#pike maneuver

[scrmnviking]

Can't leave this in the tags

[ID: text "Important Starfleet Maneuvers" Attached image is four panels as quadrants showing the Stargazer at warp, Riker sitting down, Voyager crashing into the time travel villain's space lab, and Pike hugging Una. Text on each "Picard maneuver: warp trickery" "Riker maneuver: Chair" "Janeway maneuver: hit it with the ship lol" and "Pike maneuver: Unabashedly care for the people in your life"]

[beesnutz]

TOS episode tierlist what does everypony think?

[thelaughtercafe]

Tension

Tea Type: Subtly Sweet Tea

Potential Triggers: Nothing comes to mind, but let me know if you think something should go here!

Pairing: Vax/F!Reader (Can be read as romantic or platonic!)

Length: 2.2k+

Summary: Vax's observant nature helps him discover you're hiding a few juicy secrets, and he helps encourage you to be more honest in the future.

A/N: So, new fandom, who dis? Yes, I'm now binging Critical Role Campaign 1, and completely whipped for Vax and Percy both. I'm up to the beginning of Episode 40, so no spoilers please but I have quite a few tword fic ideas. Also, I know Silence doesn't work in DND like this, but shhh fic liberties-

Vax was what many would call observant. Used to lingering in the shadows as he was, he found it almost comforting to look over his friends and family both if they lingered where he could see them. He sipped on his ale, watching as you chatted with Vex and Keyleth about something or other. Percy was tinkering with his machine’s as usual, paying the conversations around him no mind, and Scanlan had found himself a friend for the night. Grog had no such luck but he was no less happy to be enjoying ale by the mug full. Pike had also retired early, claiming tiredness and needing to work in a quiet environment unlike Percy. Vax himself was situated just by the bar, debating if teasing Percy or his sister would be more fun when he spotted something interesting. 

You’d quirked up and seemed to be waving your hands in a sheepish refusal. He couldn’t hear it from here what about, and opted to drift closer, expertly maneuvering the crowds of dwarves before he leaned against the wall by the stairs. 

“Really Grog, I appreciate the offer but it already feels better, I promise!”

“Do you doubt Grog’s masseuse skills?”

Vax felt a smile twitch at his lips, eyes narrowing perceptively as you refused again.

“Not at all! All the others rave about how great they are, I just genuinely don’t need one. It was just a spasm! Besides, Percy looks way more tense than I do, look at how the poor guy is hunched over!”

Grog lit up at that and grinned, whacking you on the shoulder cheerfully before moving to attend to Percy. 

“Grog can help with that! Great idea!”

You let out a sigh the moment the goliath turned his back to you, after ensuring the others were occupied. Vex had gone with Keyleth to grab more drinks and they were talking to the bartender, and you didn’t spot him, all but melded into the shadow of the stairs as he was. He saw the way you rolled not one, but both of your shoulders and winced, fingers pressing into and attempting to release the tension stored there.

He smirked darkly.

You were a clever little thing, weren’t you? Redirecting Grog, lying so he wouldn’t worry, feigning. You had a secret and if there was one thing Vax enjoyed? It was finding out that which should not be known. 

…and maybe punishing you, just a little, in the process for trying to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t and being a naughty little liar. He'd warned you before, as had the others, it wasn't his fault you didn't listen. You had a nasty habit of trying to take on everyone else's burdens while denying your own. 

He figured you’d be retreating to your room sooner rather than later and after a gentle tap and a whisper to Vex telling her not to wait up, he found himself surprised as his sister grabbed his wrist before he could slip away. 

“Take care of her, will you? She’s been rubbing her shoulder anytime she thinks we’re not watching. If you hadn’t come over, I was going to press the issue. Shall I inform Pike?”

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, smiling sheepishly. Of course his sister had seen right through him, and you both. 

“Aye. You know I will. I’ll tell her, depending on how bad it is.” 

His eyes moved from her to where you were watching Percy try to escape Grog with fondness in your eyes. 

“...I have a feeling there’s a reason she’s dodging Grog’s attempts. Something she’s flustered about, if I had to guess.”

A smirk tugged at his lips as his mischievous eyes returned to his sister’s. 

“A shame, that. For her I mean.”

Vex’s look turned scolding. 

“Try and go easy on her, brother.”

He shrugged, amusement flooding him.

“Depends how quickly she folds, I suppose. If she’s stubborn, even I can't help but have a limit to my patience, you know. Besides, she may even enjoy my methods of persuasion. You certainly did~”

A flash of teeth and he dodged her playful slap with a laugh as she blushed. 

“Shut up, Vax! Honestly, I asked once, why can’t you just let it go?”

“Are you actually whining? Heh, does Percy know? Maybe I should-”

Vax couldn’t dodge fast enough this time as Vex tugged him down to hiss in his ear. 

“Breathe a word and Trinket will have your head.”

“Alright, alright, you win! Always so violent to your dear brother aren’t you?”

He brushed off his clothes before looking back over towards you. 

“Alright, I’m off. Wish me luck, hm? And be a dear and cast Silence for me, won’t you?”

Vex’ahlia sighed and with a moment of focus and a mumble it was done. 

“Doing that for her, not you!”

Was called after but Vax waved her off. 

Now all he had to do was hang out; he was sure you’d follow shortly. 

------

You cracked your neck and barely stifled a wince as your shoulder seized again. You hadn’t injured it, but thanks to holding all of your tension in them, and your neck; you were really feeling the effects. 

You felt bad redirecting Grog like that, but you’d seen the way Percy had grasped his shoulder too, and knew he wouldn’t crumple like you would. Lesser of two evils. He gave in eventually, and lucky for him, he probably wasn’t in pain anymore. It was early in the night, but you bid your remaining party goodnight and retired to your room. You jumped at the sight of Vax on your bed before relaxing, rolling your eyes. 

“You could’ve asked and I would’ve just given you the key to my room you know.”

He shot a boyish grin your way. 

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it’s good practice for my fingers. Got to keep them loose and limber, you know.”

“Mmhmm.”

You brushed him off as you flitted about your room and got changed for the night behind the folding screen. It had been a pleasant surprise the inn had one as many didn’t. 

You emerged in your nightgown and crossed your arms as you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“So…what’s up? Did you need something?”

He pretended to be stabbed in overdramatic fashion.

“Oh, you wound me! Can’t I come check on my favorite party member without ulterior motives?”

“Sure, you can and have before. But you’re typically chatty, and occasionally tipsy. You seem barely buzzed and you’ve been oddly quiet for you in general, let alone if this was one of your typical calls. You can tell me if I’m wrong but…I don’t like that look in your eye.”

He smiled, and moved to sit up from where he’d been laying on your bed, tossing his dagger carelessly. He placed it on the bedside table. He was already changed, you noted. In black two piece pajamas, and you’d spotted his black robe behind the curtain. Was he planning on staying overnight? You didn’t mind, of course but again…this was too meticulous. He was planning something, you just weren’t sure what. 

“What look might that be, darling?”

You hesitated and then swallowed, something giddy and nervous at once stirring in you as you felt heat in your cheeks and it made you look away. 

“Anticipation. You look not unlike the cat who got the cream. You almost look…predatory, if I had to pick the right word.”

“How frightening~ It’s nothing so serious as all that! “

He moved to stand and you stood your ground as he approached you, finally returning your gaze to his hazel eyes.

“How’re your shoulders?”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and he felt the way you tensed, racking your brain for an excuse. 

“Oh, you heard my conversation with Grog earlier, huh? Like I said, it was just a spasm. I’m fine now-”

His smile widened a tad and then he squeezed, with just the right amount of pressure to get the reaction he guessed at. 

“For reheHEal!” 

You tried to play it off as a cough, bending over and shoving at him to try to get him to release you. He did, backing up a step or two as he observed you. 

“Sorry about that. Worst time to get a cough.”

You mustered an apologetic smile, shaky though it was and Vax let his eyes narrow. 

“...Do you think I’m an idiot? You’re lying again? This is starting to become quite the habit. C’mon, lemme see.”

The expression you made was priceless but Vax kept his unamused expression as he grabbed you by the arm and dragged you over to the bed, gently sitting you down and then looking at you expectantly. Poor thing. You were clearly having an inner debate in your mind over what to do. Shame he wouldn't give you any more time. He motioned to the bed as he moved to stand. 

“Well? Go on, lay down. Let me see how bad it is.”

“It’s really nothing Vax, I swear! Just drop it!”

“Oh right, because you jolting like a scared gob’ was so subtle. If there’s truly nothing wrong then let me see.”

Gods he was such an asshole. Why did your reactions have to be so damn entertaining? …Still, he was absolutely going to Hell for leading you on like this. 

You reluctantly laid down face down and he situated himself at your hips, ensuring you weren’t in pain before continuing. 

“Alright, now you better tell me if anything hurts. I’ll know if you lie again. Got it?”

You nodded and he couldn’t help his smirk now that you couldn't see him, though his voice kept that concerned, slightly hard edge as he dug into your shoulders at once. 

You damn near about seized and your hand rushed to cover your mouth.

“Did that hurt?”

You shook your head and he growled. 

“You must really think I’m blind or something! You can’t even talk!”

Oh, yeah. Definitely going to Hell. 

Now that he was feeling your shoulders, though, it was obvious you had a lot of tension. No wonder you’d been rubbing them earlier. He let his thumbs do most of the work digging in and though he heard you squeak, now and again, every time he asked if you were in pain you denied. It was when his index and middle finger found a knot of tension on the cusp of your neck and shoulder that you finally broke, and tried to reach back to tap his leg, laughing. 

“Fhuhuhuck Vax please! It doesn’t huhuhurt it-it thihihihihckles!!” 

He giggled himself and stopped for a moment to crack his fingers before he answered, all casual nonchalance. 

“About time you admitted it.”

You whimpered in embarrassment and he would bet money you were beyond grateful he couldn't see your expression as you hid your face in your pillow. 

“You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything then!?”

“As payback. For lying, both to Grog and most especially, to me. Next time, tell the truth and I won’t have to be so…”

He spidered fingertips over your shoulders to hear you laugh before pulling back again. 

“Willfully ignorant.”

You groaned. 

“You’re the worst.”

“I hope you know I’ve just started. All joking aside, your shoulder and neck are wrecked, love. Ticklish or not, you’ll feel leagues better if I work these out.”

“You can’t!”

Your instant response gave him pause. 

“What are you so worried about? Surely you must know I’d never judge you for something as paltry as being ticklish.”

“It’s…not that. Gods, Vax, I swear if you tell anyone else-”

You whirled to look at him and he met your eyes unflinchingly. 

“I won’t. I swear it.”

You hesitated and then hid your face again after deeming him to be telling the truth.

“I…I don’t entirely hate it. Truth be told, it’s the opposite. I really…enjoy it.” 

He couldn’t help snickering, but he was quick to clarify at how silent you got, to reassure you. 

“I-hehe. Oh, shit. I’m not laughing at you. I promise. Just, oh Lord, give me a second.”

He finally collected himself, running a hand through his hair and sighed.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that. It’s too cute for me not to laugh. If you ever want to be tickled you know all you have to do is ask.”

“You say that like it’s easy but-”

“But you’d prefer to be a brat to get me to tickle you instead because it’s easier, hm? In character for you. I’m fine with that. For now.”

“For now?”

“Yes. For now. If you keep hiding things from us for what you believe is our benefit, and putting yourself down- now I have the perfect way to punish you. Maybe then the lesson will stick that you are anything but less than.”

“Vax…”

He brushed off the vulnerability with ease, returning to his playful affect, as if he hadn't said anything.  

“As I said for tonight, however, I’m more than happy to put you in your place when you act up but…”

You squeaked as he dragged his index finger down your spine, making you shiver. 

“There’s still the matter of all this tension you’re holding. Do I have your permission to deal with it, even if it tickles?”

“Mm…mmhmm.”

“Heh. Good. I’m not going to go easy on you now that I know you like this, I hope you know.”

He leaned down to blow air into your ear before whispering. 

“We’ve got quite a lot of lost time to make up for~”

[britany1997]

Hey bestie! if you still have requests open could i please request a blurb for a GN reader x all the boys (poly) with like helping the reader put together an outfit please? if you can ofc!!

thank you 💕💕💕💕

Queer Eye With The Vampire Guys

Omg hey bestie! Of course! Hope you like this:)

Poly! Lost boys x GN Reader

(I’m running out of gifs y’all, dang)

(Interactions with and encouragement of my work always appreciated🥺)

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You groaned loudly as you fell face first into the contents of your closet that had been piled on the floor.

“I have nothing to wear,” your muffled voice rumbled from the tower of clothes.

Paul shot the boys a confused look as he gestured to the various articles of clothing scattered across the room.

Dwayne placed a finger over his lips and shook his head, motioning for Paul to keep his mouth shut.

Paul put his hands up in surrender and moved to sit next to Marko on your bed.

Dwayne got up and kneeled down next to your groaning form and began to rub your back. “What do you need baby?” He asked.

You sighed and picked your head up from the pile of clothes to meet Dwayne’s gaze, “can you guys just pick out an outfit for me? I can’t do this right now I feel too overwhelmed and I hate everything I own.”

Marko leapt off the bed at your words, “absolutely baby!” He checked his watch, “we’ve still got two hours before the concert starts, plenty of time for a little fashion show!”

Dwayne picked you up from the pile and maneuvered you into his lap gently, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting hug. While Marko dug through your clothes for pieces to put together.

Paul, now bored as Marko’s attention had been turned, stood up and moved to your bathroom to start rummaging through your drawers. “Can I do your nails?” He asked.

You grimaced at the proposition of the most jumpy boy you knew painting your nails, but you knew it’d make him happy. “Sure,” you sighed.

Paul poked his head out of the bathroom doorway and beamed at you, before striding back into your bedroom, bottle of black nail polish in hand.

He sat across from you as Dwayne loosened his hold on you so you could lean forward. Paul took your hand and placed it on his knee, unscrewing the cap of the nail polish and beginning to brush it onto your nail…and half your finger.

You laughed quietly as Paul’s tongue popped out of the side of his mouth in concentration, his brow furrowed as he desperately attempted to keep the polish straight.

David quirked his brow from his place leaning against your drawer as he caught sight of what Marko was putting together.

David grabbed a boot and held it up, “how do we feel about pikes?” He asked.

Your face twisted as you pursed your lips.

He sighed, “ok then,” he grabbed your favorite pair of sneakers, ones Marko had painted little bats on a while back, and held them out to you, his eyebrows raised in expectantly.

You smiled and nodded your head.

“Great,” he shrugged, putting them aside as he came around to Marko’s side to riffle through your things as well.

“You’re doing great Paulie,” you told the blond vampire in front of you. He’d pulled out some Q-tips and nail polish remover to clean up the mess on your fingers. All things considered it was actually starting to look pretty good.

“Thanks baby,” he winked at you, “want me to do your toes too?”

“No time!” Marko interrupted, “we’ve got a look for you babe, c’mere,” he pushed Paul aside to grab your hands and pull you from Dwayne’s lap.

Neither Dwayne nor Paul was particularly enthusiastic about Marko’s sudden sweeping you away.

“Hey genius, be careful with their hands!” Paul called after him, “he better not smudge my masterpiece,” he mumbled as he crossed his arms.

Dwayne grunted, rolling his eyes as he stood to his feet. He checked his watch, over an hour till they had to head out, more than enough time to have held you a little longer.

Marko waved off their grumpiness as he walked you towards an awaiting David, your clothes in his grasp. “Here you go love,” he said while placing the pieces into your hands, “try these on, you’ll look amazing.”

You kissed his cheek as you took the clothes and walked to your bathroom to change.

“What and now we can’t even watch them change? This is your fault,” Paul accused Marko while pointing.

Marko rolled his eyes, “can you calm down for five seconds?” he mocked.

Paul pondered Marko’s words before flopping onto his back on your bed, “historically? No.” He told Marko while shooting him finger guns.

Marko rolled his eyes.

You came out of the bathroom wearing a plain black shirt, black pants, and a confused expression. “What the hell guys,” you scrunched your nose in disgust, “this is so boring.”

David shot Marko a knowing grin, “that’s because it isn’t finished yet love. Dwayne? Your necklace?”

You watched in awe as Dwayne pulled the accessory over his head and placed it around your neck. You touched it gently with reverence, “thank you,” you whispered earnestly.

David’s lip curled up into a half-smile as he watched the two of you. He pulled at the fingertips of his gloves, taking them off before walking up to you and slipping them over your hands.

You turned from the smiling Dwayne in front of you to look at the bleach blond vampire beside you. “They look almost as good on you as they do on me,” he teased, kissing your forehead.

You laughed, “I could never compete with you baby,” you promised him as you took his bare hand and placed it on your cheek.

Paul bounded over, breaking up the sweet moment to hold your chin and turn your face towards his. He pulled a ring from his finger and slid it onto yours, over the glove.

Your eyes welled with tears as you realized what your boys were doing. Paul pressed a kiss to your lips and wiped your eyes with his thumb.

“You like baby?” His whispered, “you can keep it sugar, it’s all yours.”

You leaned forward to kiss him again, “thank you Paul, it’s perfect.”

Marko popped up next to Paul, his jaw in his hands as he looked at you with an exaggerated, quizzical expression, “hmmm,” his eyes scanned over your outfit, “it’s still missing something.”

He turned to shrug off his jacket as the other boys stepped back. A gasp fell from your lips as he handed you the jacket. “You can’t be serious,” you said hesitantly, “I watched you punch a guy in the face just for brushing the shoulder of this thing!” You exclaimed.

Marko shrugged, “yeah so I decked some rando,” he laughed, “you’re not some rando, this jacket is mine, but so are you. You’re all of ours.” He helped you into his patchwork masterpiece before placing a kiss on your cheek.

Once the look was complete, Marko took your hand in his, “twirl for us?” He asked you, a mischievous smile stretching across his face.

You rolled your eyes, but let him twirl you anyway, show casing the look they’d put together.

“Perfect,” Marko breathed. You beamed in response.

“Ready to go?” Dwayne asked, “concert starts in forty-five minutes.”

“Ready,” you told them, smiling and offering both Paul and Marko a hand as you walked to the row of motorcycles parked outside your house.

Paul inspected your gloved hand before glaring at David.

“Ya had to do the gloves didn’tcha,” he grumbled, “yeah Paulie, I know you spent all that time doing their nails but lemme put these dumb gloves over them.” He mocked.

You rolled your eyes affectionately before bringing the hand Paul had intertwined with yours, to your lips. “I’ll know how good they look baby, it can be our little secret,” you whispered.

His lips quirked up into a smile as you mounted his bike behind him and slid your hands up to hold onto his chest. “I suppose I could be ok with that,” he told you as he turned around to shoot you a wink.

You laughed as he reved his engine and took off down the driveway, the other boys close behind.

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Taglist❤️:

@dwaynesbiboyfriend @xxryn @anna1306 @pixielostboy @solobagginses @its-freaking-bats @misslavenderlady @ghoulgeousimmaculate @6lostgirl6 @bloodywickedvamp @altierirose

[pizzastallion]

Is the militarization of cat girls a reaction to the violence that is normalized against AFAB children and animals?

Is it an unconscious parody of the way military industrial complex has crept into every part of the American psyche?

Someone with more knowledge of cat girl history please help me understand

Mercenary nap!

[littlereadsandteas]

First Officer Una finds herself fighting to survive an untamed wilderness where dangers lurk at every turn. Young cadet Nyota Uhura struggles in a volcanic wasteland where things are not as they seem. Science Officer Spock is missing altogether. And Pike gets the chance to fulfill a childhood dream: to live the life of a cowboy in a world where the tools of the 23rd century are of no use.

Yet even in the saddle, Pike is still very much a starship captain, with all the responsibilities that entails. Setting out to find his crewmates, he encounters a surprising face from his past—and discovers that one people’s utopia might be someone else’s purgatory. He must lead an exodus—or risk a calamity of galactic proportions that even the Starship Enterprise is powerless to stop....

When an experimental shuttlecraft fails, Captain Christopher Pike suspects a mechanical malfunction—only to discover the very principles on which Starfleet bases its technology have simply stopped functioning. He and his crewmates are forced to abandon ship in a dangerous maneuver that scatters their party across the strangest new world they’ve ever encountered.

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (AOS Edition) Chapter Eight

AOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Eight: Aboard the Narada

Summary: Kirk, Spock, and (Y/N) go up against Nero and the Narada.

            After it took some time for Spock to return, (Y/N) did get up to check on him. They knew he might be with his parents, but they needed to check on him—they couldn’t just wait around if he wasn’t alright.

            Knowing where he’d go for peace, quiet, and calm to compose himself, (Y/N) walked to Spock’s cabin. They knocked on the door and called, “Spock?”

            “You may enter,” said Spock, and (Y/N) pressed the button to slide the door open.

            They stepped inside and found Spock sitting at his desk, readings and charts in front of him. He was already attempting to work.

            “How are you doing, Spock?” said (Y/N), walking to his side.

            “I am plotting a course that would hide the Enterprise behind a moon near Celia. Nero wouldn’t be able to sense us, and we could beam aboard as long as the drill is not activated,” said Spock.

            “That’s a good plan, Spock, but that’s not what I meant,” said (Y/N). Spock stilled, and (Y/N) sighed. They reached out and turned his chair so that he faced them. “Kirk provoked you into showing emotion. I know that you dislike it. So, I’m asking, how are you doing?”

            “I am…better,” said Spock. “I have composed myself. My Father and Mother are quite considerate.”

            (Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad you have them.” They reached out and squeezed Spock’s shoulder. “And Spock, I want you to know that I don’t see you differently.” They smiled encouragingly. “I would never make you express your feelings, but I also don’t judge. What happened wasn’t your fault, and your reaction wasn’t your fault, either, other than the violence. But you’re still Spock. And that’s what matters.”

            Spock reached up and touched (Y/N)’s forearm, close to their hand. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

            “Of course, Spock.” (Y/N) tilted their head. “Now, are you ready to head back to the Bridge?”

            Spock stood and nodded, but his hand continued to rest on (Y/N)’s arm. “I am.” He only let go when they stepped outside of the room.

l

            “From there, as long as the drill is not actiwated, we can beam aboard the enemy ship,” said Chekov, finishing his explanation of the same idea Spock had come up with as he and (Y/N) stepped onto the Bridge.

            “Aye, that might work,” said Scotty.

            “Wait a minute, kid, how old are you?” said Bones.

            “Seventeen, sir,” said Chekov.

            He’s good for his age, thought (Y/N).

            “Oh, good, he’s seventeen,” muttered Bones.

            “Doctor, Mister Chekov is correct,” said Spock, stepping forward. Everyone’s eyes went to him, but he didn’t react, and (Y/N) stood next to him confidently. “I can confirm his telemetry. If Mister Sulu is able to maneuver us into position, I can beam aboard Nero’s ship, steal back the black hole device, and, if possible, bring back Captain Pike.”

            “I won’t allow you to do that, Mister Spock,” said Kirk.

            “Romulans and Vulcans share a common ancestry. Our cultural similarities will make it easier for me to access the ship’s computer to locate the device,” said Spock.

            “I’m coming, too,” said (Y/N). Kirk and Spock’s eyes went to them in alarm, but they put their hands on their hips. “He’s going for Celia, my home. I need to stop him. And my empathy will give us an edge.”

            Spock clearly wanted to say something, but Kirk nodded and honored the decision. “Alright, but I’m coming with you two.”

            “I would cite regulation, but I know you will simply ignore it,” said Spock wryly.

            “See, we are getting to know each other,” said Kirk, patting him on the shoulder.

            They had a plan.

l

            “Transporter Room,” said Sulu over the comms. “We are in position.”

            The Enterprise had finally arrived, and, luckily, Nero had not begun his destruction of Celia. Unfortunately, they had very little time left to act.

            “Really? Fine job, Mister Sulu,” said Scotty, programming the Transporter. “Well done.”

            “How are we, Scotty?” asked Kirk.

            “Unbelievably, we’re ready,” said Scotty cheerfully.

            Kirk nodded and leaned into the communicator. “Whatever happens, Mister Sulu, if you think you have the tactical advantage, you fire on that ship, even if we’re still onboard. That’s an order.”

            Spock and (Y/N) nodded behind him. They understood the gravity of the situation.

            “Yes, sir,” said Sulu.

            “Otherwise, we’ll contact the Enterprise when we’re ready to be beamed back,” said Kirk.

            “Good luck,” said Sulu.

            Kirk stopped the communications and stepped onto the Transporter Pad with (Y/N) and Spock.

            “You two ready?” asked Kirk.

            “Yes,” said Spock.

            “As I can be,” said (Y/N).

            “Okey-dokey, then,” said Scotty. “If there’s any common sense in the design of the enemy ship, I should be putting you somewhere in the cargo bay. There shouldn’t be a soul in sight.”

            “Energize,” ordered Kirk.

            The three dematerialized.

l

            They rematerialized in a large, exposed area that was decidedly not a cargo hold. Instantly, several Romulans spotted them and shouted in Romulan. They grabbed phasers and fired at the trio. (Y/N), Kirk, and Spock ducked behind several boxes and pieces of machinery. The Starfleet officers pulled out their own phasers and shot back. Luckily, although the firefight was adrenaline-inducing, Kirk, Spock, and (Y/N) were the better shots and either killed or incapacitated their opponents (though not before one alerted Nero to their presence).

            “That one’s still alive,” murmured (Y/N), gesturing to a fallen Romulan. “Spock, you get the information from him.”

            “We’ll cover you,” said Kirk.

            “Are you certain?” said Spock.

            “Yeah, we’ve got you,” said (Y/N).

            Spock darted forwards towards the Romulan while Kirk and (Y/N) kept their phasers at the ready. Preparing for the Mind Meld, Spock placed his fingers on the Romulans temple, and (Y/N) and Kirk crouched beside him warily. Another Romulan snuck up while Spock closed his eyes, but Kirk shot him.

            “Do you know where it is? The black hole device?” asked Kirk.

            “And Captain Pike,” said Spock, opening his eyes.

            (Y/N) let out a breath of relief that Pike was still alive. Spock led the way through the ship, and all three kept their phasers up, alert to any approaching enemy. (Y/N) in particular pushed away Kirk’s emotional aura to focus on any sign of Romulans.

            Little did they know that far below them, the drill had begun to dig into Celia, and the Celians were running in fear to try to save their planet. The Enterprise needed to act soon.

            Spock, Kirk, and (Y/N) came to a halt in front of the jellyfish-like ship that contained the black hole device.

            “I thought the device was the Romulans’,” murmured (Y/N). “But this looks stolen.”

            “Who knows,” said Kirk, a flash of nervousness going through his aura. (Y/N) narrowed their eyes but followed him onto the ship.

            “I foresee a complication,” said Spock as they entered. “The design of this ship is far more advanced than I’ve anticipated.”

            “Maybe it’ll have some sort of automation,” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “Voice print and face recognition analysis enabled,” said the computer’s voice suddenly. “Welcome back, Ambassador Spock, Ambassador (Y/N).”

            “Wow, that’s weird,” said Kirk evasively, moving onward.

            Spock and (Y/N) exchanged a look. Something was going on right beneath their nose.

            “Computer, what is your manufacturing origin?” said Spock.

            “Stardate 2387. Commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy,” said the computer.

            (Y/N) crossed their arms. The future. And Kirk had kept the knowledge hidden.

            The pair followed Kirk into the cockpit, and Spock attempted to confront him.

            “It appears that you have been keeping important information from us,” said Spock.

            “You’re going to be able to fly this thing, right?” said Kirk, ignoring the question. (Y/N), by this time, had realized he wasn’t going to answer anything.

            “Something tells me I already have,” said Spock.

            “Good luck, Spock,” said (Y/N), reaching out to touch his arm. “Live long and prosper.”

            Spock gazed back at them fondly and nodded. He knew they needed to go with Kirk to find Pike and help with any psychological damage, but it still frustrated him to put them into harm’s way without him with them.

            “Live long and prosper, (Y/N),” said Spock.

            (Y/N) stepped out of the cockpit.

            “Good luck,” said Kirk, turning to leave.

            “Jim,” said Spock. “The statistical likelihood that our plan will succeed is less than 4.3%.”

            “It will work,” said Kirk.

            “In the event that I do not return…” said Spock. “Please tell Lieutenant (L/N)—”

            “Spock.” Kirk gazed at Spock with firm intensity. “It’ll work.” He turned and left.

            Spock sat down on the captain’s chair, and it spun and lifted into the air. “Fascinating.” He gripped the steering wheel. It was time to finish the plan and take down Nero before he could destroy Celia.

            Spock took off.

l

            (Y/N) and Kirk crept through the corridors of the Narada until they spotted Nero himself on a raised platform captaining the ship. Holding their phasers tightly, they walked forward. Nero turned and stared at them, eyes cold but aura full of scathing rage.

            Kirk raised his phaser. “Nero, order your men to disable the drill, or I will—”

            “Captain!” (Y/N) pushed him out of the way as another Romulan jumped out of the shadows, his emotions coming out from the cloud of Nero’s a moment before he attacked.

            They tried to block it, but the Romulan swung hard with the butt of his gun, and (Y/N)’s phaser fell off the walkway, down hundreds of meters below. Kirk stumbled and raised his phaser, but the Romulan’s strength barreled into Kirk and sent him flying. Lacking phasers, (Y/N) and Kirk scrambled back. Already, though, the Romulan was raising the phaser. Nero let out a roar of anger and ran towards them. (Y/N) flinched at the burn of his fury against their skin.

            Nero grabbed (Y/N) by the shirt and raised them up.

            “(L/N)!” said Kirk, but the other Romulan hit him with the phaser again to keep him down.

            “I know your face from Celian history,” sneered Nero.

            He threw them back, and they hit the walkway hard. He dragged them up and punched them. (Y/N) grunted, but they grabbed his arm and let fear flash through him. Nero let out a cry and let go. The sudden emotion was overwhelming, and (Y/N) panted as they tried to pull themself away while he recovered.

            Nero lunged towards them again, and (Y/N) rolled to the side. He reached out and dragged them back, careful to restrain their arms.

            “(Y/N) (L/N) is considered quite the empath,” he sneered. “Went far in life. Got the Crown of Radiance.” One hand moved to (Y/N)’s throat. “But that was another life. A life I will deprive you with.”

            “(L/N)!” shouted Kirk, trying to keep them focused as the edges of their vision blurred without air.

            “Captain Nero,” alerted a lieutenant in Romulan. Nero’s head jerked up. “The Vulcan ship has been taken. The drill has been destroyed.”

            “Spock,” spat Nero. His eyes went back to (Y/N). His grip tightened. “I’m going to kill you…I wanted to punish you, too, but at least this way I’ll really wrench his heart from his body. Your death with destroy him.”

            The threat towards Spock refocused (Y/N), and in a surge of their own anger, they lifted a heavy leg and kicked Nero. Not expecting it, he jerked back from them, and (Y/N) coughed to regain their breath.

            Getting to their feet, they stumbled away from him, and Nero narrowed his eyes, moving to take a step towards them.

            “Captain, the Vulcan is escaping!” alerted his lieutenant.

            Nero let out an angry growl, turning and jumping to the platform to direct guns and artillery instead of fighting against Kirk and (Y/N). In his mind, it wasn’t like they had a chance on his ship under his men’s surveillance.

            “Spock! I should have killed you when I had the chance,” spat Nero after opening the channel to the Vulcan ship.

            “I hereby confiscate this illegally obtained ship and order you to surrender your vessel,” said Spock, logical as ever.

            It infuriated Nero, and (Y/N) let out a laugh, joyous that Spock had saved Celia and was still angering Nero. They loved a brilliant man.

            “That ship, take it out!” shouted Nero.

            “Sir, if you ignite the red matter, you will destroy—”

            “I want Spock dead now!”

            Missiles sped after Spock, but he moved into warp. (Y/N) smiled. He had gotten a hold on steering the futuristic ship.

            “He went into warp, sir.”

            “Go after him!” Nero was a flame of anger standing before his men.

            “Yes, sir.”

            (Y/N) and Kirk exchanged a glance. Nero was focused on Spock. That meant less trouble for them. They slowly stood, and the Romulan guard eyed them warily. He took a step towards them, but (Y/N) and Kirk launched themselves from the platform and landed on another walkway far below. Kirk nearly slid off the side, and (Y/N) grabbed him to haul him up. The guard landed behind them and scoffed at them.

            “Your species are weaker than I expected,” he sneered.

            (Y/N) spun from their crouching-position on the floor and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground, and Kirk grabbed his phaser.

            “Sure, but we’ve survived this far,” said Kirk. He fired.

            (Y/N) looked around. “We should find Pike before Nero looks for us again.”

            “Right,” said Kirk.

            As they ran according to Spock’s previous information, they heard firing and shots outside. Undoubtedly, the Enterprise had entered the fray, and Nero had caught up with Spock. They had precious few minutes left.

            Kirk and (Y/N) came upon a platform with a row of dentist-like chairs. Laying in one, Pike looked worse for wear. Kirk shot the guard before he saw them, and he and (Y/N) quickly moved to Pike’s side.

            “What are you doing here?” groaned Pike.

            “Following orders,” said Kirk, unstrapping him.

            “Here, Captain,” said (Y/N), reaching out and touching his arm.

            Pike let out a sigh as (Y/N) focused intently on the sensation of his pain—harder to manipulate since much less of a feeling—to alleviate his agony.

            “Thank you, (L/N). That’s enough,” said Pike, trying to push them away. “Don’t take so much onto your shoulders.”

            “I’m fine, sir,” said (Y/N), but they obeyed and let go.

            In an instant, Pike grabbed the phaser from Kirk and fired upon several Romulans approaching. Despite his exhaustion, he would fight to the end. That was the type of Captain he was.

            Kirk blinked in surprise and quickly helped him down from the chair. (Y/N) took a phaser from the fallen Romulans and tossed another to Pike. They were ready in case anyone else approached.

            Pulling out the communicator, Kirk said, “Enterprise, now.”

            White light swirled around them, and they began to dematerialize. On the Vulcan ship, Spock followed suit due to the order to Scotty in the Transport Room. However, despite his disappearance, the ship—containing red matter—continued its course towards the Narada.

            Nero watched as Spock’s ship slammed into his own as he lost. He let out a furious scream.

l

            Spock, (Y/N), Kirk, and Pike rematerialized in the Enterprise together.

            “Great timing, Scotty!” said Kirk, supporting Pike.

            “I’ve never beamed four people from two targets onto one pad before!” said Scotty, exhilarated.

            “Spock, you’re alright!” said (Y/N).

            “(Y/N),” breathed Spock, nearly expressing his relief.

            Unable to help themself, (Y/N) hugged Spock. Equally adrenaline-filled from nearly crashing into the Narada, Spock hugged them back. The two held each other tightly, relieved to be alive and together once more, victorious against Nero.

            “Jim!” said Bones, running into the room to help.

            “Bones!” said Kirk, glad to see his friend.

            (Y/N) and Spock separated and looked at Pike as Bones helped support him. Two other medical officers began scanning Pike, and (Y/N) and Spock watched him be guided out.

            “That was pretty good!” said Scotty, but everyone was already running out to either get to Medbay or the bridge. He pouted.

l

            Grinning in relief, Chekov reported on the situation as Kirk, Spock, and (Y/N) entered the Bridge. “Captain, the enemy ship is losing power. Their shields are down, sir.”

            “Hail them now,” said Kirk, focused.

            “Yes, sir,” said Uhura, opening up communications to the breaking Narada.

            As the channel was opened, the red matter began to explode into a singularity within the Narada. The danger for the Enterprise and its crew wasn’t over, either. But Kirk was doing the honorable thing and offering to save the Romulans’ lives. That was the type of captain he was.

            Nero’s face appeared on the shaky communication channel. The exploding Narada and black hole made up a crisis of a background.

            “This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise,” said Kirk with (Y/N) and Spock beside him. “Your ship is compromised—too close to the singularity to survive without assistance, which we are willing to provide.”

            Spock turned around and whispered over his shoulder, “Captain, what are you doing?”

            “Showing them compassion may be the only way to earn peace with Romulus,” murmured Kirk. “It’s logic, Spock. I thought you’d like that.”

            “No, not really. Not this time,” said Spock. He was fine with letting Nero die.

            “Well, at least (L/N) will think it’s diplomatic. That’s one of their specialties,” said Kirk.

            “I don’t negotiate with terrorists,” said (Y/N).

            Kirk winced. These two made quite the pair.

            “I would rather suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times,” spat Nero in response to Kirk’s offer. “I would rather die in agony than accept assistance from you.

            Kirk’s gaze was firm as it landed on Nero. He had made his offer; Nero had rejected. There was nothing more to do.

            “You got it,” said Kirk. The viewscreen shut off. Kirk turned away, and (Y/N) and Spock took their stations. “Arm phasers,” he ordered. “Fire everything we have.”

            “Yes, sir,” said Sulu.

            The Enterprise fired all of its phasers as long as it cut, cutting the Narada to pieces as the two halves cleaved by the black hole were pulled within. As the Enterprise crew watched, the squid-shaped ship disappeared into the singularity. The Narada, Nero, and his crew were gone.

            But there was no peace. The black hole was already pulling on the Enterprise, and a large red warning flashed on the viewscreen.

            “Sulu, let’s go home,” commanded Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Sulu, punching into the computer.

            The Enterprise turned and tried to fly away, even as the singularity’s gravitational field pulled at it.

            “Why aren’t we at warp?” asked Kirk.

            “We are, sir,” said Sulu.

            “Kirk to Engineering, get us out of here, Scotty!” said Kirk.

            “You bet your ass, Captain!” said Scotty over the comms. “Captain, we’re caught in the gravity well. It’s got us!”

            “Go to maximum warp!” said Kirk.

            “I’m giving her all she’s got, Captain!” said Scotty.

            But the Enterprise was just falling closer to the black hole. Cracks from the pressure exploded up the sides of the Bridge, and the ship shook. Everyone tensed, and Spock and (Y/N)’s eyes went to one another to check on each other.

            “All she’s got isn’t good enough!” said Kirk. “What else you got?”

            “Okay, if we eject the core and detonate, the blast could be enough to push us away,” said Scotty, making a crazy suggestion. “I cannot promise anything, though.”

            “Do it, do it, do it!” shouted Kirk as the cracks spread.

            Scotty obeyed and ejected the core. The pieces of it fell into space towards the singularity. Scotty squeezed his eyes shut and detonated. A large explosion of silver light and energy went off behind them. A wave of pure power spread out from the center and surged over the Enterprise.

            The ship shook, and everyone held on to their seats for dear life as they surfed the wave of explosive energy. Spock and (Y/N) instinctively reached out and steadied one another protectively.

            The Enterprise was propelled out of the pull of the singularity, shaky but intact. Instantly, they were flying away as fast as they could go, and a sigh of relief went up in all quarters. Spock and (Y/N) let go of one another as Kirk turned and looked back at them. He smirked, and they avoided his gaze.

            Kirk began to laugh as the adrenaline continued to course through him, and his grin refused to be wiped away. They were alive. At the console, Sulu began to smile, and Chekov let out a chuckle. Slowly, smiles and relieved joy at being alive spread through the bridge, and (Y/N) let out a laugh as the soft warmth of happiness washed over them. After so long without it, it was rejuvenating even to feel others’ joy.

            “We’re alive,” said (Y/N), leaning back in their chair. “We’re alive, Spock.”

            He smiled ever-so-slightly and gazed at them. “We are.”

Taglist:

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[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Hiya star!!! Happy 100 umm

“Louder. Let them hear you.” With Jake okay bye

Hi Pike! Thanks for this ask, Lovely! It kind of ran away from me, and is way longer than I expected. But, I hope you like it!

Complete Mess (You Make Me)

It wasn’t often that Miramar had two squadrons operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. After all, NAS NI already had the Dagger Squadron permanently stationed on the premises. But sometimes, a mission came up that required two squadrons. Twenty-four of the Navy’s best on one tiny air station already stuffed to capacity with ego and testosterone. It’s a nostalgia trip for most of your squadron, yourself included. It’s been four years since you’d graduated from Top Gun and you are wholeheartedly looking forward to running amok in San Diego with your squadron in tow. 

Of course you hadn’t expected to see some old friends when you walked into the Hard Deck. Fanboy, Bob, Rooster and Phoenix, you adored. It was great to see them all again and to introduce them to your own squadron. It was Jake Seresin, or Hangman you couldn’t stand. He’d been in your Top Gun class and every day had been an endless competition between the two of you. He’d cut into you with every word he spoke and you’d returned fire just as readily. It had gotten so bad that at one point in time, Cyclone and Warlock had forcibly separated  the two of you. You’d been forbidden from flying with him, but there was only so much they could do when the two of you were flip-flopping in and out of the number one spot. And now, so help you, you need to somehow work with him for this mission.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Starling!” He’s smirking when you walk up to the pool table with Fanboy’s arm around your shoulder. “Are you living up to your birdie flying name yet?”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t ole Hangy!” You lean over the pool table and nab the eight ball just as he tries to hit it, tossing it idly from hand to hand. “What’s up, old man? Leave anyone hanging? Or are you still letting your juniors get the better of you?”

You don’t even try to hide your smug smile as he fumes at you. The rest of the night, you happily avoid Hangman as much as humanly possible, smirking in his direction only to see him squirm as you dance with Rooster a bit later.

That one set of interactions sets the tone for the rest of the training for the mission. It’s like being back at Top Gun the first time all over again. Except this time, it’s worse. The chip on your shoulder is bigger than ever and he seems to get under your skin more than ever too. It’s just pure luck now that the two of you can run the training course blindfolded when you’re paired up. So even if you’d like to avoid him, you can’t. It doesn’t help either that he’s so damned hot now that you can see past his ego. You’ve woken up more than once in the middle of the night dreaming of his hands on your skin and his smart mouth occupied by other things. 

But your mouth is just as smart as his, and you shouldn’t have said what you did in the heat of the moment. The two of you had been walking back to the pilot’s ready room while discussing your latest run. He’d been on you since the two of you had landed about your prowess, or lack thereof on one of the maneuvers Admiral Mitchell had the combined twenty-four aviators practicing today. 

“Starling, you have to move faster! When we hit the inversion at the top of the course, you have to drop down and pop the first missile immediately! If you wait any later, you’re going to miss the shot every time!” He’d actually been pretty nice when he’d said that.

“I know, Bagman!” Your frustration at yourself was at an all time high as you spat the words out. “I just can’t get the targeting to stabilize when I level out.”

He’d been smarmy as he replied, “Oh, baby. You just need to get fucked, then everything will level right out.”

That nearly innocent comment, though you’ve heard it before, sets you off. You poke your finger into his chest as you spit, “I’m not your baby, Seresin. And honestly you’d be the last man I want to get fucked by. Isn’t that what your ex-fiance said that night in the Hard Deck when she dumped your ass for your brother’s? What makes you think that you’d be good enough for a fellow pilot when you couldn’t even keep someone your equal in intelligence?”

You’re not expecting to hear the entirety of both your squadrons fall silent as they’re chatting in the background. You’re also not expecting to see Jake’s face blanch before a blush sets high in his cheeks. He surges forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as he herds you towards the nearest wall. The thud of your head smashing against one of the many pictures on the wall is loud in the silence. As your ears ring from the impact, you can hear the whispering from the others as they stare at you in shock. You can also see the pain swimming in Hangman’s eyes as he stares down at you.

“What the fuck is your problem, Starling?” His voice is a growl as he glares at you. “My observations up in the air were right and you know it! You don’t have to bring up something that happened four years ago because you don’t like that I’m trying to keep your ass alive when we get sent up there every time.” His voice is a dry chuckle as he pulls his hands away from where they’d been wrinkling your flight suit. “Yeah, y’all heard right. The womanizer Hangman. He got left in favor of his own fucking brother. I’m a terrible human being. I’m unlovable. There’s a reason why I stick around for a good time, not a long time.”

You’re futilely reaching for him when he whirls around and strides out of the room with his shoulders up around his ears. That’s when the full weight of your words hits you. When you step away from the wall, glass pieces tinkle to the floor. You feel terrible, and even more so when you see disappointment on your friend’s faces. Things between Hangman and Rooster have never been smooth, but even he’s looking at you like you fucked up. The worst part is, you know you did. The shadow of your words follows you as you slink out of the room, going in search of Jake. 

He’s pacing in the hallway outside, dragging his hands through his hair as he tries and fails to calm down.

“Umm, Jake?” Your voice is hesitant as you reach for his arm.

“What do you want, Starling?” You’ve never heard him so dejected, so beaten down.

“I need to talk to you.” You’re wringing your hands together when he places his hand on your elbow and pulls you into a nearby supply closet.

“You’ve got me. Now talk.” Your heart aches, hearing the pain in his voice.

“M’sorry, Hang - Jake. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Please, let me make it up to you. I was wrong to throw that in your face. And you were right about our training run.” You can barely see his face in the dim light bulb’s light.

His snort is derisive. “So what? You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His breathing is heavy in the small room. “I’ve been trying to be nice to you, to be friendly the entire time we’ve been training for this mission. And you’ve been a real bitch, you know that? The worst part is, you’re gorgeous, gorgeous and smart and sweet. You’d be perfect for me if you’d just get over whatever it was that you think I did and just give me a chance. But that’s not possible right? I’m just dumb unlovable Hangman to you.”

You can’t help yourself, not anymore, when you surge into his arms and smash your lips to his. His stuttering intake of breath is incredibly sweet as his hands rise up to rest gingerly on your hips. It’s a gentle press of your lips to his for several moments before you pull away.

“I was wrong, Jake. So wrong. Give me that chance? Please? You’re under my skin. So far, I don’t know where it even started. Let me prove that you’re worth loving?” You can see his lips part before he dips down to kiss you carefully again. This time, you taste the coffee on his tongue, as well as something intoxicating, something Jake that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of. It’s not long at all before you’re panting against his mouth as his hands divest you of your flight suit. It’s wet and filthy as he presses you up against one of the walls, facing it, and tugs your panties to the side.

“D’you want this, sweetheart?” His voice is tense, and your combined ragged breathing fills the small space as you try to think of the words. His blunt, calloused long fingers are teasing your sopping cunt with each word, before he tugs the cups of your bra down. The first touch of his hands on your skin has you finally gasping your response.

“Yes, Jake. Please! I want you. I want you so badly. M’on birth control. Please.” His answering groan as he presses a kiss against the side of your neck is paired with his cock pressing gently into your waiting heat. Inch by inch, he presses into you, the stretch of his length as he splits you open sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. Your mouth is spread in a silent scream when he finally bottoms out in you.

“Y’good, baby doll?” His voice is a barely contained hiss in your ear as he pulls you close, his hands trailing soothingly along your sides. 

“M’good, so good.” You’re nearly delirious already, strung out on the feeling of his thick length buried deep in you. His answer is to begin to piston his hips. Each thrust sends electricity through your veins as you’re squished between the wall and his muscular body. You’ve got your hand over your mouth, muffling the strung out squeals he’s wringing out of your mouth as he plows into you. You’re going to feel him on you for days. 

“Louder. Let them hear you. Y’feel so good for me, gorgeous. Gonna make you feel so good. We gotta prove you’re mine.” His words send even more arousal dripping through your veins. You can feel the building ache of your orgasm as with each thrust he hits that spot in you that makes you see stars. 

“Jake.” Your voice is a punched out hum as you scrabble to reach for his face. You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Gonna cum. Cum with me, darling?”

“Yeah, baby doll. I’m with you.” It’s only a couple more thrusts before you’re sagging in his arms as the aftershocks of pleasure sing through your veins. In the dim light, he carefully drags a paper towel over your tender folds, pressing a kiss against the small of your back. It’s an uncoordinated fumble as he carefully pulls you into his lap after cleaning you up.

“Where do we go from here, baby?” He still sounds so tired. It makes your heart ache. “Tell me what you said was true? That you’re going to prove to me that I’m worth loving? Cause I don’t think I can go back from this. Not now. Not when I know what you feel like when you cum in my arms.”

“Jake,” You nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms carefully around his waist. “I meant every word. I’m going to make up for being a bitch. And I’m going to show you that you’re not what she said.” 

You can feel his smile against your lips as he kisses you for your words. It’s a feeling, along with the soreness in your cunt, that sticks with you for the rest of the day, especially when he winks at you when the two of you walk back into the pilot’s ready room a while later. Though you definitely wish you had a polaroid camera to memorialize the face Rooster makes when Jake asks you to dinner after the final hop for the day and you tell him to pick you up at 6 that night. 

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Art of the Double-Cross

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Rating: T (allusions to spice, but that’s it)

Word Count: 3200

Warnings: Descriptions of minor peril, enemies to lovers, allusions to violence but no actual violence, I’m choosing not to say much about this because it gives the whole game away. More notes at the bottom.

Summary: “People have been trying to solve the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum theft for decades,” she says quietly, putting her hand on his arm. “Decades, and yet you find the one detail everyone else had overlooked.”

A/N: Gif is Agent Greer because I can't stop thinking about this as "on the job" Marcus Pike lol

Masterlist

Agent Pike moves silently through the abandoned factory, deftly avoiding the pieces of broken glass that litter the floor underneath broken windows. Dust lies thick on every surface, filtering in and out of twin flashlight beams as they bounce slowly down the stale air of the hallway.

It appears as though not one soul has stepped foot in this building for decades.

Agent Pike knows better.

“Where do you think they’ll be?” a voice calls out beside him, the words quiet as thought their owner is afraid of disturbing the grave-like quality of the environment.

“Basement,” he answers at the same volume. “I’ll bet you anything there’s a hatch hidden somewhere.”

At the end of the hallway, the two investigators come to an old door with peeling paint.

“Locked,” his companion mutters as she tests the knob. “Agent, would you mind…?”

Pike nods. Drawing his sidearm as a precaution, he takes a small step backward for stability and then rams his foot into the door just above the lock.

It crashes open with a bang that makes both of them wince.

Peering into the darkness, it’s clear that the room is just as empty as the rest of the factory, so he re-holsters his gun and steps forward.

The woman next to him laughs breathlessly. “That worked well,” she quips.

“What can I say,” he chuckles quietly in return.

The two of them fan out in opposite directions, pacing the perimeter of the room, looking for some method of entry to the space they know is lurking below them.

“Anything?” she asks from the other side of the room.

Agent Pike casts his eyes over an old filing cabinet and down to the floor.

“Nothing,” he answers. “Wait…”

His flashlight lands on a large scuff mark on the ground beside the cabinet.

“What is it?” She crosses the room in an instant, standing beside him again as he examines the mark.

“Hold this.” He hands her the flashlight and moves the large metal object to the side with a grunt—it weighs a ton—but he hardly needs to move it six inches before his suspicion is confirmed: there’s a hidden crawlspace underneath.

“That’s a tight fit, Agent Pike,” his companion whispers after he maneuvers the filing cabinet away from the small opening.

“I think we’ll manage,” he responds with a wry smile.

He lies down on the floor, covering the front of his suit in dust, but he hardly cares—this is going to be the biggest discovery of the art world in a century. Peering down into the black abyss, he signs his flashlight around. It’s just a small room, just as musty and seemingly unused as the rest of the building.

“Clear,” he murmurs under his breath. “I’m going down.”

“Be careful, Agent Pike,” she warns, her eyes wide with trepidation.

“S’alright,” he replies cooly. “Nothing bad down there except for thirty years’ worth of cobwebs.”

He swings his legs over the side and, with a quick, calming breath, lowers himself into the darkness.

“A-Agent?” she calls out from above.

“All good,” he answers. “Need a hand down?”

Agent Pike watches as she carefully dangles her legs in the beam of his flashlight. She shifts, trying to lower herself down while maintaining her grip on her own torch. Suddenly, she slips, a frantic “Oh!” cutting through the silence as she falls through the opening and into his waiting arms.

“That was farther down than I expected,” she confesses. “Thought I was gonna break a leg there for a second.”

He looks deep into her eyes, their faces impossibly close—closer than they’ve ever been.

“Would I ever let anything happen to you?” he asks softly, a tender smile spreading across his face.

Smiling back, she shakes her head.

“No,” she whispers.

“No,” he agrees. “Now let’s go recover some stolen art, huh?”

Together, they turn, flashlights pointed toward the far side of the small room. And there, in the harsh light, is the most amazing sight Agent Pike has ever seen in all his years on the job.

His heart is pounding as he hastily takes inventory.

Vermeer. Three Rembrandts. Five Degas. Flinck. Manet. Chinese gu. French Imperial Eagle.

“It’s all here,” he whispers. If she notices how rough his voice is with emotion, she doesn’t mention it. “Every piece.”

“People have been trying to solve the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum theft for decades,” she says quietly, putting her hand on his arm. “Decades, and yet you find the one detail everyone else had overlooked. The one little detail that brought us here to this abandoned paper mill in the middle of nowhere, Texas.”

“Middle of nowhere?” Agent Pike teases. “This is my hometown. Why else do you think I recognized the residue on the footprint immediately?”

“They’ll be writing books about this moment, Agent,” she says reverently.

“Wow,” he breathes, not able to take his eyes off of the priceless collection for one moment. “Books, huh?”

“Unfortunately, they won’t be ending the way you envisioned. This is the end of the line, Pike.”

Suddenly frowning, he whirls around.

“What do you mean?”

Her face is a maelstrom of regret as she slowly draws her sidearm. “I’m sorry, Agent.”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m double crossing you.”

“What?”

“Y’know, I’m working with the uh… um… the bad guys.”

“…What?”

Completely and utterly bewildered, Marcus cocks his head to the side and scratches his head.

It’s such a comical sight that you start to laugh.

…Three Hours Earlier

“I wanna know…” you say teasingly, sloshing the amber liquid in your glass around in a circular motion as you stare at your boyfriend across the tabletop, “…what’s like, your craziest fantasy? Like the weirdest fucking thing.”

The drink buzzes pleasantly in your system, making your tongue loose and your motions languid.

It gives Marcus the giggles.

He looks back at you with a cheeky expression, raising his eyebrows saucily as he takes another sip of his drink. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he says with a grin.

“‘S’why I asked,” you say indignantly. “Obviously.”

He laughs for a moment, then sets his drink down with a thoughtful look. “I don’t… I don’t know,” he begins. “I mean, I feel like you and I have… done just about everything,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink as he talks. “We’re pretty adventurous, after all. Anything I would have considered to be a fantasy, we’ve already done.”

You smile back at him, hundreds of memories swirling through your head at his words—flashes of images containing some of the wildest, dirtiest, and best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

“That’s such a cop-out, though,” you pout, sticking out your lower lip. “There’s gotta be something. A daydream. A—A scene from a movie, anything.”

Marcus shrugs and holds out his hands. “I’ve got nothing,” he chuckles. “Well, nothing sexual, I suppose.”

The qualifying statement makes your ears perk up. You set your glass to the side and put your elbows on the table, your face resting in your hands as you lean forward and look expectantly at him. “Go on…”

“Oh—I just… No, there’s—haha—there’s nothing, I was—I don’t know why I said that.”

You lean further forward, almost halfway across the table, eyes boring into his with a challenging stare.

“Spill it,” you demand giddily.

Marcus’s face has gone from pink to beet red. Still chuckling, he breaks eye contact, staring down at his drink as he seemingly gathers his thoughts.

“I haven’t thought about this in ages,” he murmurs, shaking his head in amusement.

“Thought about what?”

With a heavy sigh, Marcus meets your eyes again. “Okay. So you know the uh, the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum theft, right? Most famous art theft of all time?”

“You may have mentioned it,” you tease.

“No one’s ever found the art,” he says. “None of it. The trail is cold, now, but… I dunno, I just…”

“You’ve fantasized about being the one to recover it,” you offer.

“Silly, I know.” Marcus ducks his head.

“It’s not.”

You look at him—really look at him. You study his warm brown eyes, with the laugh lines that come from his near-constant smiles. His expression is open and earnest, his eyebrows upturned slightly as he takes in your sincere response. His hair, as always, is slightly unruly, even more so tonight after a couple of drinks.

How fucking cute is it that Marcus Pike’s ultimate fantasy is solving a world-famous art heist himself?

You tip back the last sip of your drink and set it down heavily on the table.

“Let’s do it,” you announce.

Marcus frowns in confusion. “Do what?”

Your smile is a sly one.

“We’re gonna re-enact your fantasy.”

Now:

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Marcus says, but his lips are starting to quirk upward in amusement.

You shrug. “Does it have to? This is all just pretend—why can’t I be the bad guy?”

“You’re supposed to be my love interest,” he counters.

“Why can’t I be both?”

“Isn’t the point of fantasy to eventually lean into the uh… romance bit of it?”

“What’s more romantic than a redemption arc?”

“How’s that gonna work, exactly?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say indignantly. “That’ll ruin the whole fucking story!”

“I thought this was my story,” Marcus teases.

“Just trust me on this,” you pout.

Marcus holds up his hands placatingly. “Fine, fine.”

You clear your throat dramatically.

“I’m afraid this is the end of the line, Agent Pike.”

He doesn’t miss how the gun quivers in her hands.

“After all this time,” he remarks softly, shaking his head in equal parts disappointment and heartbreak. “After all we’ve been through together, this is how it ends? Fine. But before you do it, I want you to tell me why.”

“Does it matter?” she asks.

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

At his words, a tear slips down her cheek. “I—I can’t. They… they said—”

“What did they say?” He can’t help the way his voice gentles at the sight of her crying.

“If I don’t go through with this, they—” she hiccups dramatically. “Well, I’d rather the entire place go up in flames, and me with it, than face that fate.”

“Don’t say that,” Agent Pike says firmly. “We can get you out of this, I can help you.”

More tears course down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “It’s too late for that.”

“Why?”

“The failsafe.”

He shakes his head, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s a reason I said I’d rather go up in flames,” she whispers.

It’s then that Agent Pike realizes he can smell the faintest tinge of smoke.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks around the small basement, quickly jumping to action—grabbing the old desk and dragging it to the center of the room below the trapdoor and standing on it and peering into the room above them.

“It’s no use,” she says tearfully. “We’re trapped.”

“No. Don’t say that. Never say that. I’m not giving up.” He jumps down, coming face to face with her. Carefully, so carefully, he takes her face in his hands and lowers his forehead to gently rest against hers. “I said I’d never let anything happen to you, and I meant it.”

“Stubborn,” she laughs shakily.

“Always have been,” he agrees quietly.

“Agent—” she whispers.

“Don’t call me that,” he entreats softly. “Call me by my name.”

“I can’t.”

“You never have,” he says, wondering. “Why?”

“If I let myself… be so familiar, I—”

“You what?”

“I’d never be able to stop,” she says breathlessly.

“Say it,” he commands huskily. “If this is really the end of the line, you’ll say it for me.”

She’s already leaning closer, her eyes half-lidded as they finally give into the pull they’ve felt for so long.

“Marcus,” she breathes—reverently, lovingly, desperately.

It’s the last sound she makes before he presses his lips to hers.

It’s a fervent kiss, spurred on by years of yearning and the peril of their current predicament. His hands grab, clenching around her hips, holding her jaw roughly as he deepens the kiss. She meets him with equal ardor—her teeth nip his lower lip and he groans deep in his throat. Just before he truly begins to lose himself, however, he tears himself away.

“Stop,” he pleads with her. “Stop this. I’ve gotta get you out of here.”

“Marcus—” she starts, but he’s already striding across the room.

“Help me with these,” he orders briskly, grabbing as much of the art as he can carry, climbing back onto the desk, and shoving them through the trapdoor.

He’s not as careful as he’d usually be with the art—hell, he didn’t even take his archival gloves out of his front pocket—but this isn’t exactly what he’d call an ideal situation. Even still, if there’s a chance he can save the art and their lives, well, he’ll damn-well try.

She grabs the Chinese gu and hands it up to him. “You’re beyond crazy, you know that?” she says, shaking her head as he sets it gently on the floor above them.

“So I’ve been told,” he shrugs, jumping down to grab some more.

“It’s why I love you.”

Marcus stops, nearly dropping the Degas he’s carrying.

“Even if we don’t make it out,” she says, her voice wavering slightly, “I’ll have died happy knowing that I told you.”

Marcus squares his jaw, leveling her with an even stare.

“Tell me again when I get you out.”

The smoke is starting to make his eyes water, but he grits his teeth and grabs the last of the art and shoves it through the hatch. Standing on the desk, he extends his hand.

“Come on.”

She hesitates, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“Why are you saving me? I—I tried to kill you.”

Marcus’s eyes soften.

“You’ll have to wait until we’re outside for my answer,” he says with his characteristic wry smile.

Then he grabs her hand and pulls her up with him, not stopping until she’s able to grab the edges of the opening and pull herself up. Taking a brief breath to center himself, Marcus jumps up, just barely able to find purchase, and follows her.

The smoke is worse up here, making both of them cough. He can see flames licking up the door where they had entered, making it look as though all is lost.

“Oh, God,” she wails. “It’s too late.”

“Not yet, it’s not,” Marcus announces confidently. Pressing his hand to his ear, he clears his throat to dispel the smoke, and then speaks.

“Call in the calvary.”

Before she can ask him what he’s doing, he grabs her around the waist and pulls her away from the wall.

“I c-can’t breathe,” she says, panicked.

“It’s almost over,” Marcus says soothingly in her ear. He presses her against his chest, and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait for long before he hears it—the distinct rumble of engines coming from outside the factory. There’s a deafening crash and more dust and smoke fills the air as something smashes through the concrete brick.

She shrieks in surprise, burying her face into the crook of Marcus’s neck as he shields her from the falling debris.

When everything settles, all that the two of them can see is the massive combine tractor now sitting in the middle of the room.

“Wh… wha…” she stammers, too stunned for words.

“Told you this was my hometown,” Marcus reminds her with a grin. “I can’t come for a visit without stopping by the family farm, now can I?”

“Wait… wait—” you hold both of your hands up, forgetting to be in character for the moment. “When was this part of the story?”

“Well, you complicated things greatly by double-crossing me,” Marcus says seriously, “and I had to improvise.”

“With a combine tractor?”

Marcus shrugs. “Why not? My family does own a farm.”

“…Okay.”

“Anyway,” Marcus says pointedly. “We’ve got some art to save and some bad guys to arrest.”

She stares up at the giant tractor in awe. “I… I can’t believe it.”

“What can I say,” he says with a grin, “I always come prepared with a plan B.”

The tractor door opens, and an older man with greying hair, deeper laugh lines, but with a familiar set of warm, brown eyes emerges from the vehicle.

“When you told me you needed me to be ready to crash Bessie into the side of the old paper mill tonight, I thought you were crazy,” the old man remarks. “How did you know it was going to burn down?”

Marcus shoots his father a smile. “Had a hunch,” he says with a shrug, glancing down at the woman in his arms with a fond expression.

“Agent Pike—Marcus—you’re… you’re brilliant,” she breathes, staring up at him.

“Now, I believe plan A was recovering every piece of art that was stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990,” Marcus says. “Do you mind…?”

“I hitched the trailer to the back just like you asked,” the older man says. “How about you an’ me carry this little makeshift museum back to the farm and alert the FBI.”

“Hang on,” Marcus says, gently grabbing her wrist to stop her from leaving his side. “First, we need to address plan C.”

“What’s plan C?” she asks.

“I owe you an answer from before,” he reminds her. “You asked why I saved you after you tried to kill me.”

A solitary tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“I know,” he says softly. “But I need you to know—I did it because I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

Her breath catches in her throat at the adoration in Marcus’s gaze.

“I love you too,” she says breathlessly.

Their lips meet for the second time that night—just as passionate, but far less urgent. He’s in no rush this time, after all. He explores her mouth, his tongue dancing with hers as he tilts his head and presses the length of his body against hers. She gasps softly when she feels his cock starting to stiffen.

“Wait!”

“H-whhuh?” Marcus stutters, appearing dazed.

“Is your dad still in the room?” you ask, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh! Uh… no,” he answers hastily. “No he, uh, he took the art and left already. So we’re alone,” he says, coming in for another kiss.

“Marcus,” you interrupt again.

He makes an impatient questioning noise, his lips still searching for yours.

“Isn’t the building still on fire?”

“Who’s fantasy is this, yours or mine?” he teases.

“I’m just pointing out the continuity errors.”

“We’ll make love as the factory burns around us,” he laughs, capturing your lips with a sweet kiss.

“Or we could just move this to the bedroom.”

Marcus’s eyes darken.

“Yeah,” he agrees huskily. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

You pout your lip coquettishly and stare up at him with exaggeratedly wide eyes.

“Lead the way, Agent Pike.”

**

OKAYYYYYY LOL so this absolute crack fic was based on this meme:

And @littlebirdsbookshelf and I decided that Marcus would ABSOLUTELY fantasize about solving the Isabella Stewart Gardner theft himself LMAOOOOOOOOOO

[demigoddessqueens]

VM + Cassandra with a Assassin's Creed!S/o. Where they seem them do the leap of faith for the very first time.

Nothing says “I love you” than showing your s/o your most grandiose rite of passage

Vex’ahlia - half surprised half nervous for you on the final landing

Keyleth - wide eyed wonder as your robes billow against the wind when you soar

Cassandra - audibly gasps in amazement as you jump off a building, not realizing her heart was beating

Grog - loudly exclaiming when he sees you soar off, wants you to teach him as well

Pike - for a second, she swears you look like Sarenrae’s symbol and she’s fascinated by how you maneuver

Scanlan - the robes, the style, the aesthetic and air that surrounds you! Heart eyes galore! Please teach him!

Vax’ildan - you look otherworldly to him, like something mythic, and it feels as if he has a kinship with you (mostly the stealth)

Percy - at first he thinks it’s for show until he sees how flawlessly you carry yourself through it all to stick the landing, then he’s amazed

[goldkirk]

Places I’ve successfully used my rollator so far

• some of the sidewalks, not all, and they’re usually not equal quality on both sides of the street if sidewalks even exist on a street at all

• Target (except the numbers inside the elevator don’t at all match the numbers of the floors in the shopping center? They’re off by like 3 in any direction? So that went wrong the first couple of times, and it wasn’t just me who hit the wrong floor lol). I was able to get everywhere but some areas were tight maneuvering and I caught my wheels on edges. Idk how people get through those spots on the borrow-able scooters that are wide and long

• QFC. No notes. Zero issues using the rollator there or in its parking lot. Thanks QFC

• the construction zone detour, which led through some spots with no curb cuts and also narrowed sidewalks in places due to fencing and equipment

• Barnes and Noble, which was fully accessible and had a surprisingly huge elevator (I assume for loading book carts and pallets from the shipment-receiving basement level or something)

• the creek walk outside the retirement community that’s wide and fully paved with even smooth concrete. Delightful except for that one guy who stared directly in my eyes for the whole seven seconds I walked into and out of his view from his living room (I assume?) window while I kept checking to see if he was in fact still staring me down. Like what do you think I’m doing that requires you to watch without even a break. Do you think I’m gonna rob you or something just because I’m doing something weird for my age dude

• the intersection by my apartment building. yeesh. Those crosswalks are bad on foot so it was an extra-rattle-y ride with the rollator (but less work thab crossing without it!)

Places I need to try using it still

• the Light Rail, I just am waiting till I need to use it to run an errand next

• the bus system, I already need to run an errand via it but I cannot for the life of me find an answer to what you’re supposed to do if you’re not specifically in a wheelchair but you’re using a wheeled device that’s bigger than a tiny wire mesh rolling shopping bin. So at this point I’m just hoping and praying for a minimally full bus when I do go and a bus driver who can tell me if I need to strap it in or fold it or just hold it or what. Like it’s not a wheelchair or a baby stroller. What are the rules. What is the expectation. I have searched websites and YouTube and Reddit and tumblr and I still haven’t found an answer 🥴.

• Eliott Bay Book Company. This place has internet sites saying it’s wheelchair accessible. I’m confused. I haven’t seen an elevator in it and there’s steps to get in and steps to get up to the second floor and the aisles seemed like some of the corners might be hard, and impossible when it’s crowded. I have doubts. I’d love to find a secret elevator or something but I can’t find the information anywhere on their actual website or Yelp or whatever, it just says “accessible” sooo?

• Parks. I need to figure out which parks are passable with a rollator and which trails or paths are too narrow for it.

• the library. I know it’s accessible already, so it should be simpler than many places. they’re still dealing with that ransomware attack though so I’m not using them frequently aside from though Libby rn

• Pike Place Market. Internet says it’s accessible. my personal experience says I’m willing to be surprised and I’ll be happy if I do see full accessibility. But also that I’ve had a hard time navigating that place when it’s not like, empty, just on two feet soooooo. I’m guessing it’s going to be very hit or miss despite there being some elevators just because of tight areas and weird floor changes and stuff. I do hope I’m pleasantly shocked though when I go!

• the craft store. any craft store. I need yarn and I haven’t been able to make my mind up about it so I need to just go in a store and physically experience the yarn skeins and choose. I don’t expect to have issues there but it might be an adventure in terms of bussing and walking over lol, we’ll see

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Congratulations, you so deserve all the followers and many, many more!!! As you know I am a HUGE fan of Heat and recommend it to all my friends. Anyhoo my ask is ⚖️🤨✨

My wonderful and most prolific cheerleader! I’m SUPER sorry for the ridiculous wait on this, but I finally got around to your wild Marcus Pike/Sex Pollen?! prompt. I really hope I did this sweet boy justice and that all the banter and smut make up for keeping you waiting so long~!

Thanks, as always, to @just-here-for-the-moment for putting up with my ass and beta reading to make sure this wasn’t complete trash and smutty enough.

Disclaimer: Written in 2nd person narrative, you can safely assume our heroine and love/lust interest is a Spanish woman, written by a Latina. Here’s my philosophy on my writing, for further context.

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 17,000

🚨Author chooses not to include detailed warnings, but the following: Mentions of Teresa Lisbon, marriage, con artist behavior, crime, past relationships, unrequited love, sex pollen, deception, undercover work, graphic depictions of unprotected sex, and slight hurt-comfort.

Haze

There was a time when you were simply a skilled vixen – an entrancing, expert wheeler of the power of suggestion who'd been skimming your way through affluent circles from city to city, but never enough to draw attention to yourself. At least unless you wanted to.

Then, it'd all changed with a chance fumble that was spotted by the least likely source.

He'd been the special agent that had ensnared you and brought you into the fold – propositioning you into using your talents to sharpen the skills of the task force he'd taken the lead position in D.C. for. His team admittedly needed the consultation of someone with the experience and sophistication of being entrenched in the art world, albeit from the wrong side of the law. And you fit the bill.

You hadn't had much choice, considering the prospect of prison for your femme fatale lifestyle to date, and the precarious situation you'd been caught in by said special agent. So, you'd agreed to a career as an indentured asset to the bureau, with the tenure of your time working within the task force at his total discretion.

It had been a contentious adjustment.

Part of you was incredulous that you'd been foiled by the likes of Marcus Pike, and part of him was perplexed that rather than be eager to happily oblige the task force – and him, as its leader, you instead were intent to buck all conventions. This included a vexing, seemingly incessant need to push his buttons – buttons he never even knew he had.

Overtime, though, you'd both found a status quo – a begrudging understanding of how you'd each need to operate and let the other maneuver in order for the arrangement to work.

"—Hope you're not having another late night, Savedra. Not with all the work we have to tackle on this case—"

"Ah, I wonder: Was there ever a time in your life that you weren't in your pajamas and nursing your warm milk before Nick at Nite comes on, Pike? That you went out and had fun without fretting over an early bedtime? Don't worry, I'll be in bright and early—"

"That's what you said the last time, though—"

"Extenuating circumstances beyond my control, Pikey boy—"

"A 'couture trunk show' is Manhattan is hardly a good enough excuse to blame as an 'extenuating circumstance'—"

"To someone who wears the same rumpled suits? Oh, I'm sure it isn't. Now c'mon, Pike's Delight, tell me: How hard did the cashier at Kohl's laugh at you when you bought three versions of the same tie on-sale?"

"They did not—! This tie was a gift, actually—"

The pinch between his brows, the twitch of his lips fighting not to pull into a scowl, and the gruff way he countered back were his unmistakable tells that you'd needled him just right.

"You literally wore one that looked exactly like it the other day, and there was the blue version you had on for the inter-agency ops meeting last week—"

"They're completely different colors, though—"

"But they have the same dull polka dot configuration and they're the same exact semi-satin fabric, which makes them different versions of the same tie—"

"Alright, Dandy Lion. Give it a rest, and go before I set a curfew for your comings and goings."

Your smirk had been charming as you turned to lope down the hall towards the elevators, tossing a casual wave over your shoulder.

"Have a nice night, Pike."

The snappy repartee between you two had become notorious within the task force, and many couldn't help be amused – and take bets – on which of the two of you would have the last word, and the best zinger. Pike tended to score the most in the former, while you easily dominated the latter.

Still, though, Marcus found ways to rein you in, and started to take secret satisfaction in exasperating you right back.

"—I do not appreciate you freezing my accounts, Pike—"

"First of all, it's a single account, although I am considering having all your accounts frozen. Even the ones you think we don't know about—"

"That seems punitive and uncalled for—"

"The account in question is a corporate account, Savedra. It is for work-related expenses, not for lavish shopping hauls at Nordstroms—"

"Um, excuse me, that was a work-related expense. You want me to impersonate a wealthy socialite traveling to London for a black-market art auction, remember? I can't seriously be expected to do so without having the latest Fall must-haves—"

"Oh, so three Mooglar dresses and three Loubootan heels are the Fall must-haves, eh?"

Your full lips flattened in that peeved way for a nanosecond – the tell that indicated he'd successfully annoyed you before you placed your hands on your hips and smoothly deadpanned, "It's Mugler and Louboutin, Pike. And yes, they are essential if you want anyone to believe my cover—"

"You can expense one outfit. The costs of the other two will be docked from your stipend for next month—"

"So, it wouldn't be a good time to mention that I also pre-ordered a limited-edition Chanel purse…?"

"…How much?"

"Oh, it's an absolute steal! And, it'll only go up in value—"

"How much, Dandy Lion?"

You knew he meant business whenever he refers to you by your codename.

"Just a little over six grand…"

"That's more than three times your monthly stipend—!"

"…So then you'll let me expense it to the corporate card?"

"...Close the door on your way out, Savedra."

The smug purse of your lips indicated you'd been teasing him, and you confirmed so by chiming over your shoulder as you strolled out, "No worries. I already have a Chanel bag that'll work for the trip."

"Good. I'll make sure to call the Shanell store and let them know to go ahead and cancel that order, then—"

Pausing at the door, you turn to shoot a berating glare at him where he's sat behind his desk, and scoff condescendingly, "Oh my god, you are purposely butchering the label—you know damn well it's Cha-nel, not Sha-nell!"

You see the sly little quirk to the corner of his mouth he coolly veils by dropping his chin low as he shrugs and drawls, "Dully noted, dandelion."

You pursed your lips and grunted a cavalier sound before strutting out, deciding then and there you needed to do some forensic accounting of your own.

According to his records – the ones you pulled up after hacking into the bureau's internal database, Marcus Pike had been an FBI agent from right out of college. Graduating with honors from a Criminal Justice major, he'd been recruited, gotten stellar marks in Quantico, and received several letters of recommendation. He had an impeccable record, and was frankly a poster boy for a government do-gooder.

A few more backdoor breaches and search engine deep dives later, and you were able to paint quite a full picture from the social media collage-like bits of information you were able to access from college buddies, family friends, and federal databases.

Circumventing the encryption of his email provider allowed you an administrator's view of his account, and you were mystified that this man archived so many communications, no matter how inane, dated, or of innocuous consequence they seemed.

At least until you found the consequential stuff.

There was the correspondence with his divorce attorney from over a decade prior, the utility bills for the home he'd once shared with his ex-wife, the frank and disarmingly candid emails between said ex and him – one of which had the doozy of a line: I love you, Marcus, but I don't think I'm in love with you. I'm not really sure I ever was.

You felt guilty reading his response. Not because you were invading his privacy, but because you could feel how sympathetic he was towards basically being told how having married him had been a mistake – that they'd been fools who rushed into it at a young age before they even knew what they wanted in life. His answer, which was brimming with a veiled, resigned sadness to it that tugged at a heartstring – I guess I just got ahead of myself and took you along with me. I'm sorry – was a window into Marcus you didn't expect to get, nor feel deserving of having.

And then seeing the emails between him and an Agent Teresa Lisbon? How they'd gone from platonic forwards of suggested restaurants to check out, to apartment photos sent back and forth between them? Jumping then abruptly to a galling 'Dear John'-style email from her where she apologizes to him and offers to go in person in order to handle the shipping of her belongings back to Dallas, and promising to properly discuss her decision to break things off with him and not take the job he got for her at the D.C. FBI Major Crimes unit after all?

You'd been astounded.

"Did he really ask her to marry him after a couple of months of dating?!" was your flabbergasted rhetorical question to your empty office during the afterhours snoopfest.

Using your powers of suggestion, you'd eventually gotten more of the details from the task force's tech expert who'd come from the Dallas office with Pike, having befriended the congenial guy who tended to get very chatty over caffeinated drink breaks.

"—Totally brutal. Like, one minute he was smitten and cajoling her into picking an apartment, then he was fist-pumping about her saying yes to his impromptu proposal, and boom – she dumps him for Jane. Talk about getting mind-fucked," he prattled on over coffee, none the wiser that you were internally cataloguing everything.

However, this wasn't the usual fact-finding on a mark that you were used to undertaking.

Pike hadn't struck you as a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, and you perplexingly felt complicit in capitalizing on manipulating your way further into the good graces of the bureau thanks to him vouching for you with the powers that be, knowing now how much of a true-blue good guy he was. Even when he was getting his heart torn out and stomped on.

You ignored the thought about the parallels between he and you in that regard.

"—You with us, Savedra?"

Focusing back onto the meeting you're currently in, you curtly nod to Pike and quip, "Yes, I was just thinking about who would be best suited for the undercover side of the operation, since no offense, none of your fellas really fit the bill."

"Oh?" Marcus crosses his arms and leans back into the wall next to the projector screen that's currently displaying the pattern of the art theft ring's hits. "Care to share why you think so?"

Glancing across at the male agents, before arching a brow when you look at Pike, you gesture to the screen and explain, "The museums aren't the pattern; it's what they took that reveals the pattern. The items taken were antiquities – meaning requiring large crates and secure shipping out of country. Antiquity theft is a perfect front for the real heist: Moving narcotics across borders. They get packed in with the stolen piece, and act as payment for the traffickers moving it."

As you explain, you pull out your tablet and take over the screen of the laptop attached to the projector to screenshare several examples of police busts showing drugs packed in with stolen sculptures.

"There is a very elite pool of players with the means and networks to pull this kind of heist off, and based on the size of these antiquities? I think we're dealing with The Jackal."

Everyone exchanges looks of varying degrees of confusion before Marcus furrows his brow and queries, "Who?"

You roll your eyes as you seamlessly pull up the digital dossier that you'd taken the liberty to compile for the meeting. "It's a wonder how this task force is meant to achieve a damn thing, with the lack of intel you guys have involving actual international art theft…" is your aloof musing as you pull up a database cataloguing the thefts of antiquities and ancient artifacts. "So, The Jackal, boys and girls, is the head of an intercontinental ring of thieves operating in the Mediterranean the last five years or so. No one knows his true identity, but many of the buyers who were captured and cooperated with authorities in Egypt and Greece have given details about how they network."

"Ok…and what leads you to believe that no one here is suited to go undercover on this?" Marcus questions, crossed arms tightening as he eyes you intently when you give him a mischievous look.

"So, there's no way to actually infiltrate this ring. Which makes this operation moot. However, if we impersonate the ring to one of the trafficking syndicates, we might be able to find the buyers and retrieve the artifacts. And right now? None of your fellas resemble the description on file for The Jackal—"

"Wait, you want an agent to go undercover as The Jackal?" Marcus cuts in before he braces his hands onto the conference table so he can lean against it after you nod dramatically. "Well then. Care to tell us your plan?"

You do, detailing the honeypot-trap-style plan and how you'd be the facilitator for The Jackal and the targeted traffickers.

"—However, like I said, we don't have anyone who currently fits the bill for The Jackal—"

"And what is the bill?" Marcus inquires before remarking, "You just said so yourself. No one knows what this guy looks like—"

"No, but most do know rumors of what he's supposedly done, and his physical description leaves a lot lacking, but paints a general picture: Tall, broad-shouldered, boxer-like physique, tan skin, dark hair, strong jaw, dark eyes, and a well-kept beard. His demeanor is intense, intimidating, reticent, but quickly prone to violence," you elaborate, pointedly glancing around at every agent at the conference table, silently noting to Pike how none of them fit the description.

"However, I think with some sprucing up and a change of grooming habits, we might have a decent candidate," you remark coolly before you tap on your tablet screen to pull up a current badge photo of an agent in the task force that you think could be transformed to go undercover.

Marcus glances over at his own I.D. photo and watches the gif animation you created that augments his appearance by adding a beard and lengthening his hair slightly.

Some of the other agents have to stifle snickers or check their smirks as you innocently smile at their boss, who is glaring sharply at you.

Needless to say, when it's just you and him in his office after the meeting, you are able to argue your case effectively.

Marcus spends extra time at the gym, and grows out his hair in preparation. He even agrees to allow for your styling of him when the time comes.

A month later, Marcus has grown a beard and let his hair shag out into a more rugged style. You've been covertly taking notice, appreciating how his boring dress shirts now cling to his shoulders and accentuate the muscle of his pectorals and arms. It would still be another month before the seeds you'd planted for the sting operation had taken root, and likely a couple of additional weeks after that to actually execute the operation, so you figured you'd use the time wisely while your guy Pike threw himself into work across the task force's other major cases.

Marcus had gotten to a point with you where he didn't see you just as a rambunctious asset anymore, and with your cooperation and aptitude for the work, he began to categorize you as an integral member of the task force.

After all, you'd ingratiated yourself with the other agents and techs, helped train everyone in how to spot forgeries from the real things, and had volunteered to be the lure on certain cases, as well as his expert when it came to navigating relations with the bigger international agencies. There had been many times now he'd been complimented on the ingenuity of employing you to the cause, and there'd at least been one offer to take you off his hands if he was inclined to part with your expertise and charm.

Marcus took the praise in stride, and summarily declined the offer.

You were smart, resourceful, and masterful when it came to the work. His team was better for it, and he recognized – privately – that he was lucky to have you helping the task force look so skilled in cracking cases.

And the fact you were the most gorgeous woman he'd ever seen wasn't bad, either.

Still, he'd learned his lesson on courting while on the job, and you were definitely not someone he could earnestly consider as, well, anything more than an unconventional resource with a riskily long leash he was responsible for.

However, he debates about how sustainable this whole arrangement was, long-term. He'd gotten better at reading you, though, so he decides to bide his time for the right moment to discuss where your ambitions currently sit. After all, just because you were an 'indentured servant' didn't mean you weren't looking ahead to things – to a life after you'd done your time.

He wondered if you might want to become an in-field consultant, permanently. You'd partnered with the agents on his team on a whole variety of cases, and had earned their respect. Hell, they trusted you, and from what he could see, it seemed to be vice versa with you as well. And with every case you participated in, Marcus saw something new that slowly peeled the mystique and chipped away at the impression he had of you.

From witnessing how truly charming you could be while talking to foreign officials, to how genuinely kind and selfless you'd been when empathizing with victims of a museum heist, to the infectious warmth you exuded when the team was on downtime after a particularly grueling case. All these different facets had started to form a better picture of the woman you really were, and Marcus found himself looking forward to learning more.

When he returns from a short trip to Dallas for a deposition after a couple of days and heads up to the task force's floor to catch up on work late in the evening, he walks by your office and finds you pacing around with your tablet, in the middle of strategizing the big operation.

"That's a big artifact you've pulled from the archive," Marcus comments after he's watched you map things out.

You whirl around and snicker at seeing him lope in to survey what you've pinned to the transparent board in your office.

"Go big or go home, Shaggy," you can't help razz, grinning when he gives you a deriding look. "What? It's a good look for you, Pike—"

"Careful, Savedra. That sounded dangerously close to a compliment," he puckishly taunts and slips his hands into his gray slacks pockets when you squint humorously at him.

"Well, that's because it was," you remark simply, turning to retrieve your stylus from the desk and missing the way his features etched with surprise. "I think another couple of weeks of beard growth, and you'll be ready. Oh! And at some point, we have to go get you fitted for a couple of suits—"

Frowning, he crosses his arms and grumbles, "I have plenty of suits—"

"Correction: You have plenty of sad, drab, 'I clearly work for the FBI' suits. Nothing dashing and stylishly-tailored like what The Jackal has been rumored to wear," is your matter-of-fact counter as you sketch out a floorplan for the honeypot's meet room.

He grunts noncommittally and runs his fingers across his moustache as he looks over the map of the warehouse planned for the fake stolen art depot. "Well, it's a good thing I have a fashionista on the books who'll help spruce up my wardrobe, then, wildcat," he drawls in a raspy musing, and you can't help glance his way and admire the broad set of his shoulders under the gray blazer.

"So, how was Dallas?" you find yourself asking as you busy yourself saving the schematic that's on your tablet screen.

He turns halfway to look at you, as if surprised, before shrugging and recovering the aloof look on his features while he turns back to the board. "It was uneventful," is all he replies, but by the way he balances his weight onto one leg and crosses his arms tight, you can tell he's lying, but trying to be cool about it.

He's lying to himself—trying to convince himself it was uneventful.

You hum, and set your tablet and stylus aside on your sideboard before sitting on the edge of your appointed desk. "Well then, Pike's Delight! Please tell me you'll do something eventful? Have a wild weekend planned? Or are you going to spend it organizing your sock drawer—?"

He turns with a snort to snicker, "Give me a little credit. If you keep the sock drawer organized, you don't have to spend time getting it organized," and at your chuckle, he adds, "I'll spend it likely how I did last weekend—"

"Oh, let me guess: Farmer's market, then back to your place for dinner in front of the TV—"

"…I don't always go to the farmer's market to grocery shop, but yeah, dinner and a movie, sure—"

"Bet things were riotous at the produce stand—Oh! And I bet you watched something racy on Lifetime?" you can't help jibe irreverently as you cross your arms and lean into your perched seat more.

"Nope," Marcus smoothly refutes, before admitting, "It was TCM, and nothing racy."

You smile, truly amused. "Food shopping outside, cooking, and a Turner Classic Movie? Sounds like some action-packed shi—"

"Instead of ragging on it, you should try it out for yourself," Marcus finds himself blurting charismatically before he's registered the gravity of such a proposition. Your features betray mild intrigue, as if you're waiting for him to say something else to signal it's a joke. When he begins to muse, "Ah, I only mean—it's a cool spot with great vendors. I'm not much of a splurger on that kind of thing, but every once in a while, I go and get stuff to whip up a nice dinner—"

"Oh? Have you been holding out on me, Pikey boy? Are you a secret foodie?" you chime with a lilting tone, smile brilliant when he scoffs, as if caught. "You are! Well then, now I gotta see this 'nice dinner' and be the judge of your culinary compétence, cowboy. Although, I'm pretty sure I can whip up a way more delicious supper—"

"I'm gonna have to see that for myself, so it's settled, wildcat."

How you ended up making plans to meet up at the farmer's market on a lovely autumn afternoon to ingredient shop and have a cook-off at Pike's place is beyond you, but then again, he had a way of wearing your guard down into lightheartedness, and it wasn't the first time you'd had fun just bantering with him either. So, here you were, with your canvas tote at your shoulder over your nondescript leather carryall purse as you glance around for the agent in the promenade's foot traffic. Thinking about the puckish smirk he had on his full lips when he called you 'wildcat' – the nickname he seemed to prefer when he wanted to disarm you, while 'dandelion' is what he used when he was charmed by you.

"Well, you actually showed."

You turn to see Marcus in a pair of comfy-looking jeans, light-gray Henley shirt, and dark leather jacket with matching boots and belt.

He eyes you with an appraising glance before admitting, "I had to do a double-take to make sure it was you. I think I've only ever seen you in fancy tailored outfits the entire time you've been with us."

"I'm just channeling a cool and relaxed normie at a farmer's market," you tease as you smoothen down your comfy thin-cotton terracotta sweatshirt, feeling at ease in the formfitting black jeggings and cognac-colored boots.

"It suits you," he compliments before his brain has registered the inappropriateness of it.

You can't help smile before you hand him the shopping tote and deride, "That's quite the compliment, I suppose. Now make yourself useful and carry this so I can have my hands free to peruse, hot stuff."

Huffing in amusement, he takes the tote and falls in step with you as you both start strolling through the bustling outdoor farmer's market.

It's an afternoon filled with light conversation, quipping repartee, and lots of shopping thanks to you both agreeing to a friendly cookoff back at Pike's place. Once your shopping tote is full and he's carrying two paper bags filled with items, you both head down to the nearest metro station and ride the line to his stop.

The walk to his apartment is pleasant, even though you're arguing.

"—Why keep it a secret?"

"Because you'll have a smart remark and develop an instant bias—"

"We're cooking in the same space, Pike—"

"So? You just make your dishes without spying over at mine—"

"Ugh, fine. Oh, we haven't discussed what the winner will get—"

"Lifelong bragging rights?" Marcus proposes smugly as he keys open the entry door and holds it open for you.

"That's it?" you snicker while opening the foyer door and holding it open for him.

"What else is there?" he jokes as he leads the way to the elevator.

Once you're both in and he's pressed the button for his floor, you chime, "How about if you win, I'll quit ragging on you for a week, and if I win, you let me out of my servitude—?"

"That's hardly equal in value, dandelion," is his glib counter as the elevator doors slide open.

"Alright, M. Then what do you propose?" you lilt sardonically while he leads the way to his door and keys in.

Marcus grunts a humored sound, thanks to your James Bond codename reference growing on him the more you use it in convivial conversation.

"Winner gets to pick the movie?" he compromises as he opens his door and gestures for you to enter.

You do so, and take in his bachelor abode with so much veiled intrigue that it takes you a moment to think of a retort to his proposal. "Uh, fine. Sure," you finally singsong, as if resigned to it, but really you don't mind it.

After all, you're too busy admiring the art on his walls.

The apartment was cozy. He had a large L-shaped sectional couch and mid-century modern side tables mixed in with functional bookshelves and accent pieces that made the space warm, yet tastefully elevated compared to the general bachelor pad.

It's an open floorplan, so the kitchen is adjacent to the living room with the island separating the spaces, making it easy for Marcus to catch your appraising surveying after he's set the grocery bags down on the counter next to the stove.

"Alright. C'mon, let me have it," he charismatically jibes, gesturing for you to go ahead and voice your critiques of his place.

You chuckle and shake your head irreverently as you lope over to set down your full canvas tote onto the opposite side of the kitchen island from where he's standing.

"I'm impressed, actually," you tell him honestly, smirking when his brows arch up in surprise. "No, really. Being confronted with proof that you do have good taste is quite gratifying—"

"And there it is," he scoffs and blows a raspberry as he sheds his leather jacket and tosses it onto the nearest kitchen table chair's back before hiking up his Henley's sleeves and drawling, "Alright, Barefoot Contessa, let's get this show going. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Placing your purse on the end table with the lamp and strolling around to go to his sink, you nod towards the record player stand with the organized shelf filled with vinyl albums you spotted next to the entertainment center and remark as you wash your hands, "Impressive collection. What's the last record you had playing?"

He's just finished setting out all his ingredients onto his designated end of the kitchen island when he quirks a taunting brow and drawls, "Nothing you'd be into, I'm sure—"

"Hah, try me. Put it on, and I bet I can guess what it is—"

"If you can't, then you have to tell me your favorite album, and if I don't have it, you have to pull it up on your phone and play it," he challenges with a charming smile as he goes to the record player.

"Deal," you chirp as you take stock of his kitchen before checking in the bottom cabinets for the pots and pans that you'll need.

You get a head start on setting up for your cooking thanks to him fiddling with the record player before you hear the speakers crisply come on as the distinctive intro to the song reverberates through.

At the melodic plucking of guitar strings, you smirk and shout over your shoulder, "'Roundabout' by Yes, off of their album 'Fragile'."

Marcus is impressed, poking his head around from where the wall beam blocks you in the kitchen. "Well, shit. It didn't even get to the chorus—"

"I told you, Pike. I know my stuff," you smugly rub in as you start to chop vegetables on the cutting board you found in the nearest drawer.

"Marcus."

You pause and look back over at him with a curiously arched brow when he lopes in and leans his shoulder against the beam after crossing his arms, casual and relaxed as he stares with warmth in his dark brown eyes at you.

"We're off the clock, so…you can call me Marcus," he elaborates.

"Well then, you do the same," you tell him softly before dipping your chin down to hide your delighted smile as you resume chopping.

He leaves the album to play, and you can see his broad frame near in your peripheral. His baritone is like velvet over steel when he says your name, then rasps, "—We're each doing three courses still?"

Your brain fixates on how Marcus said your first name for the first time. Not the shortened version some of the other agents and techs refer to you by while at happy hour, but your full first name, and he enunciates it the way it's meant to be, which sends an exhilarated, effervescent tickle up your spine.

Heat tingles into the seat of your core, for some odd reason. "Yes. Best of two out of three wins, and gets to pick the movie," is your smooth retort as you cube the rest of the tomato. "Now, quit cheating and go to your corner of the kitchen!"

He chuckles and hops to it, seeming unconcerned with the needing to do any prep for his dishes.

"So, you're into 70's rock?" he queries as he washes his hands in the sink.

"I like all music. But c'mon, that was a classic. Anyone would've guessed right—"

"You'd be surprised," he counters affably as he dries his hands on a dishtowel. "If it isn't from the last decade, most people can't name it—"

"By most people, do you mean 'most women I break out the record collection to' can't name it?" you joke, smirking over your shoulder at him when he turns to look at you coyly. You're tempted to ask, 'Did Agent Lisbon pass your music test?' but decide against it, and instead muse, "Well, lucky for you, I have great taste – in all things."

Marcus glances over at you, and smirks, remarking in a cool hum, "It would seem so."

The cook-off becomes more of a banter session while you both work on your dishes, maneuvering around each other and trying to keep your attention on your individual courses in order not to spoil the surprise of the grand reveals.

"—You were in a band?!"

"Yep. Back in the day—"

"Oh! Let me guess…you played rhythm guitar—"

"Nope! I played bass, and sang vocals. Well, backup vocals, mostly—"

"So you can totally play the bass riff in 'Roundabout', right?"

"Most definitely. Although, don't ask me to sing—"

"I wasn't. I was going to demand that you sing—"

"Quit trying to distract me. I'm doing delicate work here, wildcat—"

"You've literally not started anything on the stove—"

"My dishes are fairly quick, though, so I'm being chivalrous and giving you the advantage…for now," Marcus roguishly quips while seamlessly uncorking a bottle of wine, pouring a serving into a nice glass before handing it to you with easy charm.

You giggle despite yourself before sipping the wine.

Before long, you have enough of your meals in progress that you offer to change the record while Marcus starts marinating and whisking things in the kitchen.

"Oh, you do have my favorite album!" you exclaim convivially, causing Marcus to grin as he seasons his main entrée's protein. "Ok, I'm putting it on, and you better be able to guess—"

"Ah, I will, dandelion. Go on," he lobs humorously over his shoulder as he starts to cook.

The aromatic cornucopia of cooking fills the apartment with so many interwoven scents that it's difficult for either of you to decipher what the other's dishes are, and all his pots and pans have opaque lids, or are in the oven covered with tinfoil.

Marcus is contemplating taking a little peek at one of the simmering pans you have on the back burner when he hears the record start playing.

The instrumental piano bars sound prescient through the speakers, but Marcus knows instantly what album it is.

"That's 'Imagine' by John Lennon, off of the 'Imagine' album," he declares as he gets the griddle hot on the available burner, smiling broadly before asking, "This is really your favorite album?"

"Yes! I love John Lennon—"

"I'm more of a Paul McCartney guy."

And so begins the next round of banter between you.

Soon enough, though, you're both plating your dishes and hiding them on the opposite ends of the kitchen's countertops before Marcus sets the table and brings over the bottle of wine to top off both your glasses.

"—Alright, ladies first," Marcus declares as he sits on one end of the square table.

You are more than happy to go first, believing there's no way he can top any of your three dishes.

"Well, M. First, I present a bruschetta with both heirloom and cherry tomatoes," you place the dish before him, and Marcus marvels at how delicate yet rich all the ingredients look on the toasted crostini-style breads.

"Next, is a black bean and mushroom risotto," is your lilting announcement as you return and place the piping dish down, smiling as he leans forward to catch the curling aroma wafting up from the center of the risotto.

"And finally, herb roasted chicken breast with garlic confit mashed potatoes," is your confident declaration as you place the dish down.

"Wow," is all Marcus can muster as he eyes the gourmet-looking spread you were able to whip up. Begrudgingly impressed, he scrapes his palm along his bearded cheek as he marvels, "This…this is good—"

"You can't say so until you've tried it," you snicker as you sit across from him. "Well? Time to show yours, Mr. Confident."

Marcus's lips quirk at the moniker, and the dark gleam of cocky amusement warms his eyes before he stands from his seat.

"Ok, close your eyes. I'm gonna carry all three out at the same time."

You do as you're asked, smiling goofily at the mental image of him in a ruffled apron effortlessly flouncing around a kitchen with all the dishes balanced in his arms.

"Ta-da!"

You open your eyes, and stare dubiously at the three courses he's placed before you before shooting a snarky stare up at him.

"Oh my god. You literally went the Denny's route?!"

"Hah, Denny's got nothing on any of my dishes! Here is my special vanilla-cinnamon French toast with homemade sausage patties and pure maple syrup. Texas-toast grilled cheese with Monterrey jack and cheddar cheese – with a creamy tomato soup with freshly-picked basil sprinkled on top for dipping. And last, but not least, cheese burgers with lettuce, onion, and tomato, and hand-cut steak fries, with my own mix of salt, pepper and dry-rub buffalo seasoning sprinkled on 'em," Marcus grandly presents and gestures to every dish before giving you a boyish little smile.

Diplomatically, you stand to arrange all the dishes to be within reaching distance for you both before you pat the chair nearest you, indicating he should sit there rather than across from you.

"Ok, cowboy. Let's dig in while it's all still hot!"

You both try each other's dishes, and are blown away by how delicious they are. Then, you eat from your own courses, and trade compliments. Soon enough, the bottle of wine is dry and you're both full – unable to eat another bite. So you help Marcus pack what's left and store it away while continuing to rate which of you won out in the cookoff.

"—How about this: We call it a tie, and we'll surf through the channels until we find a movie we both want to watch?" Marcus proposes as he uncorks the new bottle of wine while you take your boots off and set them aside by the front door.

"No! C'mon, no participation trophy draw," you challenge with a goofy scoff before rounding his couch to meet him halfway to take the offered glass of wine.

"Ok, then you tell me, who medaled in each course?" he derides as he puts the bottle onto the kitchen island and joins you on the sofa with his own topped off glass.

"Hmm, let's see…I think scrumptious breakfast always trumps its challenger, so my bruschetta is out," you rationalize out loud and cross your legs as you lean back into the comfy cushion. At his proud grunt, you quickly caveat, "But! While I really liked your burger, I think my herb roasted chicken was slightly better."

"Alright, so then the tie-breaker is the second course round," he remarks, and at your hum in agreement, he honestly rumbles, "I really liked your risotto."

"And I really liked your grilled cheese and tomato soup. So I think we're stuck with one win each," is your faux huff, but the smirk pulling you lips is impish when he squints dubiously at you. "What? Do you disagree with my assessments?"

"I don't," he drawls, picking up the remote with his free hand before offering it to you. "Start surfin', wildcat."

You do, and end up surprising him by stopping on the TCM channel and looking over at him when the movie description lists Gold Diggers of 1933 as the film that was about to begin.

"This is a good one. Up for watching it—?"

"You like old movies?"

"Well, yes. There are few good ones. I think I've must've seen Casablanca in six different languages at this point," you retort with genuine delight and shrug when he balks at you.

"Really? Casablanca?" he asks, truly charmed when you smile sheepishly for the first time. "No, I'm not teasing. I just don't think I've ever met anyone other than my grandmother who liked that movie too—"

"Well, I moved around a lot, and no matter where you're at in the world, classic cinema will be playing on some channel or at a theater. Watching old movies overseas – when they dub over the English, or at least list the subtitles beneath? It's a great way to learn the language," is your thoughtful rationale as you shift to comfortably sit in a way that you're angled towards him. "They're filled with old-fashion charm, glitz and glamour – even when they're dark and tragic stories...but this one is a silly romp of a musical, if you're into that kind of thing."

He knew your history from the intel reports he'd been given after you'd been detained. Clearing his throat, he set his wine glass aside and got comfortable on his end of the sofa, making the split decision not to broach the topic further.

"I've only seen parts of this one, so I'm good with watching it," is Marcus's easygoing remark, glancing over at you with a smile as he assures, "Go on. Stretch out and take a load off. If you get chilly, help yourself to the throw blanket."

You don't have to be told twice.

Soon enough, you're both engrossed in the film. You sit with your legs tucked underneath you, the blanket over your lap, and your arm folded over the back cushion while Marcus lounges with his sock-clad feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table. Every so often, one of you points out something, or joke around during the short commercial breaks.

"—I find it real telling how you spent so much time raggin' on my low-key evening plans," he chuckles now after he's finished his latest glass of wine. When you feign incomprehension, he rolls his eyes and rumbles, "You're just as big of a relaxed homebody as me—"

You snort, conspiratorially leaning towards him, a bit uninhibited now that the wine is cruising through your bloodstream, and confide in a flirty murmur, "What can I say, Marcus. I just enjoy hassling you."

A flicker of thrill flares in his apex at your words and the beguiling smile you give him. The alcohol's started flushing his cheeks, but the blush that creeps up his neck is definitely not from all the imbibing.

"I kind of picked up on that…eventually," he finds himself replying, lopsided smirk infinitely endearing to you. He was just about to say something else, when the commercial break ended and the movie returned on screen.

Before long, that film ends, and you're both in such a mellow state that you end up watching the next movie that runs right after it.

You talk during the breaks for that film too, and are charmed to learn more about each other.

"—So your mom liked art?"

"Yeah. She loved watercolors. Every so often, she'd take me to the museum when they had a new exhibit. Growing up, she wanted to be a painter…"

He tells you about how he'd grown up of humble means. His father had died when he was still very young, so his grandparents – a retired police deputy and first-grade teacher – helped raise him while his widowed mother held down two jobs. It explained a lot about him – his timelessly endearing charm, the chivalrous way he comported himself, and his love for classic films.

"…My grandmother loved Gone with the Wind the most. My granddad would watch old Jimmy Stewart Westerns pretty exclusively, though," he finishes remarking with a faraway smile on his features.

You can't help smirk as you lilt, "A real Bandolero! fan, then?"

Marcus snickers after draining the last of his wine. "Yep. Although The Man from Laramie was his favorite."

You both enjoy the rest of the movie once it resumes, but at some point, all the food and wine catch up with you both, and the movie on the TV becomes the perfect ambient-inducer for slumber to occur.

You don't know how, but when you eventually wake early the next morning, you find that in your sleep, you'd stretched out length-wise on the couch – and had slept snuggled between Marcus and the back cushions, with your head resting on his shoulder and your arm around his waist, while his was folded around your back.

Besides the sobering shock of it, your senses are flooded with the appealing whiff of his faint cologne, and the intermingled scents of his soap and natural musk. His body against yours felt good, and the alluring urge to nuzzle into his neck has arousal tingling down into your core before you're able to come to your senses and jolt up.

Marcus wakes groggily at the shift of the cushions as you amble up and shimmy away from the spot next to him you'd just vacated. The TV is still on, playing Father of the Bride, and it isn't until you're tossing the throw away from your legs that he snaps fully into awareness.

"Mmph, shit—sorry. I didn't mean to doze off like that," is his gruff mutter, baritone rough from disuse as he yawns and stretches.

You're too busy trying to hide your mortification as you bolt up from the sofa and round it to grab your purse before heading for your boots. "Um, yeah. It's morning, so, I'm just gonna let myself out—"

He sits up and frowns as he scratches at his mussed hair, realizing indeed, it's before dawn.

"Hey, you don't have to rush out. I can give you a ride to your place – I'll make us coffee, and whip up some breakfast before we go," Marcus offers warmly, not realizing you've already got one boot pulled on and are fussing to get the other on.

"No, that's alright. I'll catch a cab," you're telling him as you stand, looping your purse over your shoulder, crossbody, before self-consciously brushing your hands over your hair and finally sparing a glance his way as you remark, "I don't wanna impose any more than I have already—"

Marcus springs up from the couch, internally swearing at the morning wood he's sporting, while already assuring, "C'mon, you're not imposing at all—"

Bemused, he's just turned after covertly adjusting himself in his jeans to see you already at the door.

"See you at work, Pike."

You're out the door before he's even able to articulate a response.

If you were both honest, there had been a not-so-subtle buildup occurring between you.

However, after cookoff-gate, things had swerved into a direction neither of you seemed equipped to maneuver.

Your guard was all the way back up with him. So much so, you weren't even verbally sparring with him at the office anymore.

Marcus handled it the only way he knew how: Focus exclusively on work, and leave no question that his intentions were recalibrated back onto what he assumed you expected. That you wanted nothing but a professional rapport, and to rebuff anything else.

Even after that theory was tested with the club incident soon after the distance between you began – a torrid event that had left him pining for something more, Marcus was left more confused than before when you instead became even more distant.

You were on the precipice of uncertainty for the first time since you'd been ensnared into the task force.

So much so, that you were planning on making the antiquities sting your last.

None of this was because you didn't feel anything for Marcus. Quite the contrary. Your attraction was magnetic, and you hadn't realized how much you'd longed to be safe with someone the way you did when you were with him. It was too dangerous to give into it. That's why you intended to keep your walls up and to suppress all your feelings on the matter in order to concentrate of your impending exit strategy.

But then, things are never that simple.

Marcus is livid when he gets off the elevator and storms at a stalking pace down the corridor several days before the undercover operation is targeted to begin. Everyone takes notice, but the uncharacteristic glower on his rugged features is so intimidating that no one dares check in with him.

He makes it to your office, abruptly enters, and slams the door after himself before stomping to where you're sat behind your desk.

"What the hell possessed you to go around my back and contract an informant without my authorization?!" he shouts forcefully as he looms over you while you stare up at him and frown.

"Nothing. He's been part of the plan since the beginning—"

"Part of the plan that you haven't disclosed to me. And had you told me about the fence you recruited from within the group we're trying to take down, I would've never allowed it!" is Marcus's furious harangue, hands going to his hips to prevent him from gesticulating angrily at you. "You went to the U.S. Attorney and secured an immunity deal with him without my consent—!"

"There was no feasible way to infiltrate this organization without someone on the inside willing to vouch for me, and who can also co-sign that you're The Jackal. He's one of the very few people in the world who has actually seen him and knows his demeanor. And, he's got the motivation to not screw us. He wants out of the life, and knows we're his only chance of making it out alive," you rationalize as you stand and round your desk to point at your transparent board. "See? He's given me key coordinates, and after this morning's intel session with him, I have even more crucial info—"

Marcus grabs your elbow to steer you around to face him and his unwavering scowl. "You are not an agent, Savedra. All you are is a resource – an asset to this team, with no standing to orchestrate these kinds of things behind my back—"

"Listen, Pike. I'm the last person you have to remind of how short my leash is here. I've never forgotten that, least of all that you're the one holding the other end of it. Your task force is a joke, mostly. If you're going to be meek about how you go after these syndicates, then you might as well close shop and go back to Dallas," you snap and shrug your arm out of his hold, staring at him fiercely as you add, "Now, be mad all you want, but if you pull the plug on things now, you're going to derail weeks of work, and set your team back months. I, for one, would like to make all the effort count."

Clenching his jaw, Marcus exhales through his nose and pins you in his dark glare as he grounds out, "Fine. But this is the last time you pull a stunt like this. Understood?"

You nod curtly before turning away to recalibrate your poise as you sigh out.

"Now that we got that out of the way, I set up a session with him so he can detail to you what you need to channel when you're undercover."

Said session does nothing to assuage Marcus, but at least he gets the needed context of what this middle-aged criminal knows, and is briefed on key intel no one has on The Jackal.

The initial meet a few days later with the traffickers goes according to plan.

You convince them of your expertise as a collector of privately-acquired relics, and they buy your explanation of needing the help of a network in order to transport the large, archaic limestone Greek statue of the sphinx you sought to move overseas to a wealthy buyer. The fence, Elio, steers the crew to The Jackal being the appropriate track, and as planned, arranges the fake meet between the traffickers, you, and The Jackal himself.

Marcus didn't need a lot of motivation to channel a reticent, stony man quick to intimidation. His intense demeanor was exactly what everyone in the room expected, thanks to The Jackal's reputation preceding him. However, Elio had divulged one thing that no one outside of this kind of black-market syndicate knew about the head of the Mediterranean art theft ring.

"—Before I give my blessing to this transaction, I'd like to get to know who I'm doing business with."

You'd turned to Marcus and expertly portrayed cautious intrigue. It really wasn't hard, with how dapper he looked in his dark black suit, sans a tie and with a matching open-collared dress shirt underneath the tailored blazer. His hair was swept back, curling in shaggy whisps at his nape and behind his ears. And while his beard wasn't as thick and full as Elio had mentioned The Jackal's being, you thought he looked roguishly handsome, nevertheless.

"And I would be obliged to do whatever necessary to make our business nothing but successful, Sciacallo," you tell him, using the Italian moniker The Jackal favors when doing business.

As planned, Marcus leads you out of the impromptu gathering at the hangout the traffickers use and escorts you to the private quarters upstairs. However, unlike you'd planned up until five minutes before you'd entered the hideout for the meet, you and Marcus weren't dropping your covers once the door to the room closes.

You can't. Not with Elio mentioning that they had installed hidden cameras throughout the hideout, and he couldn't guarantee that the security goons monitoring the feeds wouldn't leave any camera or audio device on in the private quarters.

Marcus had been fuming when you'd faked leaning in to flirt with The Jackal, and whispered about the cameras in the room upstairs. His eyes had hardened and his jaw clenched, but he feigned like he was annoyed by someone talking too loudly close to you both.

So, having not planned this part, you were anxious and exhilarated.

The door clicked shut behind you, and Marcus gave the room a cursory stare before turning to you and murmuring, "See? Much better. We can hear ourselves talk. Perhaps you'll repeat what you said downstairs?"

You feel butterflies in your stomach as you approach him sultrily and caress your hand over the lapel of his suit. "I said, I'm eager to partner with you, handsome," you purr, eyes inviting as you glance up at him through the fringe of your lashes.

"That's what I thought," Marcus husks before trailing his hand up your arm to graze along your shoulder before snaking across your collarbone and up to clasp the slender column of your neck and wrap his thick, dexterous fingers around your throat lightly. He can feel your pulse racing, so he backs you up slowly into the nearest wall before cradling your jaw with a possessive caress of his hand as he rumbles, "I like eager and beautiful women."

Your body reacts, arching into him as you tilt your head back and stare alluringly at him before he leans down and kisses you with voracious zeal.

You dimly wonder if it's truly improvised undercover work when you've wanted Marcus to kiss you like this for weeks – maybe even longer, if you were being honest with yourself.

Marcus is wound tight in his chest with worry, but the way you loop your arms around him and hum into his mouth when he deepens the kiss gives him some relief that maybe this isn't a complete clusterfuck. The thought that they could be watching you both, though, kept him on edge – focused on not getting carried away in how phenomenal having you like this was and instead hyperaware of staying on task.

Mercifully, before things got carried away, a clueless underling walked in on you both, which gave Marcus the perfect opportunity to showcase the infamous fury The Jackal was known for.

He was off of you and slamming the guy up against the doorframe in an instant, yoking him up and contumely cursing him out before the dude could stammer an apology and the girl he had brought up with him ran off to avoid any wrath herself.

Fracas smoothened over by the underling's leader, who profusely apologized to The Jackal, things went back on track as planned, and you were able to leave the hideout with a guarantee that your antiquity could be smuggled overseas and sold to your contact.

The final meeting for the sting operation, however, did not go as planned.

You'd made it all the way up to the handoff at the warehouse when the boss of the trafficking syndicate suddenly tried to change the terms of the deal, by trying to make you reveal the name of your buyer overseas. There you were, surrounded by underlings and enforcers who were packing the crate housing the artifact with the contraband supplied by The Jackal, when you had to smoothly refuse.

The burly man had approached you swiftly, making a veiled threat you'd already composed a rebuttal for when all hell broke loose. You don't even know how it happened, but one second the tactical team rushed in and the guy pulled out a knife while he was lunging to grab your elbow. In a blink, though, you're yanked away and the knife swung wide and slashed at one of the stacked bundles near the crate.

You'd given up on trying to regain your bearings with how your eyes and sinuses were burning, vision watering and stinging as you blindly let Marcus haul you out of the sting's warehouse – having barreled into danger to extract you. The unidentified powder was part of the narcotic contraband to be stored in the crate with the artifact, but the contents of the torn bundle went airborne and caked over you before he was able to whisk you out of the fray and to a safehouse.

Even in the hyper rushed aftermath, his ears were still ringing.

Marcus had yanked you away from being attacked or taken hostage, but not before the powder exploded out like a confetti-cannon over you while shots started ringing out in the warehouse.

The pink haze had the consistency of dry cement as it fluttered down, and even he wasn't spared the hit of it flitting against the side of his face in the chaos.

The fallout was technically his fault, but the main target of the sting had threatened you, so he'd rushed in with backup. The ensuing pandemonium of the raid and the frenzy of pink powder haze and bullets flying had made it a frenzied operation for him.

He'd acted first and thought second, which was not the norm for him. But the threat? It had propelled him to determinedly bust in to extract you, cover being blown be damned. As far as he was concerned, it was unimportant now and of little consequence to him.

Well, now, while he hissed and scrubbed the chemical residue from his face as he locked the door and engaged the security system, he did let his anger swirl up in him all over again.

He hears you coughing in the bathroom, and no matter how exasperating you've been, something fierce coils in his chest at the distressing sound of you dry heaving and gasping to catch your breath.

Tucking his service weapon into the holster underneath his leather jacket, Marcus finds his way down into the narrow hall where the bathroom is, squinting the entire way as he absently wipes at his heated features in attempt to get the strange powder removed.

He knocks on the door before grousing lowly, "Hey, you ok?"

You croak some sort of scoff before running the faucet again and trying to get the cakey residue out from your nostrils so you can breathe without wheezing. Once you've splashed water over your face, you mumble, "I think so."

The door cracks ajar before Marcus pokes his head in to survey you. "What?"

"I said, I think so," you snap, cupping your hands under the faucet and splashing water messily over your flushed features.

"Damn…here, come sit and let me have a look at you," you hear him grumble as his footsteps approach you from behind.

He cups your elbow and firmly tugs you away from the sink to steer you towards the bathtub's ledge, yanking a hand towel from a nearby rack as he sits you down so he can try helping you scrub the remnants of the bubblegum-pink powder off your face.

You sneeze, which causes an itchy sensation in the back of your throat that sends you into another coughing fit, so Marcus hurriedly gets the glass you'd left on the sink vanity and refills it with cool water before placing it in your hands and helping guide it to your lips.

"Small sips. Take it slow," he murmurs in a firm baritone, ignoring his own discomfort to tend to you.

"Mmph," you grunt before taking a breath and shaking your head. "What the hell—what is this stuff?!"

"I'm not sure—"

"What if it's some kind of toxin?!" you exclaim as you try to stare at him without having your eyes water from the menthol-like burn.

"It's not. Remember the narcotic contraband was loaned to us by DEA. There's no way they'd let something toxic be used for a sting—"

"Then why is this stuff making me feel like I just got hit with powdered speed?!" you gripe as you snatch the towel from his grip so you can scrub your face more.

Marcus feels feverish and antsy himself, so he goes to the sink and runs the tap to splash his own features with cool water. "Probably just an irritant from the pink dye—"

"Ugh, I'm covered in this crap," you grouse as you begin to scrub the damp cloth down your neck and decolletage, ignoring how your slinky black dress is hanging in a racy, askew manner at your bustline from the strap drooping off of your shoulder.

Marcus catches himself staring at your cleavage before he hoarsely clears his throat and turns away. "I'll go see if there's anything you can change into," he croaks as he rushes out of the bathroom, heading for the spartan bedroom at the end of the hall and into the armoire across from the bed.

It's then while he's muttering crossly to himself, that he realizes his phone is vibrating in his jacket's pocket. Swearing, he retrieves it and answers, "Pike."

"Jeez, man! I've been calling yah nonstop," the DEA partner, Agent Jarvis, who helped coordinate things with the narcotic contraband for the sting, is barking in his ear. "Where are you?!"

"At a safehouse—"

"I was told your asset got a face-full of one of the powder bricks when shit went south—"

"She did. I caught some too, in the melee of trying to extract her—"

"…Shit. Ok, so, we have a problem," Agent Jarvis warns, before seriously instructing, "Listen to me very carefully, Pike. You and your asset were exposed to Pheral. If you haven't already, you're going to start feeling some effects from it—"

"Whoa, what the hell are you talking about? Pheral? What even is that?"

"So, it's a designer drug out of Amsterdam that's becoming big in the affluent, socialite drug scenes at clubs all around the world. It's a synthetic chemical composite of human pheromones, but it's potent and has the same effects as doing ketamine and acid. However, it's a disinhibitor; it hits the system and can cause coronary distress—"

Marcus is listening in horror while the man instructs him to remove any tainted clothes and rinse the residue off as soon as possible, all as he feels the effects of the drug start to palpitate in his chest. His pulse had been racing and he'd chalked it up to the adrenaline of extracting you from the botched sting, but now he's realizing that it's an elevated sensation pounding in his veins and zinging south, making him feverishly aroused.

"—How do you stop it?! Is there an antidote?"

"Lab hasn't been able to come up with one yet. It's absorbed through mucus membranes, so it hits the bloodstream quick. Get as much fluids in her to clear it out as quick as possible, but mostly, just keep her from hurting herself, Pike. She's going to be jonesing for physical gratification like a hellcat in heat. It's supposed to be the ultimate aphrodisiac—a heightened state of euphoria, but only when done in dab-like doses. If she was doused bad…I don't know. Users get so desperate from the effects when they overdo it that they lose sense of their pain thresholds—"

"I gotta go."

Marcus ends the call quickly before discarding the phone and then pulls the holster with his gun from the back of his waistband to be plopped onto the dresser in order to sprint down the hall to check on you.

He hears you whimpering just before he burst through the bathroom door.

"M-Marcus."

You're in a state of amplified arousal that is bordering on hyperventilating distress. Sweat has broken out along your hairline, and your bare skin is dewy from the overheated racing of your pulse. The ache of desire has you squirming in discomfort, feeling hypersensitive and raw-nerved as you stare wildly up at him from where you're curled into the corner of the floor by the tub.

He rushes to your side to cradle you against him as he hurriedly turns the shower's faucet handle to start spraying cold water into the tub. He says your name firmly before explaining in a hoarse rasp, "—I gotta get this stuff off of you and you're gonna have to drink more water for me."

You sob and grip onto his shoulders, trembling as you whine, "What's happening?!"

"It's the drug," is all he says as he hastily sheds his leather jacket in order to ease his own overheated discomfort, grabbing the glass to fill it to the brim with water before chugging half of it and refilling it in order to kneel down and insistently press it to your lips so you can guzzle as much as you can. When you drink your fill and push the glass away, he blindly sets it down on the back of the commode's tank lid before he rasps, "Now, c'mon, dandelion. I gotta get you under the cold water—"

"Come in with me?" you plead as he lifts you to stand on shaky knees. "You got it all over you too, Marcus," is your watery whisper as you caress his face and swipe at the pink smudge on his cheekbone.

The contact to his skin makes Marcus shudder, and against his control, arousal throbs riotously into his apex and pulses in his loins.

Rock-hard now, he huffs raggedly as he insists, "I gotta take care of you first, so let me get this off of you."

You're feeling like liquid fire is thrumming under your skin and your pulse is at your center, blood pumping from the silken clutch in your pelvis rather than from the organ in your chest. The usual tingle of arousal is instead a rapacious, searing heat at your core – making you quiver and drip with desire while Marcus rushes to gently remove the slinky black cocktail dress off your torso.

Your blush feels like you've been sitting under the Saharan sun, and the brush of Marcus's touch over your ignited body has you shivering and biting back a whimper as he strips you to your black cotton and lace thong before lifting you into the tub and under the cold spray of the showerhead.

The yelp you let out when the water beats down on your bare skin has him scrambling to grab you as you writhe to be in his embrace. "N-No, the water will help—"

"It feels like needles!" you cry and cling to him, quivering as you grip on to him desperately and chatter, "You feel good," before nuzzling his neck and giving yourself over to the urge that's become an incandescent force inside your body.

Your bare breasts press against him, nipples studded and tingling for gratification while your pussy clenches at how good his skin tastes when you suckle a kiss into his neck.

Marcus can't keep a lid on his own baser urges any longer at your distress melting away the more you touch him.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he gravels out and kisses your burning cheek, and at your breathy mewl, he kisses your mouth. The water on your body soaks into his shirt and jeans as you clamber to wrap your legs and arms around him with intoxicated urgency.

When he breaks the kiss to catch his breath, he has to soothe you when you whine for him.

"Can't—I can't just…don't want to lose control—"

You kiss him possessively and slink down his front while simultaneously yanking on his clothes he now desperately tries to peel off of himself.

Feeling his feverish skin press against yours after he shoves his clothes down and rushes to sit on the edge of the tub to kick the remainder off while simultaneously yanking you down – settling you to straddle onto his lap, you moan at having the length of his cock nestle against your damp cloth-covered crotch. You can feel your folds drench with arousal, making you ache to be split by him to the hilt – to be filled by his throbbing erection.

"No antidote—can't lose control. D-Don't want to hurt you," is all he's managed to string together as he gropes you against him and grazes wet, open-mouth kisses along your neck and jaw. Your clit throbs when he grips your waist and starts edging you onto his cock.

"You won't! W-Won't hurt me," you groan and encircle your arms around his shoulders before whining, "Please, please, Marcus—"

He shakes his senses loose of the horny haze to press, "Listen to me, wildcat. We need to wash this shit off. It'll be quick—we'll do it quick, and once it's off I'll do whatever you need—"

"Need you. Want you," you exhale in a frenzied state, staring with blown-out pupils at him as you start to pleasure yourself by rubbing your aching pussy along his cock. The friction of your soaked panties along his velvety, pulsing erection has Marcus buzzing from the electric pleasure sparking across his nerve endings.

"You'll have me, dandelion. C'mon, be a g-good girl for me," he husks and stands, holding you in his arms as you cling to him and whimper.

Once sure you won't bolt, he gets in under the shower spray with you.

The water doesn't feel as horrid against your skin as it had the first time, so you snap out of the hedonistic daze once Marcus has stood under the frigid spray for a few minutes and clumsily scrubbed the pink residue from your shoulders and back for you.

You hurriedly unlatch yourself from him to stand on quaking legs in order to wash the pink powder remnants quickly off your skin and hair, then help Marcus get it off his beard and neck while he lets the water spray directly into his face in hopes to get the maddening sensation to cease.

Now that the water going down the drain is no longer tinged in pink, you and Marcus maneuver so the spray can run down his back while you sway on your feet and try to regain your wits. Instead, you both end up standing in the cold cascade, staring into each other's flushed features.

It feels like a fever dream – seeing his naked body like this, and your pussy clenches around nothing when you caress your palms down his abs and watch his ruddy, pulsing erection twitch at your sensual touch.

He murmurs your name when you lean forward to kiss along his heated skin after nuzzling your face into his pecs, chasing his delectable scent.

You're dialed into this primordial attraction, so you kneel at his feet from how your mouth waters to have his cock stuffed in it – to have the weight of it on your tongue before he fills your pussy with it the way you're convinced he needs to in order to stop this feeling from consuming you like a leaf flung onto a blazing fire.

Marcus shakily cups your jaw as he rasps your name again, and at the skittish unease of his tone, you stare up at him and snake your other hand between your thighs to touch yourself while you mewl for permission to do what you hunger for. The sight of you has him trembling, and his thumb grazes over the corner of your mouth, attempting to tow you back up to him, but then you lick it and make a needy sound that sends a jolt of insatiable arousal to his cock.

"T-This'll make you feel better?" Is his hoarse whisper, cold cascading water raining onto his back completely forgotten.

"Yes, hot stuff. I want you in my mouth—"

He groans, muscles flexing in anticipation. "Wanna give you what you need, baby—"

You gratefully hum and finally put him in your mouth, savoring his salty pre-cum and the velvety smooth thick of him you suck lustfully on.

His hand buries in the back of your wet hair, a raspy moan tumbling from his lips as he grapples to stay balanced with the other planting against the tiled wall.

You're enthralled by his reaction, sucking him off while gripping the base of his cock and pumping him in your fist every time you let his thick cock slip from the warm purse of your mouth so you can catch your breath. All while you rut against the palm heel of your other hand to try and ease the ache of arousal pulsing beseechingly for gratification.

It's when you grind too hard and whimper like it hurts that finally snaps Marcus to focus on you and not the exquisite pleasure that you're giving him.

Your senses sway as Marcus manhandles you off your knees and picks you up to be carried out of the cold shower.

Latching your arms and legs around him with a yelp, you wail, "M-Marcus, wha—?"

"No hurting yourself," he grumbles heatedly as he hurriedly stalks as best as he can, in the state he's in, to the bedroom with you. "M'gonna make you feel good so you don't hurt yourself by accident—"

You hiccup, "Hurt?! What's h-happening to us, Marcus?"

He makes it into the room and puts you on the bed. You're both still drenched from the shower, and he eyes you intensely as he peels your soaked panties off of you whilst trying to soberly explain, "The pink powder? It's a designer drug. The way you're feeling—that we're both f-feeling is because of it. You got dosed with way too much of it—"

You rear up onto your splayed hands and gape at him once he's tossed your drenched thong aside. "C-Can't they give us something to counteract it—?" you begin, but he shakes his head vigorously and sends water droplets to halo about before a shudder makes him wring his hands across his overly-heated features.

He's still rock-hard, and completely naked in front of you now, and the insatiable force in you is suddenly dismissing your panic to instead fixate on him.

"Marcus?"

"Hmmph?"

"Are we going to die?"

"N-No! Jeez—no, of course not," he begins to assure as he drops his hands from his face and rushes to convince you, but ends up avidly staring as you provocatively spread your legs to show him how needy you are for him, keeping your gaze fixed on his blown-out pupils. He watches you sit up and beckon for him to come to you while you shimmy backwards onto the bed.

"Ok then. Take your socks off and get over here, now."

Marcus looks down and realizes that indeed, he still has his socks on. They're sopping wet from the shower, and explain why he had such a difficult time getting traction over the tile and floorboards as he carried you from the bathroom to the bed.

Yanking them off with as much dignity as he can muster, with how worked up and ravenous he is, Marcus tosses them and clambers onto the bed after you. You admire the way his broad, muscularly toned physique looks under the bedroom's track lighting, thrill tangling excitedly in your core at how thick and hard his ramrod cock is as it bobs from his prowling towards you.

Once he's in reach, you loop your arms around his shoulders and pull him down for a rapacious kiss, wanting to have his weight on top of you finally.

His hands are warm and assertive as he pulls you into him while his tongue plunders your mouth, and yours encouragingly grope down to grab his ass when you mewl and roll your hips into his.

He breaks the kiss suddenly, as if compelled to keep his wits about him while he stammers, "W-We don't have to do this. I-I can just—"

You roll your positions so that he's on his back with you straddling him now.

"You said I could have you. I want you, Marcus," you husk silkily as you brace your palms over his broad chest and undulated your hips to grind yourself against his ramrod cock. He groans and grips your thighs, so you lean down to kiss him before you purr against his panting lips, "Now let me have you, handsome."

Marcus feels like you've hit the payload that is his stockpiled arousal he's been trying to keep buried deep in his gut, unleashing a feral desire he's never allowed himself to experience.

You gasp in surprise when he sits up and lifts you by your waist so he can nudge his cock between your soaked folds in order to notch the smooth tip at your dimpled entrance before plunging you onto him to the hilt.

The moan that falls from your lips comes out almost like an overawed wail at how amazing he feels inside you, making you arch into him and cling to his shoulders as he starts fucking up into you with bruising, ruinously precise thrusts that have him stroking nerve-melting pleasure to flare inside you.

"Oh my god!" you cry out when Marcus starts using one hand clutching the small of your back to slam you over and over onto his cock while the other squeezes one breast before pinching your nipple while he suckles the other into his mouth.

He barely registers the sting of your nails pinching into his upper back when you whimper his name after a particularly nippy suckle onto your pebbled flesh, and he doesn't realize how overcome you are with pleasure until you start begging in a frantic tone he's never heard you use.

"Marcus, I—I can't—oh Marcus! Please—"

His hand abandons your breast to instead grip the back your neck and anchor you to him as he nuzzles your cheek and soothingly coos, "Tell me, gorgeous girl."

You feel overwhelmed. The heat of it singed across your face. It has you sobbing against his jaw, "I want more – w-want you to use me. Please, Marcus. I need you—"

There's something primordial that you're both dialed into, and at your words, Marcus just knows what he needs to give you.

Pivoting up on the bed with you, he tosses you onto the mattress before manhandling you onto your hands and knees so he can possessively yank your hips to be positioned just right for him to spear his cock back into your molten pussy from behind.

"Fuck," Marcus grits between clenched jaw at how your walls clamp greedily onto his shaft while you let out a sound akin to a hearty cry of triumph. When he crowds you and starts to pound into you insatiably, he moans at how you rock back to meet his thrusts.

You feel like an animal in heat. Like all there is right now is his cock inside you and his body enveloping around you and his taste and his scent and his sweat and it all has your head spinning in the best way while you interlace your fingers in his and crane your neck out so his face can fit perfectly in the crook as he suckles on your dewy skin.

For Marcus, it's like something was turned on inside him – an undiscovered feeling of belonging and power and accomplishment was cresting free, and the more he reveled in you, the hotter and brighter it was burning in his chest.

It was so liberating that he let his feelings escape the hive-like place in his heart where he kept them trapped away.

"You make me feel things I've never felt before," is growled into your jaw, and you clench around his cock like a silken vise while you moan and arch into him.

"Marcus—"

"M'gonna protect you. Was scared—scared I'd lose you—"

You whimper, "Oh, Marcus—"

"Tell me what you want, wildcat," he gravels in a rough timbre that rakes exhilarated desire through you.

"Fuck me, Marcus. Want you to fuck me until this feeling stops—until I'm yours. M-Make me yours—"

All inhibitions are gone from him now.

Marcus fucks you with abandon, railing you with such ferocity that you're turned into an alight, moaning mess as bliss tears you asunder with a deliriously scorching orgasm that has you bowing down into the bed while Marcus pounds through your fluttering cunt flooding his apex with your climax.

His hands grip your hips as he pivots back onto his haunches and prolongs your ecstasy, eyes glazed with his lust for you and watching you continue to mindlessly rock back to meet his thrusts.

He's throbbing for release, but this heightened state of arousal caused by the drug has an insatiable, prolonging effect – extending his libido's hold-out like a refractory period.

When you dissolve into the bed face-first with an exhausted mewl, Marcus pulls out and marvels at how much slick coats his cock and drips down his apex.

The scent of sex permeates the once sanitized-smelling air that came from the filtered vent system. The room feels humid from how elevated your body temperatures are, blood pressure feeling like it's sky-high as your pulses race. He knows that's dangerous, and in the syrupy miasma of his sex-dazed mind, he remembers the instructions he was given.

You are a blitzed-out heap of tingling nerve endings. So much so, you barely absorb when Marcus rumbles, "Gonna get more water. Be right back, dandelion," as he rolls you onto your back and pets the damp hair sticking to your warm skin away from your face.

"Stay," you mumble and take his hand, kissing the inside of his palm.

He grunts a reassuring sound before kissing your forehead and promising, "I'll be right back."

You vacantly nod and roll on your side with a tired sigh.

Marcus strings together enough control of his fine motor skills to rush out of the bedroom and go for the closest source of water. He enters the bathroom and finds the shower spray still on – having not realized he'd completely forgotten to turn it off. After doing so now, he grabs the discarded glass and refills it in the sink. He guzzles several glass-fills down, feeling more clearheaded the more he rehydrates. His body is running hot, tremors of arousal like muscle spasms in his apex that leave a tingling throb in his loins and have him idly palming and stroking his erection – gauging the muted sensation compared to normal – as he chugs the last of the water before he tops the glass off to take back to you.

When he enters the bedroom, he finds you still on the bed, but you're now restlessly trying to get yourself off – hand between your thighs and panting harshly as you grind against it.

He goes to your side and places the glass down on the night table before wrangling you into his arms.

"No, you'll hurt yourself doing that," he protests while you whine and squirm in his embrace. "I'll take care of you, baby. Just settle down enough to drink some water—"

"I don't want water. I want you," you complain heatedly, slinging your arms around his neck to anchor him down into bed with you.

He picks you up to maneuver you both on the disheveled covers, attempting to appease you before pressing, "I know. I want you too, wildcat. But you need to get fluids—"

"Marcus, you need to keep fucking me until you give me those," is your raunchy counter, smiling when he gapes at you before you start kissing along his cheek and suckle on his earlobe. He groans and ruts up against you, so you purr, "Please, I need you inside me. All of you—"

"Alright, then sit on my cock, naughty girl," he husks bawdily and clasps his hand to the back of your nape to tow you back so he can stare intensely into your dazzling eyes as you squirm in excitement. "You can use me – ride me as hard as you want. But first, you have to drink the water for me."

You look sinfully delicious as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and arch your brows to obediently nod while already reaching between your bodies to guide his erection to be aligned with your plunging undulation over his lap.

Marcus groans hoarsely and guides you to remain still – flush over where you're both now joined – before hurriedly reaching for the glass and offering it to you.

Compliantly, you drink, and realize how parched you are, so you end up chugging the water until you gasp in relief and uncaringly glide the glass back onto the night table before burying your hand into the back of his damp hair and pull him into a hungry kiss.

Your tongue flicks and twirls against his as you start to fuck yourself onto his cock, mewling heatedly from the effort while Marcus fondles his hands possessively over the globes of your ass before squeezing them when he bucks up into you.

After you reach bliss riding him, shouting his name and staring at him in euphoric satisfaction, Marcus rolls you onto your back so he can dominate you into the bed, spinning you up into delirium all over again as he snaps his hips into a devastating angle that has him colliding dead-center with your nested pleasure clustered deep inside your fluttering sheath.

Time is lost to you both as you couple like animals during mating season.

He can't count how many times he makes you come, nor keep track of all the positions he takes you in, and you're so far flung in the throes of insatiable need that you don't realize until he's just got you off after fucking you with your legs propped up against his shoulders, that he hasn't orgasmed once.

While he slows his barreling thrusts into you once you've melted breathlessly under him, Marcus kisses along the crook of your neck and relishes how you quiver from the aftershocks of your climax. He's just about to shift back and pull out when you clench your floor muscles suddenly around him.

"Oh fuck, mmph," he moans gruffly before maneuvering your legs off of his shoulders and hooking the backs of your knees at his forearms so he can rear back and haul you with him as he says your name warningly and growls, "—You keep doing that and I'm going to lose control."

Your pussy aches, every muscle is sore and protesting, but still the insatiable heat persists, so you stare sultrily at him under heavy lids and coo, "I want you to lose control, you dope. Want you to fuck me until you come, and then keep fucking me until we both can't move or think anymore—"

He swears gruffly, but you feel his cock throb inside you, clearly betraying how enticed he is.

"It's not like I've been holding back. The drug takes the edge off and changes our pleasure and pain thresholds; affects sensation. I don't think I could come even if I tried," Marcus admits lowly as he wrings his hand over his heated features, clearly embarrassed.

"Hey, M."

"Hmm?"

"You're gorgeous when you're all flustered and naked and hard," is your silky murmur, smile cheeky when he pauses swiping the sweat off his brow to stare at you heatedly. Your smile sobers meekly as you admit in a mumble, "And, you're so sexy. Even when you're being maddening and all I want to do is wring your neck and run away…"

Marcus feels that incandescent pressure in the back of his sternum – the one that makes him feel like his ribs ache but feel full at the same time.

Overawed, he sits back on his heels and pulls out of you with a hiss before leaning over you to kiss a worshipful path up from your navel to your jaw. After he presses a kiss to your cheek, he nuzzles your ear before murmuring, "Don't run away. Stay with me, dandelion."

You feel stripped raw and soothed over at the same time by his words, and before you can stop it, your heart wrings in your chest as you confess, "I want to. I've wanted to for a while, b-but I can't help feel this way—"

He props up to gaze wondrously at you. "Feel what way?"

"Ugh!" you groan and cover your eyes with your forearm, too jelly-jointed to do much else to keep your frazzled guard up. "You know, M—"

"No, I don't," he firmly huffs and stretches out onto his side next to you in order to pull your forearm away so you have to look at him.

"…It doesn't matter. This is a mistake – a fluke accident and the weirdo horny mating drug doesn't change that reality—"

"What reality?"

"This!" you shout and weakly gesture between you and him. "Whatever this has become is a mess. I am a fool to feel this way, knowing how reckless you think I've been already and how badly you want to be done with the hassle—"

"…You're serious," Marcus deadpans, derailing your ramble, and when you focus on him, he scoffs and shakes his head, as if astounded, before rumbling in a honeyed baritone, "You don't even know, do you?"

You frown, confused.

Marcus sidles close, dark brown eyes softening as he exhales sardonically before caressing your chin between forefinger and thumb so you can't turn your face as he looks at you purposefully.

"I feel the same way," he tells you, smirking softly before professing, "I love you."

You can feel his body heat and see the unwavering truth in his handsome face, and your flustered mind is processing that this is real while you're carnally supercharged already for him.

"That's the drug talking—"

"No, it's not—"

"Marcus—"

"If you don't feel that way, it's fine—"

"That…that's not it. I'm saying we can't trust what we're feeling right now. We're literally in heat—"

"I fell in love with you before getting hit in the face with pink dust, wildcat—"

"Attraction is not the same as love, Marcus—"

"Oh trust me, I've learned that the hard way plenty already," is his deriding huff as he tucks his chin and smiles self-deprecatingly.

You pout and cup his bearded cheek, caressing it lovingly before mumbling, "You're too good for me. Literally – I don't think I can take how sweet and considerate and…and wonderful you are—"

He says your name huffily before caressing his touch along your side reassuringly, crooning, "—Don't be like that. A sexy little smartass like you can't be contrary all the time."

"Oh yeah? You're seriously not dying to unload me, after everything?" you mutter as you brush your lips along his bearded jaw and card your fingers through his hair. "It isn't just the libido drug making you talk crazy?"

"All the drug is making me do is stay rock-hard and be bold about saying how I feel," he says honestly, and smirks when you hum interestedly before palming his thick erection. When you trace your touch along the underside of the shaft, he husks throatily, "You've clearly grown on me, dandelion. P-Pressed all my buttons, made sport out of challenging me daily, and I hated it all…until I started liking it."

You feel your heart summersault in excitement at that, so you nuzzle his cheek after you carve your hips around his to nestle his throbbing hard-on against your warm, wet pussy, lightly grinding on it as you whisper, "Liking is not the same as lov—"

"Tell me how you feel."

You pause and stare into his eyes. Pressed this close together, you can see how brown his irises are, and how free of judgment they are twinkling soulfully at you.

"I—I care…care more than I ever have, and I feel things that I haven't felt—that I haven't felt in a long time. I just…" you trail off, huffing at yourself before admitting, "The way I feel about you is something I don't know how to manage."

Marcus keeps your hips rocking against him, all the while you flustered to the truth.

"That kind of sounds like the same thing I'm telling you I feel about you, stubborn girl," is his amused rumble. You can't help snort and bashfully curl into him. He doesn't let you hide your face in his neck, though. "C'mon, look at me."

You do, shivering when he cups your jaw and pins you into place with his passionate stare.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you whisper, feeling like you've just jumped off a cliff with no idea what's beyond the precipice.

But the look Marcus gives you – the way his handsome features brighten with delighted surprise, it makes something twinge warm and hopeful in your chest. You kiss him before girlishly scoffing, then stammering, "W-What're we going to do?"

"Right now?" Marcus sits up and caresses his hand down your body to touch where your warmth is flush up against his twitching member. You mewl and melt a little when he teasingly grazes his lips over yours before purring, "Right now, we're gonna keep fucking like rabbits until this damn drug is out of our systems."

You giggle enticingly before timidly snickering, "I'm exhausted, cowboy. I don't think I can manage doing anything but this right now," as you undulate against him for emphasis.

Smirking, Marcus hums, affectionately squeezing your thigh as he croons, "I got an idea."

He assertively rolls you over onto your opposite side and spoons up behind you while possessively fondling your curves. You mewl at the feeling of his warm body up against you from behind while his cock starts rutting against your pulsing womanhood.

Marcus lets you acclimate and simply revel in the feeling of being in his covetous embrace while you rock back against him lustfully. When he starts pressing his throbbing arousal into your pussy from behind, you moan an ecstatic little sound before whimpering, "More, Marcus. Please."

With a deft thrust, he gives you more, and more, as he cups your pussy and grinds his fingertips over the hood of your clit while grazing his teeth down your neck to claim it with a rough kiss at the base.

You reach your arm backwards to sling around his neck so you can keep his mouth on you while you both set a ravenous rhythm, bucking backwards onto him while he fucks forward into you.

The hand that cradles the curve of your waist tightens when you cry his name and desperately loop both your arms backwards to hold onto him as you're lost to the euphoric ecstasy of reaching bliss like this.

Marcus aches when you sob a gratified cry, and he feels pride crackle in his chest when your hands grip the hair at the base of his nape so you have leverage to pivot in his grip in order to kiss him passionately.

His cock pulses inside you when you break the kiss to lick at his bottom lip before you susurrate, "I want you to fill me with your cum, Marcus."

Incredibly turned on by the prospect, Marcus bucks into you with a gruff groan before gravelling tensely, "Now that's the drug talking—"

"No, it isn't," you contradict and look at him with sultry heat blazing in your eyes as you purr, "What's a girl gotta do to get you off, Pikey boy."

You feel him strain enticingly against your fluttering walls at the pet name, which has you shivering in delight just as Marcus growls, "Keep telling me what you want. Please."

That has you divulging things. Some seductive things, like, 'Want you to be all mine, cowboy,' and some salacious, authoritative orders, like, 'Fuck me like you want me, Marcus. I want you. I'll let everyone know you're mine, but only if you make me yours.'

The more you tell him what you want, the more worked up into searing arousal Marcus gets as he buries his moans into the back of your neck whilst he fucks you faster and harder – hands clutching you to him as your pitch gets more alight from your own pleasure cresting incandescently through you.

He's feral with need by the time he's got you on your stomach with your ass up for him to plunder his cock deep into your fluttering cunt. You're blitzed out – lasciviously keyed into the wild throes of carnal elation of being ravished by him. Sweat and slick and the heat of your flesh pressed together is making both your senses flare with rapturous yearning – panting breaths wild as you both are finally at the precipice of savage release together.

At his thrusts picking up frenzied pace that has your warm flesh colliding rhythmically over your hearty sounds of pleasure, you press the button he didn't know he had in him.

"Please, m-make me yours, sweet boy—"

The exhilarating, searing pleasure that snaps loose from Marcus at your airy mewl has him barreling ferociously into you while moaning in guttural, incredulous bliss just as you cry out and orgasm with him.

He buries his cock deep and clings over you as he shudders through the bursts of his climax that fill your rippling sheath while you exhale a rapturous, sated sound and melt under him, toes curled and arms draped around his as they clutch you to him. You feel made whole as the warm bloom of his spend filling you diffuses through you, and Marcus feels like lightning struck him and the electric buzz still scintillates through his sinew.

Reduced to trembling, breathless heaps tangled against each other, you and Marcus lay on the sullied sheets for a while. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, and he can feel your pulse against the hand pressed between the bed and your womb. Neither of you can think beyond the content reassurance that the other is still there, warm and safe.

Feeling returned to yourself a disorienting amount of time later, you shift clumsily under him to squirm around and face him. Marcus heavily rolls off of you and grunts from the effort, but groggily rubs at his forehead to get the matted hair off his skin.

You tiredly rest your hand on his tacky chest, caressing it along his broad pectorals soothingly.

"…You ok?"

"…Yeah…can't move."

"Same…you feel ok?"

Marcus snorts exhaustedly before lulling his head to stare with hooded eyes at you. "M'feelin' like I fucked a marathon. You?"

You snicker girlishly. "I'm feeling like the marathon you fucked."

His laugh is raspy, features dewy and relaxed from sweat and all the over-exertion. Your hand reaches up to trace his bearded jaw, affectionately caressing along it until he hums and closes his eyes contently.

"Do you still feel in heat?"

"It's more of an aroused little tickle now versus the raging inferno of insatiable mania of before," you answer as you continue to caress his handsome features. "You?"

With a cleansing exhale, Marcus rumbles thickly, "About the same. I'm gonna need a few before I can go again, though—"

"Oh my god. I just said I'm not in nymphomaniac-mode anymore, you dope—"

You catch his sly smirk when he cracks an eye open to goadingly peer over at you. "You're cute when you're all worked up, gorgeous—"

With a scoff, you silkily mutter, "You're so lucky I'm too wrecked to slap you around, hot stuff—"

"C'mon, wildcat. Wouldn't you rather just have your way with me instead?"

You laugh, as if intrigued, before sidling up to him and giving him an alluring look, purring, "Is that what you want, sweet boy?"

Marcus feels arousal skitter down into his loins, zinging pulsing want into his cock before he can even try to not react to the titillating pet name that was much of his undoing.

"Yes. That's what I want, wildcat," he husks, too tired to be timid about it.

Appeased, you slink up against him and loop your arm around his midriff. "Good," you lilt around a yawn before murmuring, "That's what I want too, sweet boy. After we conk out for a bit."

His chuckle is like rich honey to your senses, and the warm tingle that tickles down into your womb when he nuzzles a kiss to the top of your mussed hair has you shivering with delight.

"Sounds like a plan, dandelion."

_____________________________

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[blorbologist]

Adorn him in adoration

M / Spoilers up to the timeskip in Campaign 1 / Panic attack and implied sex

Bruises can be a good thing, as Percy finds out.

Day 1 for Perc'ahlia Week '23: Dawn / Treasure

@percahliaweek

--

Percival is not an early riser by nature. His body is something that takes well to rest, clinging to it long and lazy. 

However, there is little of him left in its natural state - all of his innards have been dragged out by dragonclaw, his mind reforged a fragile thing that flinches at shadow and scalpel and castle stone. Perhaps there is some marrow of his bones Ripley did not carve. 

Whatever his nature, he has certainly been nurtured by cruelty and chaos both. So he wakes easily. Stern and still, keeping signs of consciousness close to his chest. Listens, breathing deep, for what stirs. 

It’s not the dying spittle of a fire poked by Pike, or the muffled padding of Vax on pocket-plane hardwood. Not even the shuffling of staff in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the castle. No - bedsheets… his bedsheets, shifting, sighing. No - Vex sighing, her very breath a kiss to the back of his neck as her arms tighten around him. 

She’s surely what woke him, her smile cutting sweetly into his shoulder as she shifts. He can feel the space of it, where her lips part. Several seconds are needed to remember where his hand is (that one’s under the pillow, this one was cradling her elbow) and maneuver it to grip hers (he must follow her forearm or he will become lost). 

Vex squeezes back. That gap widens, speaking to her growing grin.

“Good morning, darling,” she murmurs. (A more accurate account would be G’mrn, drr’ling, but he thinks he’s getting the hang of deciphering words from warble. Vex so rarely ever spoke half-sleeping when they were on the road - not savoring the soft, rumpled tones she shares with him now would be ungrateful. )

(He’s nothing but grateful. Good gods.)

Percival cracks an eye open, unsurprised to find the world still dark. “I’d be tempted…” and he must grasp for finer language, somewhere behind his tongue. It comes out rough: “to bid you good night, not morning. Don’t we have hours until dawn?” 

“The thrushes imply otherwise.” 

Dutifully he listens. Nothing much is audible beyond Vex’s breath pooling against his skin, his own heart waking in tandem with hers. But - there, the rhythmic twittering, muted beyond the glass. 

“Good morning,” he amends, and shuts his eyes with a pointed wiggle. “I will wish you such again at a more sensible hour.”

Vex hums. It jars his spine pleasantly, reminding him she’s contoured to his back, legs tangled with his. 

“Didn’t Cassandra mention -”

“No.” 

She chuckles. “Percy -”

[Keep reading on AO3!]

[emonydeborah]

trektober day 23: first kiss/lockdown

spoilers for SNW 1x10 and 2x02

"Sorry, Captain, the protocols are buried pretty deep." Chris leaned his forehead on the side of the turbolift.

"Can't you beam us out?"

"Negative, Captain," Spock reported.

"The point of the protocols is to keep biocontaminants from spreading," Joseph explained. "They're pretty pointless if you can just beam out."

"That's great, Doctor, except that there are no contaminants," Una said. She paced the length of the turbolift, arms crossed.

There was a slight pause, presumably for everyone on comms to decipher her tone. "We're working on it. M'Benga out."

"Well, I guess Captain Batel is going to have to wait," Chris sighed. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, long legs taking up half the space. Una nearly tripped over him as she continued to pace. "Sit down, Una. We might as well get comfortable."

"I'm fine, sir," Una said through gritted teeth. Chris frowned.

"We've been in tighter spots than this," he said. "Literally. What's got you so antsy?"

Una looked down at him, and he blinked. He hadn't seen that appraising expression in years, but he knew what it meant. She was deciding whether to trust him or not.

"If I'm right," she said slowly, "about why Captain Batel is here, this isn't going to look good. She'll think I'm avoiding her."

"What? Why?" Una maneuvered around his legs and continued to pace. "Why do you think she's here?"

"To arrest me." Air froze in Chris's lungs. Una reluctantly met his eyes and grimaced. "I turned myself in, Chris."

"What?! Why would you do that? Why didn't you tell me?" Chris shot to his feet. "They wouldn't dare- Pike to bridge, send Captain Batel and her officers back-"

"Belay that," Una said firmly. She grabbed Chris's arms. "Chris, I've always known this might happen. At least this way it's on my terms."

"They can't just abduct you off my ship!"

"Chris." She squeezed his arms, grounded him in the moment with her. "It's okay. I'm ready for this fight."

"I'm not!" Chris burst. "You belong here on Enterprise. The loss to the crew- to me-" Something shifted in his brain, like puzzle pieces falling into place. He looked down into Una's eyes, knowing he was about to lose her, and suddenly everything was painfully clear.

He glanced at her lips, and Una's breath hitched. He leaned towards her, slowly, so slowly. She tilted her head and stretched up to meet him, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

He kissed her, and it was fervent and desperate and she tasted like strawberry lip gloss. Her arms slid up around his neck, pulling him closer, and he went willingly, anything to be as close as possible.

They only broke apart enough to breathe, chests heaving together, Chris's forehead pressed to hers.

"That was nice," Una said quietly, with the ghost of a smile. "Terrible timing, though."

"Better than never at all, right?" Chris said. He wrapped his arms around her waist, anchoring her to him as best he could. He kissed her forehead because he could do that, he wanted to hug her and kiss her and make her dinner and kiss her and take her riding and kiss her-

Una made a contented humming sound, and Chris's thoughts hurtled back to the present. "I'm not letting this happen," he promised, and Una pulled back to look him in the face.

"I turned myself in, Chris," she said gently. "I knew this would happen. Please respect my choice here." Chris met her eyes and found nothing but certainty. His shoulders sagged, and he nodded.

"Then I'm getting you out," he said firmly. "I don't care what it takes."

"I do." Una took his face in her hands and made sure he didn't look away. "Don't ruin your life for me, Chris. At least," she continued when he tried to protest, "stay within the law." Chris frowned, and Una quirked a smile. She pulled him into a second kiss, softer this time.

"Spock to Captain Pike." Una's face fell, and Chris sighed.

"Go ahead, Spock."

"The protocols have been satisfied, Captain. The turbolift will resume shortly."

"Understood. Thanks, Spock."

The floor jolted underneath them, and Una peeled herself away to fix her uniform and smooth her hair. Chris tidied his own appearance and watched the transporter deck slide closer and closer. Una flexed her fingers and bounced on her heels, and in the few seconds they had left, Chris took her chin and drew her into one last kiss.

He took her hand and didn't let go, even when they got to the transporter room. Together, they stepped through the doors.

[typingcorgi]

paper rings

(a valentine's day gift for @toomanystoriessolittletime)

rating: e (minors, please shoo. you will be blocked) word count: 1.5k pairing: marcus pike x f!reader warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, valentine's day proposal, oral sex (m receiving), no use of y/n story summary: blunders out of your control keep this from being the proposal marcus pike had planned, but it's still damn perfect. equal parts fluff and spice. enjoy, steph! happy valentine's day :)

“Tonight was a disaster.”

Marcus says this with a rueful smile, scrubbing his face from his chin to his forehead. You can see out of the corner of your eye he isn’t actually disappointed, though most of your focus remains on the pear-shaped diamond adorning your left ring finger.

“I don’t know, Mr. Pike,” you reply playfully, sitting next to him in the back of the cab. “I mean, I feel like even if we took a roundabout way to get there, we reached the end-game destination.”

He turns his head to look at you, considering your response. You’re so damn gracious and patient and funny and beautiful and these are just a few of the reasons why Marcus Pike has fallen completely head-over-heels in the last eight months. He admitted to you early on that he could be daring with his heart, something of a risk-taker, but it’s only when he’s absolutely certain something is right for him that he takes the biggest leaps.

“Yeah, you might be right, Mrs. Pike,” he murmurs into your ear. Then he gently maneuvers your head to face his, locking in on your gaze before he kisses you softly.

—

The evening started with a botched reservation at this hip little spot in the city Marcus has been absolutely raving about. When you’d gotten there, the hostess overlooked the table for two neatly labeled Marcus in the reservation list, causing a mild panic from your significant other. In hindsight, you should have known right then and there something was amiss: Marcus is not the type to get flustered over a slip-up like this. Hell, he’d be happy to take you to the pizzeria around the corner, so long as he got to spend the evening with you. But you’d chalked it up to how badly he’d wanted you to try the burrata appetizer and shrugged it off.

Tonight wasn’t only Valentine’s Day, but the eighth-month anniversary of your first date. He remembers meeting you in mid-June for dinner and drinks at a spot that seemed a little much for a first-date spot, but he’d wanted so badly to impress you, and when you confessed that your perfect evening out is one spent grabbing late-night pancakes at the best diner in town, Marcus Pike was a fucking goner. He was fucking taken by your intelligence and quick wit and your soft kiss, but sharing a good meal in better company is the man’s love language (not to mention if said meal is boiled down to breakfast for dinner). He couldn’t not be completely smitten with you after that night.

You’d eventually find out there was a lot riding on this particular anniversary date, but the real kicker was the champagne toast.

Marcus proposed it a few minutes after you sat down. He pretended to go along with you for only a minute when you told him it wasn’t necessary, but then eventually sold you on it. Come on, why not? When do we ever do something like this?

He ordered a bottle of Ferrari Brut, but when the flutes were delivered to your table, Marcus Pike made it very obvious something was wrong.

“Hold on one minute, sweetheart,” he said before you could even raise your glass. You could tell he was trying to keep his cool while he followed the waiter back toward the kitchen doors, but Marcus Pike had always been very good at wearing his enormous heart on his sleeve.

And that’s when you realized.

Oh. Oh.

Your cheeks flushed the color of your dainty pink dress, and when Marcus returned to the table with a flustered and apologetic waiter on his heels, you stood up from your seat at the table.

“Yes,” you declared.

“What?” Marcus asked, brows knitting. “But I didn’t even—”

“I know, but you’re not subtle, sweetheart. So my answer is yes.”

Marcus gave you a smile that met his honey-brown eyes, and you laughed, and he laughed, and he kissed you, wrapping you in an embrace that had your feet floating off the floor.

—

Honestly, you’d marry him with paper rings if that’s what Marcus had offered you. If City Hall had been open, you’d just drag him down the block and up the stairs and grab a witness off the street corner before kissing him in front of a judge.

But honestly, the story of not one, but two minor hiccups leading up to Marcus’s planned proposal is one close to your heart. You’ll tell this story for decades; it’ll be featured on the homepage of your damn wedding website. You are in love. And it’s the little things like this, the extra attention to detail but ultimately not caring if things are a bit imperfect—those are the things that make Marcus a damn beautiful partner.

And you show him so. Oh fuck, you show him. It’s like you can’t get your hands on him fast enough when the door closes to your apartment. He’s so damn considerate and loving and that’s fucking hot.

You pull him by his tie to your bedroom, and he chases you kiss, and your fingers play along his belt buckle.

Eventually, you’re both exposed to the other, but it’s you who has him exactly where you want him. You lay him down, gently resting his bare back against the bedsheets, hand pressed gingerly over his chest.

“This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” he murmurs against your lips. “You were supposed to have the first turn.”

“You’re very generous,” you coo in response. “But that is usually how nights like these go, and I wanted to switch things up a bit.”

“I won’t fight you there,” he chuckles, and then his lips are on yours. 

Your fingers trace a gentle path from his jaw toward his chest, your lips pressed softly against his skin. You feel him shudder beneath you as you reach his lower belly, eventually meeting their final destination at his cock. You lick your hand before taking him in your grasp. He’s rock-hard against your warm palm, and he hisses when you touch him, giving him a few lazy pumps before lowering your head to taste the bead of precum adorning his tip.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Fuck, baby, keep going.”

You hold him steady in your left hand and there’s the damn twinkle of that pretty little diamond he’s given you. It’s a goddamn sight, catching the ring along your hand with his body in your gentle grip. It’s as though you can see your own pupils begin to dilate as you part your lips, filling your mouth with him.

He can’t help himself. You feel so good, so warm and soft and nearly sinful, and Marcus begins thrusting his hips back and forth. His hand comes to hold your hair in a gentle grasp, not in a way to exude dominance (though truly, you’d probably eat that up, too), but more to show you he’s into this. You lick him from his base to tip and you hear him groan. You cradle his balls in your free hand and he gives a definitive exhale through his nose. He is yours, all yours, always, now and forever.

“Come on, baby,” you encourage him when you break away for a moment, if only to give your jaw a quick break. You pump him with your fist in the meantime, still giving him something to fuck into during the interim. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. Let me taste you. I want to feel you come in my mouth.”

He groans, closing his eyes tightly while his fist grips the sheets at his side. “God, baby, you don’t know what that does to me.”

But you do. You know very well. You know Marcus’s tells and his likes, you know the signs that suggest he’s about to meet his needed edge. You know how he likes to look you in your eyes while he’s fucking you, or how other nights he gets off from slapping your ass and pulling your hair.

Still, you return your mouth to his cock and let him fuck your mouth. You suck him off and feel him hit the back of your throat, once, twice, once more, until he spills into your mouth with a weary gasp.

“My s—sweet girl,” he manages, holding you there, and you fucking take it, you take all of him, careful not to spill a precious drop. You take him because you want to. Because he’s yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes as you ascend his body, meeting his gaze before resting your head along his broad chest. He cards his fingers through your hair and he sighs again, the smile on his face as plain as day.

“I fucking love you,” he confesses, as if it’s news, as if it’s the first time he’s told you within these last eight months. “I’m crazy about you. And I can’t wait to marry you.”

[ghostofaboy]

Kinktober 2023 - October 27th

Day 27: Wax Play, Glory Hole, Group Sex

Jack Daniels x Frankie Morales x Marcus Pike x Dave York

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1253

Warnings: anal sex, group sex, oral sex

@absurdthirst Kinktober List | Ghost of a Boy Masterlist

Jack had been looking forward to tonight for far too long. After bumping into an old contact, Dave York a former DIA agent, and having a bit of a catch-up, Jack had learned that just like himself his old friend had embraced his bisexuality and had a boyfriend. Evenings out were arranged and much to Jack and Dave’s delight their partners, Frankie and Marcus, go along swimmingly. This opened up an interesting possibility and after a lot of talking about it the four of them had agreed to have a night together to teach Dave’s young lover a thing or two.

This evening after a hearty meal cooked by Frankie the four of them had retired to Jack’s spare room. Jack had quickly gone into his master bedroom to get some more lube and as he returned to the others Jack was met by a beautiful sight. 

Marcus was already naked, on his knees, lapping at Frankie’s hard cock as Dave watched from a seat in the corner. Frankie’s jeans were round his ankles as he tugged off his t-shirt, gasping as Marcus enveloped his cock with his mouth.

“You started without me sugar.” Jack smirked at Frankie, leaning in for a kiss and feeling the other man moan into his mouth. 

“He’s eager.” Dave motioned to Marcus on the floor with his lips wrapped around Frankie’s length. “He wants to make a good impression, don’t you baby?”

Marcus answered by humming around Frankie’s cock, pulling another gasp from him. Jack chuckled as he began unbuckling his belt to free his own erection, already pressing against the denim. To his left, Dave was casually stroking his own dick as he watched Marcus taking Frankie to the back of his throat.

“Fuck.” Frankie growled out, reaching down to move Marcus’ head back off of him. “I’m gonna come if you keep going. Get up on the bed.”

Marcus let out a delicious whine that Jack felt in his cock as he climbed up onto the bed. Pulling off the rest of his clothes, Jack watched as Frankie positioned Marcus on his knees, with his ass facing the rest of them. Then, after kicking off his jeans, Frankie pulled Marcus’ cheeks apart and began sloppily consuming Marcus’ entrance.

Dave was undressing now, his eyes fixed on the scene before him, as Jack climbed up onto the bed in front of Marcus. Marcus was flushed, with sighs and groans falling from his lips as Jack offered him is aching cock. With a smile Marcus opened wide allowed Jack to thrust gently into his waiting mouth. He could feel himself hitting the back of Marcus’ throat, feeling the hot, wet space constrict around him as the younger man gagged slightly. 

Dave was naked now, standing behind Frankie and playing with his ass by the look of it. He locked eyes with Jack, a smile spreading across his face as he pushed a finger into Frankie’s entrance. Removing his mouth from Marcus, Frankie arched his back, moaning. 

“Fuck him.” Dave growled into Frankie’s ear, licking along his neck. Frankie’s eyes fluttered closed as he allowed Dave to finger him. Jack’s cock throbbed in Marcus’ mouth, watching his lover surrendering to another man. Marcus swirled his tongue around the tip of Jack’s cock now he was able to give him his full attention as Jack eye’s remained transfixed on Frankie and Dave.

“Move up the bed a little more baby.” Dave purred to Marcus, bending Frankie over slightly as his fingers plunged into his hole. Marcus obeyed, crawling forward slightly before parting his swollen lips for Jack’s length once more.

Maneuvering Frankie up onto the bed behind Marcus, Jack watched like the hawk as Dave took hold of Frankie’s cock and lined it up with Marcus’ waiting entrance. Marcus let out a garbled cry as Frankie sank into him, filling him up as Jack fucked his mouth. Once Frankie was buried in Marcus’ to the hilt, Dave held his hips, stilling him. 

“Just wait.” He instructed, nuzzling at Frankie’s neck, before applying some lube to his own cock. 

Jack could feel the burning heat inside him growing, threatening to overtake him as his arousal built. Marcus was already writhing on the bed, cocks in both ends, looking up at Jack from beneath his long lashes. Obscene wet sounds came from his throat as he moaned around Jack’s dick.

Dave was positioning himself behind Frankie now, and Jack bit back a moan as he watched the other man work his way inch by inch into his lover. Frankie’s eyes rolled back into his head as Dave filled him, the dual sensations in his ass and around his cock overwhelming him as Dave took control. Reaching forward to hold onto Marcus’ hips Dave began to move slowly, rolling his hips sensually to fuck Marcus through Frankie.

“How you doin’ darlin’?” Jack grunted as he rutted into Marcus’ drooling mouth. The younger man’s eyes were watering now, his breathing hitching as he allowed himself to be used. 

“Oh fuck J-Jack.” Frankie sputtered. “Fuck.”

“Yup.” Jack chuckled, nodding at Dave, who smiled as he increased his pace, pounding into both Frankie and Marcus with rough, quick thrusts. 

None of them were going to last long. A mixture of age, arousal and the scenario had them all quickly approaching their peak. Below him, Jack could see Marcus fighting his own release, with the youngest of the four of them trembling from the stimulation flooding his senses. 

In front of him, Frankie’s head was lolling back to rest on Dave’s shoulder, his mouth hanging open as he allowed himself to be used as a conduit between the two lovers. Dave’s eyes were focused on Marcus, looking over Frankie to watch the cock disappearing into his boyfriend. His hips snapped forward with his merciless pace, each thrust rocking through Frankie, into Marcus and finally Jack.

“Shit.” Jack rasped, his thighs aching as he fought against his climax. “Not gonna last. You want it in your mouth, sweet boy?” He met Marcus’ eyes and was answered with a long wanton moan as another jolt rippled through the group.

“Come on his face.” Dave ordered, his hips striking against Frankie’s ass, filling the room with the lewd sound of flesh smacking. “Not going… fuck… to be far behind.”

Jack didn’t need to be told twice, pulling his cock free of Marcus’ slick, swollen lips and frantically pumping himself. Then, like falling off a cliff, his climax hit him. His body convulsed as Jack milked himself over Marcus’ face, painting the other man with thick white ropes. Finally, after emptying himself, Jack slumped back against the headboard to watch the rest of the show. 

“F-f-fuck.” Frankie let out a hoarse moan, shuddering, as he gripped Marcus’ hips alongside Dave. Jack watched with awe and desire as his lover came, his hips stuttering as he filled Marcus with his release. 

Marcus was next. Jack watched as he dug his nailed into the mattress, his whole body tensing as he spilled himself onto the bed, gasping up at Jack. Dave wasn’t far behind, pinching his eyes closed and letting out a quiet grunt before easing himself out of Frankie, who slumped down over Marcus. 

“Well, I don’t know about you fellas.” Jack was the first to speak, still panting from the fun. “I don’t know about you, but that was a mighty fine appetizer. What’do’ya say we go grab ourselves a little pick me up, then dive into the main course?”