minutes. Get a fucking grip. You were a full grown adult for fuck’s sake, you can knock on a man’s door. You’d moved to D.C. alone, settled into a new life by yourself, made new friends, started a new job…surely knocking on the sweetest man in the world’s door was easier than all that, right?
Before your brain can torture you any more, you rap your knuckles on the door three times, then quickly shove your hand back in your pocket. You think it must be 6:57 now, a much more acceptable time to knock. Your breath fogs in front of you in the crisp air, burning your lungs through your nose as you breathe back in. 
Moments later, Marcus opens the door, and Christ, how does he always look so perfect? He’s wearing a black button down, tucked into dark jeans, the sleeves cuffed to his mid forearm. The first few buttons are undone, perfectly framing his neck, the soft planes of his chest drawing your eye immediately. His hair looks so soft, and you want to run your fingers through it. He wears a characteristic smirk when he sees you, standing on his front stoop with your nose half buried in your scarf, eyes drinking him in. 
“Hi,” he says simply, smiling as he catches your eyes tracing quickly back up to meet his.
“Hi,” you smile into your scarf, the nervousness starting to fade away as you meet his soft eyes. 
He looks at you for another moment, before snapping to his senses. “Come on in.” 
He steps back to allow you space to enter, and the apartment is warm, immediately making your nose tingle. 
“So this is the Pike Place, huh?” You tease, remembering the joke you’d made at Starbucks a couple weeks ago when you’d stopped in during a walk. 
He chuckles, “I hope it’s better than the ground up plastic spoons they pass off as my namesake.”
You laugh and scan the room, coming to stand beside the island countertop. The place is so him, neutral tones, black accents, a few, clearly carefully chosen art pieces hang on the walls. A few lamps illuminate the space, bathing it in soft light. 
“Can I take your coat?” He asks, and you start shrugging it off, but he comes up behind you and guides it the rest of the way down your arms. Your breath hitches at his closeness, his fingertips grazing the sleeves of your sweater.
“Always the gentleman,” you smirk, tamping down the nervousness in your chest. When you turn to look at him, he’s smirking wordlessly, turning to carefully hang your coat on a hook by the front door. You unwrap your scarf from around your neck, take the mittens from your hands. You place them both on the counter in front of you and lean against it, sliding off your boots too. You see the bag of Thai food is already waiting on the counter.
You finally notice the velvety saxophone emanating from a record player on the far side of the living room, the soft sounds settling in your ears. Something about the quietness of the space, the soft silk of the jazz, you start to feel nervous again. When the next songs starts up, you recognize the voice immediately, the opening Mmm in a familiar lilt. 
“Ella Fitzgerald?” You smile, eyes lighting up as you watch him walk back towards you.
“You a fan?” He asks, and you watch intently as he walks towards you. One hand comes to the counter’s edge on your right side as he leans into you.
“Perhaps the biggest,” you smile. Whenever someone asks you that classic ice breaker question about what musical artist you would choose to listen to forever if you could only have one, you always choose Ella. 
“You look beautiful,” he says, and you feel dizzy from the closeness of him, from his cologne. It’s warm and a little spicy, just like he is. 
“So do you,” you say as your eyes trace their way across the plush of his lips. He has the most perfect lips of any man you’ve ever seen, even more so when a boyish smile spreads across them at your compliment.
He leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, and the nervous tension in your belly eases as you melt into his touch, his hand spreading over your hip. He pulls away all too soon. 
“Well, then…” his eyes are big and soft, playfulness dancing in the warm honeyed tones of them. “Can I have this dance?” 
Can this man truly be real?
A grin spreads across your features. “Who would I be to turn down an offer like that?” 
“I was hoping you’d say that,” his lips dance into a smile as he takes your hand, pulling you to the space between the barstools at his counter and the back of the couch. He turns to face you then, twisting his left hand in yours as his other hand reaches around your back, arm in line with the base of your bra. You can feel the warmth of his touch even through the cables of your sweater. He holds your right hand slightly out to the side, and your left arm rests against his, your hand finding the top of his shoulder. He pulls you closer into him, his nose finding the soft shell of your ear. 
I never had the least notion That I could fall with so much emotion
He sways you back and forth gently, and as you step side to side it turns you in a small half circle. You relax your head down onto his shoulder, your forehead ghosting the side of his neck. 
The world will pardon my mush, ‘Cause I’ve got a crush My baby, on you
Ella’s plush voice, the warmth of Marcus’s chest against yours, it’s overwhelming. It’s so easy to sink into him, to feel the weight of the rest of the world fade away. You want him so badly, that’s no secret, but you’re more nervous now than with any man you’d ever been with. He’s so gentle, so respectful, you know you have no reason to be nervous. Somehow, that just makes it worse.
You continue to sway to the soft jazz, and as Ella’s voice fades, the intoxicating tones of Chet Baker replace her’s. 
“Chet Baker and Ella Fitzgerald on the same record?” You ask, lifting your head from his shoulder. 
“It’s a mix,” he says softly, and his hand is slowly smoothing over your back, swiping long strokes up and down the length of it as he continues to sway the two of you back and forth. His head tilts to meet your eyes, and before you can think, you bring your lips to his, taking his plush bottom lip between yours. Your hand finds the side of his neck. He lets your other hand go so he can bring his palm to your jaw, and you press your now free hand against his ribcage. He deepens the kiss, licking into your mouth. He tastes as sweet as the music, his kiss a perfect companion to the melodic piano. He takes his time, the movements of his lips and tongue soft and slow. You continue to sway lightly, but both of your feet are slowing.
I fall in love too easily I fall in love too fast
He draws his head back, placing a soft kiss on your lips before moving to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, down the column of your throat. 
“Hungry?” he asks, a murmur into your skin. There’s no way you can eat now, the nervousness and arousal deep in your belly makes eating the furthest thing from your mind. 
“Yes, but…no,” you sigh, bringing your hand to the back of his neck and tangling your fingers in the waves there.
“Mm…” he hums, tongue finding the soft spot behind your ear. “S’a shame.” A soft gasp leaves your lips as he nips at the skin. “I am.”
He pulls his lips off your neck, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips. He takes your hand in his again, leading you around the side of the couch. He lifts your conjoined hands to turn you, and you plop down onto the soft cushions. He leans over you, one hand bracing his weight against the back of the couch, and he kisses you again deeply, tongue immediately finding yours. His free hand flattens against your leg, and he pushes it up until his thumb meets the crease where your thigh meets your hip. He squeezes, before ghosting his fingertips to the button on your jeans. 
“Is this okay?” He asks into your mouth, and your heartbeat is thundering against your ribcage. 
“Yes,” you breathe, your affirmation coming out as little more than a sigh.
“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs as he slips the button through the buttonhole with one hand, sinking down to his knees in front of you, settling between your legs. The motion separates you, and you look at him as he fixes his eyes on the undone button of your jeans. He slides the zipper down, and his eyes are blazing. You’re burning up, so you lean forward slightly to lift your sweater over your head, leaving you in your soft tank top tucked into your jeans. You sling the sweater off to the side with little regard. He skates his hands up your hips, pushing the fabric of your tank top up and out of the waistband of your jeans and up to gather under your breasts. His eyes are on the softness of your belly, which is rising and falling quickly with your breath. You can see the flush of his chest creep up to his neck, the black of his shirt making the blush even brighter. He leans forward, hands still spread over your sides, and presses an open mouthed kiss to your tummy just above the V of your undone jeans. “S’at okay?”
“God, Marcus,” you’re practically begging, the slow and careful nature of his actions making you squirm with impatience. “Absolutely it is.” 
He hooks his fingertips over the waistband of your jeans, and you lift your hips so he can pull them off of you. He leans back on his heels to pull them all the way off your legs, discarding them to the side. You settle your legs back down around his body, and his eyes are trained on the dark lace of your thong. Without hesitation, he grabs you by the backs of your knees and pulls you to the edge of the couch cushions. His mouth is on you then, kissing and licking up your leg, one hand hooked around the outside of your thigh to hold it in place against his mouth. He lifts your leg to hook over his shoulder, pressing perfect kisses to the silky skin of your inner thigh. You let your other knee fall to the side, opening yourself up to him more. 
“You’re soaking wet, baby doll.” He coos, dragging a fingertip up the length of your slit over your undies, the fabric soaked through already. 
“Of course I am,” you groan at the sensation, already clenching around nothing. 
“If I had known that jazz would get you going this much…” he teases as he presses a kiss to your mound, soft lips meeting the lace. You let out a soft moan. “Would’a played it in my car the other night.” He smirks as he hooks his fingers around the lace, and you lift your hips again so he can pull your thong down. You pull the leg on his shoulder through, and he lets them hang off your other thigh.
“God,” he sighs as he takes in the sight of you laid bare for him now. “Knew you’d have the most beautiful pussy.” 
You slide your fingers into his hair, knitting your fingers into his waves. Ever so slightly you push on his head, and he chuckles. 
“Impatient, are we?” He smirks, pressing a kiss to your thigh instead. 
“Marcus, please.” You hardly recognize the desperation in your own voice. You’d never been this wet for a man who had barely touched you. 
“Who would I be to turn down an offer like that?” He teases, repeating your words from earlier. Then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. He licks a stripe up the length of your folds, and a wracked groan escapes your throat. He closes his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently. He lets it go with a gentle pop, then licks open mouthed kisses into you before sliding his tongue between your folds. You’re pretty sure you could die happily right here, soft jazz still swirling through the room, Marcus’s warm tongue on your cunt. 
He licks into you expertly. This man better be careful, you think through the haze, or I’m going to fall in love with him. 
He brings an arm between your legs, gathering your slick on his fingertips at your entrance. He looks up at you through his eyelashes, his mouth still buried in your cunt. Fuck, that view. His chocolate brown eyes, dark with lust, looking up at you for permission. His hair is ruffled around your fingers. You nod quickly, chest heaving and moans tumbling constantly from your lips as he swirls his tongue around your clit. With your nod, he wastes no time sliding his middle finger up into you, and he groans at the sound you make. He drags it in and out of you, tongue not letting up. You grind up into his mouth, against his finger. 
“A–Add another,” you choke out between moans. He looks up at you quickly before wetting his ring finger at your entrance and sliding it up into you to meet the other. You cry out when he hooks his fingers, pressing into that soft spongy spot. 
“Fuck,” he moans into you as you buck into his hand. “You sound so perfect coming apart for me, honey.” 
You moan again at his words, and you feel your body hurling towards the edge. He sees it in your face, the way your features contort with pleasure, chest heaving. 
“Relax, baby,” he coos, laying his free hand across your belly. You consciously let your muscles relax, and a fresh wave of pleasure crashes over your body. “Let go for me,” 
At his words the coil in your tummy snaps, and you let out a low, ragged groan as your orgasm takes over your body, your heel digging into his back. He doesn’t stop his fingers or his mouth, licking and fucking you through it. He stills only when you do, your mouth slightly open in pleasure, sucking in breath. Your fingertips are tingling. He presses a soft kiss to your clit, sliding his fingers out of you. You sigh at the loss.
You slide your leg off his shoulder, grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him up to meet your lips. 
“Need you,” you breathe into his mouth, still breathless from your orgasm and from him. 
“Food’s gonna get cold,” Marcus teases, bringing his hands to your knees, wet fingers pressing into your skin. 
“I really don’t care,” you say, pressing your lips to his again.
“Okay, okay…” he whispers as he smirks into the kiss. He pushes himself off your legs to stand. “Let me just flip the record.”
You hadn’t even noticed it had gone quiet.
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thetriumphantpanda · 2 months
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Lost In Our Vices | Marcus Pike (Masterlist)
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Series Summary | The rejection to have him as a PhD supervisor had stung, but not enough to put you off the idea altogether. Professor Pike was your academic hero and whether you could study under him or not, it didn't matter. Little were you to know that you would end up doing more than just studying under him in the end.
Pairing | Professor!Marcus Pike x Student!F Reader
Series Warnings | Dubious ethical relationship, academia and it's related bullshit (I'm still a lil bitter from my MA don't mind me), museum and art gallery visits, gratuitous descriptions of London because it is my city and I love it, conversations around cultural restitution, explicit smut including oral sex (f&m receiving), unprotected PiV, rough sex, dirty talk, soft Dom!Marcus, soft!Marcus, allusions to difficult familial relationships, consumption of food and alcohol, no use of y/n, check chapters for individual warnings.
Authors Note | Professor Pike will see you now.... this has rotted my brain for far too long and I'm so excited to share this all with you. Big shoutout to @hier--soir, her professor Joel is the reason this exists, we need more hot professors doing dubious shit and this is my contribution. Also thanks to @undercoverpena for listening to me scream about him. And finally thanks to @saradika for the beautiful divider.
Follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates
we were caught up and lost in all of our vices in your pose as the dust settled around us
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Chapters
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
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