#Marcus Pike Imagine

[wildemaven]

Marcus recounts your first date on Valentine’s Day, visiting all the spots you both love to visit frequently in DC— he then proposes at the exact table JFK proposed to Jackie

[atinylittlepain]

Marcus Pike x f!reader

(there is no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man)

He's looking for something other than vanilla, and she is more than happy to provide such a service to him.

warnings | 18+ this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

a/n | this was written LAST MAY woof - i think originally it was supposed to be for the first round of the PMAMC (also woof) but she's here now :') special thanks to @wannab-urs for resurrecting this fucker. there is a part two... just sayin

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The first thing she notices about him is that he’s nervous. He keeps loosening and tightening his tie, eyes glancing around in quick, anxious sweeps. He’s definitely never been here before, she would’ve remembered a face that handsome, strong jaw under a little scruff and big brown eyes that set a smile tugging at her lips when he finally meets her gaze. 

“Hey there, handsome, welcome in. First time?” His eyes drop down to the floor, a clipped laugh coming out as she steps closer to him.

“Am I that obvious?” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes crinkled in a shy smile that sets warmth spreading in her chest, bringing a delicate palm to his shoulder.

“Just never seen you around before, that’s all. What brings you to Pandora’s tonight?”

“Well, I, uh– I wanted to– um–” He cuts his own rambling off, jaw slack as he watches a man in head to toe latex walk by, being led on a leash by one of her coworkers. 

“Hey, don’t worry about them. I wanna know what you want. Would you feel more comfortable talking some more in one of our private rooms?” Eyelashes fluttering, spine arched, she knows exactly how to reel them in, noting the dip and bob of his throat as he nods.

“I– yeah, um, yes please.” Manners, she likes that. She slips her hand down his arm, taking his hand before turning heel and tugging him down the dark hallway, taking them into one of the vacant playrooms. It’s one of the tamer rooms, a four poster bed in the middle, red silk sheets, and a dark chest of drawers off to the side full of all sorts of fun. She guides him to sit down on the end of the bed beside her, his hands immediately going to his thighs in a nervous squeeze. His eyes are still darting everywhere, but mostly to the tops of her breasts, pressed up in the strappy leather corset she has on, though he doesn’t let his gaze linger there long before jerking his eyes back up to her face. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby. I just want to hear a little about why you came in, and how you’d like to be taken care of tonight, alright?” He nods, clearing his throat a few times before replying.

“I just– you gotta know that I’ve never done anything like this before, really. But, I don’t know, I guess I wanted to try something different? My, well my ex-wife, I think she thought I was too, um, vanilla. So I guess I want to– not be– um, vanilla anymore. And, Jesus Christ, you probably think I’m crazy, huh?” Somehow, he manages to still be handsome and look like a kicked puppy at the same time, and she has to resist the urge to push his flop of hair back and press a kiss to the crease between his brows.

“Not crazy at all. So when you say not vanilla, what does that mean to you?” When he gives her no answer, eyes only widening as he seems to wrack his brain for what to say, she laughs lightly, bringing a palm to his thigh and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Do you see yourself being more of a dom or a sub?” 

“I– what does that mean, dom and sub?” Oh boy, more basic than the basics then.

“Dom is shorthand for dominant, that’s the person in control in the relationship, and they’re usually the one inflicting any pain, if you’re into that. And sub means submissive, that’s the person who follows the dom’s commands, who gets taken care of.” 

“Oh, right, that makes sense. I mean, I don’t think I’d be very good at being in control like that, so I guess, more submissive?” I’ll say. She offers him a nod and smile, still trying to coax some of his anxiety out of him.

“Sounds good, handsome. If it’s alright with you, I can be your partner for the night. Let’s get some paperwork for you and then we can get started, ok?” He only nods, something she’s going to have to work on with him.

“For this to work, I’m gonna need you to always use your words with me, alright? That way I know exactly what you do and don’t like.” She says it to him over her shoulder as she rifles through the chest of drawers, getting out a waiver and a pen for him. 

“Uh, yes, ok, I can– I can do that.” She sits back down beside him with a hum, passing him the paperwork, watching his brow furrow as he reads over it.

“That’s a list of kinks we do and don’t participate in. Are there any that you’re particularly interested in exploring tonight?” Another clear of his throat, keeping his eyes glued to the paper when he responds.

“Do men– do men really like that? I mean, I’ve heard of it, but, does it feel good?” She looks over his shoulder to where his finger is pointing, her lips crooking into a smile when she sees what’s caught his attention.

“Mmhmm, it can be very pleasurable, with an experienced partner, of course.”

“And you– are you, um, experienced?” Her smile broadens into a grin at his question, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh baby, I’m very experienced. Is that something you’d like to try out tonight?” He seems to consider it, his eyes darting from her lips back up to her gaze a few times before he finally nods.

“Fuck it, yeah, I wanna do that. But is it ok if that’s the only thing we do on this list? I don’t think I’m really into the whole– chains and whips thing.” She laughs at that, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she nods.

“Whatever you want. Just need you to sign that waiver which basically affirms that we’re all clean here at Pandora’s, and you are too. You’re familiar with our pricing, right? It’s three hundred for an hour, and five for two.” 

“Is it ok if I do two?”

“You’re the customer, honey. What you say goes.” With a decisive nod, he ticks the box next to two hours on the form, signing his name on the dotted line before handing her back the pen and paper.

“Nice to officially meet you, Marcus. You can call me Daisy, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” As she sets the paperwork down on the chest of drawers, he lets out a light laugh, drawing her attention over her shoulder.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Stepping out of her heels, she pads back over to him, standing right between his legs, setting down the items she grabbed before guiding his hands onto her hips.

“It’s not, is there something else you’d like to call me for the night?” He takes a sharp inhale as she drags his hands from her hips, up and up until his palms are cupping her breasts through her corset.

“I, um– Daisy’s good, yeah.” Letting her hands fall away from his, his eyes search hers, obvious in looking for permission that she’s happy to give.

“You can touch me, Marcus, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.” 

“Can I take this off of you?” His fingers are toying with the laced-up front of her corset, which she lightly bats away.

“It’s a little tricky, let me.” She makes deft work of unlacing the garment, a known path for her fingers that usually bores her, though there’s a little kick of something else, him watching her and the fine flicker of her hands. Marcus lets out a laugh at the grin she offers him, fizzling in his throat when she lets the corset fall away to reveal herself to him, standing before him in only her barely-there shorts. The heat of his hands just hovers over the swell of her breasts, and she can’t help the sigh that thrums in her throat when he finally lets his palms press against her skin. It’s not often that a client affects her like this, and she has to clear her throat to refocus on the real task at hand.

“Why don’t we get you out of your clothes? Sit back for me.” She’s undone dozens of ties, worked her fingers through miles of shirt buttons, and doesn’t even have to look to get trousers unfastened now, but she can’t shake the prickle running up her spine at the way his eyes follow every movement, and she can’t hide the shudder that runs through her when he tentatively tucks her hair behind her ear as she works his pants down his hips. 

“Have you been doing this for long?” She shoots him a look from her spot between his legs, his pants discarded to leave him in just his briefs.

“Are you really trying to make small talk?” Oh, he’s blushing now. She likes that, crawling closer and dipping her head down to press a kiss to the center of his chest before dragging her lips up and up, catching at the bob in his throat before letting her mouth just hover over his, feeling the shaky pants of his breath.

“There’s no need for that, Marcus. I’m gonna take care of you now, and I need you to tell me what you like, and what you don’t, do you understand?” His voice comes out a little hoarse, and she can feel the thrum of it where her chest is brushing against his.

“Yes, I understand.” A grin is all she gives him, ducking down before his lips can meet hers as she lets her mouth drag a trail down his torso until she’s nipping at the waistband of his briefs. 

“Can I take these off?” When all he does is nod, she gives his hip a light pinch, something between a laugh and a grunt jumping from his chest at the sensation.

“Yeah, you can take them off, I– sorry.” She smoothes her palm over the spot she pinched, smiling up at him.

“That’s ok, baby. Just remember your words for me.” He can’t be real, that’s all she can figure when she gets him totally bare before her, his cock a perfect pink that matches the flush on his chest, thick enough to set her jaw aching in anticipation, and long, pre-come smearing in the tuft of hair over his pelvis. She can’t help but wonder why the fuck anyone would ever want to leave him when he’s this pretty to look at. 

“Can I touch you? Get you warmed up for me?” He’s propped up on his elbows to watch her kneeling between his legs, lips swollen from how much he’s been biting them, slightly parted in something like wonder.

“Yeah, yes, please.” 

“Hmm, I like a boy with some manners. Just relax, Marcus, and remember, I’m here to take care of you.” With that, she presses a kiss just below his belly button, smiling against the twitch of his muscles before dipping down and letting her lips ghost over the underside of his cock. It’s involuntary, the hum she lets out when she takes him fully into the heat of her mouth, relaxing her throat like she’s learned to do, a necessary move in order to take all of him. And he’s perfect beneath her, thighs flexing under her splayed palms, low moans rumbling in his chest as she alternates between swallowing him down and lapping at his leaking tip. She knows she’s done her job, that she’s loosened him up, when those moans start to get a little louder, a little more drawn out, and he slumps down off his elbows to run a hand through his hair, eyes scrunched shut. A kiss over one hip, then the other, keeping her palm steady on his heaving belly while she reaches for the lube, his eyes squinting open to see why she stopped. 

“You ever used lube before?” 

“No, never needed to, I guess.” 

“Well it’s gonna be your best friend tonight. I’m gonna warm a little up in my palms and then I’ll let you get used to the feel of it, ok?” He hums out an mmhmm, watching her hands rub in quick circles, his eyes following the subtle shake of her breasts with the movement. And when she gets her hands on him again, slicking her palm up his cock, a hiss slips through his lips.

“Sorry, is it still cold?” 

“No, fuck– just feels really good.” She grins at that, letting her wrist flick, hand in an easy glide as she slips her palm down to cup the weight of his balls, his groan cracking and shooting up an octave, hips jolting at the sensation. 

“Has no one touched you like this before, baby?” 

“I– Jesus, no– no one’s done that before.” 

“Well that’s just not right. Feels good, huh?” A little squeeze to punctuate her question sets another moan loose in his chest as he presses his head back into the sheets.

“Y-yes, feels really good.” She nudges his thighs open a bit more, letting her hand slip down lower, not pressing, but circling, gauging how he reacts as she keeps her other hand easily stroking his cock. 

“Remember, need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. We can stop at any time. Do you like what I’m doing right now?” His eyes are still shut tight, one hand fisted in his hair, the other tangled in the sheets, pleasure pulling his whole body taut.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s, hah– it’s different, good, different good.” His words go a bit slurred when she presses her finger forward, opening him up as he lets out another breathy moan. 

He takes it well, whimpers and moans crackling in his throat as she starts a steady thrust, only pausing to work a little more lube over her hand. 

“Doing so good for me, Marcus. You wanna try taking a little more?” He sits up on his elbows, surprising her a bit with his firm reply.

“I want more, want you to use that on me, please.” He tilts his head over to the strap laying on the end of the bed, once again catching her off guard.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He tilts his head at her, a crooked smile on his face.

“Didn’t you say something about the customer always being right?” She lets out a real laugh at that, shaking her head at him as he just grins, clearly pleased with himself. 

“I guess so. Alright, handsome, why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me? We’ll take it nice and slow.” He seems a bit taken aback by that request, his smile going a little slack as she gets off the bed to step into her harness, though he catches himself, clearing his throat and shifting around on the bed into the position she asked for.

She can’t help herself, getting back on the bed and kneeling behind him, laying a quick pat to his very cute ass that has him craning his neck over his shoulder to look at her.

“Sorry, just looks so good I had to give it a little tap. You ready for me?” He hums his assent as she slicks her fake cock in lube, bringing one palm over his low back in a reassuring circle as she scoots in closer. 

“Just relax, Marcus, this is about you feeling good. That’s it, open up for me.” She works her strap in slow, curling over him to press her lips in a murmuring of praise into his shoulder blades as he whimpers beneath her, his hands fisted tight in the sheets. 

“How’re you feeling, baby? Is it too much? We can go back to what we–”

“No, no. I just– just need a minute, fuck– didn’t think it’d feel this good.” She’s not being professional about this, she knows it too, but she doesn’t care. A professional would be checking the clock, making sure that he gets his before his time is up. A professional wouldn’t be laying kisses over his shoulders, whispering to him that he’s doing so good, that he can take it, that he’s so pretty like this. But nothing about the way she wants him right now feels professional, the way she wants to take care of him, to make him feel good, to keep him feeling good for as long as she can.

“Just say the word. I move when you want me to.” 

Slow and smooth, nothing but patience and permission in how she fucks him, her hips slotting with his again and again and again, simmering down into a close press, her chest draped over his back and her hand working his cock in time with her thrusts when he finally unravels beneath her. He slumps down onto his forearms, a slur of curses punching out of his lungs as she runs her palms up and down his shuddering back. But what he does next is so unexpected she finds herself at the mercy of his movements. The moment she pulls her hips away from his, he turns over underneath her, still catching his breath as his hands find her hips, insistent and harsh in the way he pulls her down onto the bed. He’s certainly a sight, cheeks flushed and hair perfectly mussed up in every direction, his eyes blown dark and wide as he hovers over her.

“Can I take care of you now? Is that allowed?” A professional would say no, that his time is up, get him a towel and a glass of water and process his credit card.

She doesn’t say no.

He fumbles a bit with the straps of the harness, letting out an impatient groan that makes her giggle, quick to bat his hands away and make easy work of shimmying the whole thing down her legs. And the smile he gives her as she does is downright sheepish.

“That’s, uh, a bit tricky.” She brushes his hair back out of his face, thumb settling against the dimple in his cheek, a move that’s entirely too sweet and she knows it.

“Just a little. I’m all yours now though.” He doesn’t waste any time, ducking his head down to press a sweet kiss over the top of her breast that turns salacious when he slides his tongue down over the tight peak of her nipple, her back arching up into the heat of his mouth as he lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin. His hands are splayed around her hips, greedy and insistent in the way his fingers curl and press into her ass, lifting her hips up to slide her tiny shorts off her legs before he settles back between her thighs, his nose brushing against her twitching stomach, dark eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“Is this ok? Can I taste you? Make you feel good like that?” He steals a move from her book when all she does is nod, his hand that’s still curled around her hip laying a gentle pinch to the swell, his grin going boyish as she huffs out a laugh.

“Can I have your words, Daisy, please?” She tilts her head at his shy question, enjoying the flushed flare creeping up his cheeks.

“Hmm, you’re a fast learner, huh? Yeah, baby, I want your mouth, Want you to make me feel good.” 

It’s not that she had been expecting him to be bad at it. But she also hadn’t been expecting him to be so fucking good either. Head thrown back, thighs trembling around his scruff, moaning his name good. He’s not precious about it, licking a flat stripe through her cunt before letting his tongue catch on her clit in a harsh press, dipping back down to lap up the slick pooling at her entrance, a continuous circuit of pleasure that has every muscle in her body tensing up. He groans low in his chest when she rakes her fingers through his hair, tugging just a bit unkindly when his teeth graze her clit. One large palm snakes up to grasp at the swell of one of her breasts, his other hand pressed across her pelvis to keep her spasming hips still as he fucks her with his tongue, the strong hook of his nose dragging across her clit with each pass. And it hits her all at once, that snare of pleasure snapping hot and hard as she comes with a stilted moan of his name, her heel pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping him exactly where he is, and he continues to work her over as she comes undone on his mouth. 

She tugs at his hair again when it becomes too much, her hips jolting at the thrumming chuckle he lets out when he finally pulls away, resting his cheek against her hip while she tries to catch her breath. They lay like that for a hiccup of time, just staring at each other, a dazed smile on his glistening lips that she knows is mirrored in her own hazy grin. Eventually she lets out a long sigh, reaching out for him and thumbing away some of her arousal that’s smeared across his jaw. 

“Do you wanna, like, get a burger or something?”

“Is that– is that a part of my two hours?” “Oh baby, your two hours were up a while ago.”

…

He’s waiting for her right outside the club, and she mentally kicks herself for having worn sweats and a hoodie in for her shift earlier, though he doesn’t seem to mind, smiling big and broad when she steps outside to join him. 

“I know you said burgers, but there’s a diner around the corner that does the best pancakes in DC. Sound good to you?” She likes this version of him too, confident, certain, a bit old-fashioned with the way he holds his arm out for her to take like they didn’t just wreck each other a few moments ago, letting her hold onto him the whole walk over to the diner, opening the door for her, the whole chivalric production.

It’s so late at night, they’re virtually the only people in the place, tucking into a cracked vinyl booth and putting in their order, pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, the works. And they share every last bite, having both clearly worked up an appetite after their evening together.

Though he’s vague about it, she can suss out for herself that he’s some sort of higher-up government type, she knows them well, and in turn, she answers his questions about her, that her work at Pandora’s is good enough to be supporting her through college, Marcus seeming to perk up when she tells him she’d like to be an art teacher one day. He’s older than her, at least enough to have already been married and divorced, but she can’t find it in herself to care about that, too busy enjoying their easy conversation, the subtle game of footsie they have going on under the table, and the way he smiles at her, all of his attention on her. It’s so strange, so different, so starkly contrasted to the way her nights usually go, not that she minds the simple rotation of disinterested clients, but she hasn’t had someone look at her, really look at her the way Marcus is, in quite a while. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t really expecting my night to end like this.” Plates long cleared, each of them nursing a mug of coffee as the first sweeps of dawn start to light up the streets outside, she smiles at his admission.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” He grins at her question, leaning in on his elbows like he has the wildest secret to tell her.

“Really good surprise. I mean, I just think you’re– amazing. Fuck, is that weird of me to say?” She mirrors him, leaning in on her elbows, a smile threatening to quirk her lips.

“Hmm, no, it’s cute. For the record, I think you’re kinda amazing too.” Their faces are so close, and she realizes all at once that she hasn’t even kissed him yet.

“Only kinda, huh? Guess I didn’t do my job then.” She can almost feel the curve of his smile as she laughs at his simpering response, the sound getting swallowed when he closes the space between them, pressing his lips to hers. And he’s good at this too, his palm coming to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheek as he deepens the kiss, licking into her mouth and nearly melting her on the spot. Though it’s over too soon for her liking when they get interrupted by someone clearing their throat in front of their table, pulling away to see the rather annoyed looking waitress setting their check down and shuffling away with a sour side-eye. She opens her mouth to protest when Marcus reaches for his wallet, but he waves his hand, black American Express glinting in the diner’s fluorescent lights.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do after going over my two hours.” She can tell he means it as a joke, a flippant remark, but her stomach still sinks at even the suggestion of this still being a business transaction. It’s a sore spot for her, and though she’s more than comfortable with the work she does, her exes hadn’t been, nor had they been kind about it for that matter.

Busy signing the check, Marcus doesn’t notice the way her face falls, and she’s already out of the booth and halfway out the door of the diner when he finally calls out for her, further rubbing salt in the wound when the name he uses is Daisy. 

“Woah, woah, hey, what happened in there?” The hand he hooks around her bicep is gentle but insistent, and she can’t help the tears threatening to spill over when he turns her around to look at him in the faint morning light.

“Look, if that’s all this is to you, just business, that’s fine, but I have enough respect for myself to not–” He cuts her off, bringing his broad palm to cup her cheek again, his eyes wide and unwavering.

“Hey, that’s not what this is– I mean, at least not anymore. We did meet under some, ah, particular circumstances. But this isn’t business to me now, if that’s ok with you?” He thumbs away her stray tears, and she nearly goes dizzy with the relief she feels hearing those words from him. 

“I’m sorry, baby, it was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t even thinking.” Baby, it’s the second time he’s called her that. She’s never anyone’s baby, they’re always hers, but she likes it now, coming from him, finding herself smiling into his touch.

“I don’t want you to call me Daisy.” His eyes soften, smile tempering as he nods.

“Ok, what should I call you?” She tells him her real name, and with it, the last shred of her professionalism dissolves, and she doesn’t care one bit. He says her name like he’s rolling a hard candy around in his mouth, slow sugar in each syllable before he presses a kiss between her brows, lips trailing down to catch hers in a sweet smack. 

“Can I see you again? And, definitively not as, um, as business?” It makes her laugh, how quickly he shifts between confidence and constraint. She likes both. 

“I would really really like that, Marcus. Am I giving you my number or are you giving me yours?” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, like he’s surprised she actually wants that, though he’s quick to catch himself, clearing his throat and smiling.

“Uh, both? Both is good, right?” They swap phones, and she can’t help thinking to herself that of course this man has a Blackberry, stifling a giggle as she types in her number. 

“Can I walk you to your car? It’s back at the club, right?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a car, actually. Just take the bus to get around.” He doesn’t seem to like that, lips pressing into a thin line as he looks at her.

“How about I get you home this morning? Would that be ok?” Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of getting into the car of a man she just met, but seeing as she’s already broken a dozen of her cardinal rules with him, she doesn’t think twice about getting into his sleek BMW that’s still parked outside the club. He keeps a palm splayed just above her knee, thumb idly swiping back and forth, a soothing lull as she gives him directions toward her apartment complex. She hates to admit it to herself, but she’s a bit reluctant to get out when he does pull up to her building, leaning over the console for a kiss that he willingly gives her. 

“So I’ll call you?” She lays a kiss to the small patch in his scruff, smiling against his skin when he lets out a huff.

“I’ll answer. Thank you, Marcus, for a really nice night, and morning.”

When she gets inside her apartment, she slumps back against the door, blowing out a long exhale and shaking her head.

“Fuck.” Her boss is going to kill her, but she doesn’t really care. 

[faithiegirl01]

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So I’m writing this Marcus Pike Fic and Patrick is a pivotal character in the story… but like guys!! I’m having such a problem writing the second half out. 😩 It’s solely just because I’m having a hard time writing out Patrick. Like I know the characters from the show so well, but like with him I am just hitting a road block and people want a second part!! But I’m just stuck?!

Help me?! Please!! 🙏 If another writer would like to help me, it’d be very appreciated.

[say-al0e]

Choices

rating: m - this is smut! No one under 18! Minors, DNI!

Summary: Marcus has seen the aftermath of your work more often than you could count. You often worry that he'll grow tired of picking up the pieces after a particularly rough case but he's here to remind you that he'll always choose you. Warnings: Vague mentions of injuries/bruising, darkness associated with working for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), anxiety, stress, worry, unprotected PinV. If there's anything else, let me know! Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!Reader (BAU Agent [Criminal Minds] Reader) Word Count: 3.4k 

The feelings that tended to linger after cases were, in your line of work, rarely ever good. Occasionally, you found yourself elated - happy to have reunited a family or saved a life in the nick of time - but more often than not, there was only sadness. Most cases weighed heavy on your chest, dark and haunting, and this one was no different.

It seemed as if the other members of your team felt the same as the elevator remained silent. Soft breathing and the grinding of gears filled your ears as you slowly ascended to the sixth floor and you weren’t surprised. Six long, grueling days had passed since you last stepped foot in this elevator - bag packed and ready to head to Oregon, Spencer spouting fact after fact as you headed for the jet - and every one of you was exhausted.

Despite the late hour, however, a light illuminated the bullpen.

Marcus sat at your desk, a case file of his own spread across the top. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, a far cry from his work attire that let you know he’d driven to the office just for you, and you imagined he’d been sitting there since the jet landed.

That, coupled with the overwhelming emotion the case had drudged up, made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed in the bullpen.

Marcus met your eyes the moment you stepped out of the elevator and his face fell, heartbreak clear in the curve of his mouth, as he took in the glassy look in your eyes. He stood as you crossed the threshold into the small office space, focus solely on you, and waited patiently for you to come to him.

Morgan gripped Marcus’ shoulder as he brushed past him, offering him a look that spoke volumes despite his silence, while the others nodded silent greetings. Everyone began to disperse, each trudging wearily through the bullpen to grab any items they might need, as Marcus gathered your already packed bag from beneath your desk.

“C’mon,” he urged, voice a soft whisper as he took the go-bag from your hand and replaced its weight with the warmth of his palm. “Let’s go home.”

No words were shared as you descended to the parking deck but Marcus made it a point to keep his hand in yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, warm and reassuring, but this had grown almost routine.

Bad days seemed more common than good these days - cases seemed to end with more bloodshed and fewer happy endings - and you wanted to apologize. You hated that Marcus was the one seeing the aftermath, the one left to help you pick up the pieces time and time again, but his grip on your hand gave you hope that he at least understood.

That thought kept repeating as you drove home in silence. The worry that one day, all of the darkness you found yourself surrounded by would infiltrate your life - destroy it in the same way it had destroyed Hotch, the same way it burdened JJ and Emily and Rossi and Morgan and Reid - echoed so loud you feared Marcus would hear it.

Even as you wandered through your night routine on autopilot, Marcus lingering near but giving you enough space to not feel overwhelmed, you worried.

The job was one you loved, one you appreciated the chance to do, but there was a reason everyone you knew had such miserable personal lives. The nature of your work made it difficult to feel human sometimes, especially when your other half often seemed to beautifully human - so bright and full of love and understanding and kindness - and you wondered if Marcus regretted choosing you as you finally settled into bed beside him.

Even as he shifted closer, always so eager to offer whatever comfort he could, you felt a sort of guilt needle at your skin. With anyone else, he would be happy - unburdened by their work, in addition to his own - but you selfishly reveled in the glow of his light as he draped the duvet over your legs.

“What do you need, sweetheart?”

Marcus did little to hide the desperation in his voice as soft brown eyes searched yours. The instinct to blink, to hide your face from him and retreat into yourself, was strong but you resisted. There was never much he could do - the very nature of your job meant that this was your reality, that it would happen again and again; you wanted it to happen, to remind you that you could still feel, despite all you’d seen - but that never stopped him from trying.

This was a moment you both needed. You ached for the comfort Marcus provided and he wanted to feel helpful, if only for a moment. It made the pain a touch more bearable for you both but it still made the tears you’d been fighting for hours begin to fall. Marcus crumbled in that same moment, soft eyes widening as he took in the quiver of your bottom lip and the stutter in your breathing, as the weight you’d been carrying finally made you bend.

Soft fingers caressed your side, a featherlight touch that warmed your skin and helped you shake the desperate cold that latched onto you the moment you stepped off the plane, as Marcus made quiet noises of comfort. He shifted even closer, lifted one hand to cup your cheek - fingers careful as they delicately wiped away the few tears that lingered - and your eyes slipped shut as you attempted to relax into the feeling.

It was difficult to keep the flashes from appearing in the darkness - images from the case, faces from the seemingly infinite cases you’d handled over the course of your career - and Marcus seemed to understand what was happening as your eyes flew open with a soft gasp.

That worry that you were burdening him, that you were difficult to love, that you were selfishly clinging to something you didn’t deserve, nestled deep in your chest but you could’t help yourself as you reached for him.

“Make me forget,” you begged, fingers clutching his bicep as you met his eyes. “Distract me, please.” The whispered plea came out broken, thick with tears as you bared your aching soul for Marcus to see so plainly. And his answering sigh made the ache in your chest that much stronger.

“Anything you need, sweetheart.” It was a promise you’d heard a thousand times before, one you always believed but never dared dream you deserved, and inhaled sharply as he brushed away the few tears that managed to fall. “Lie back and let me take care of you.”

Marcus��� soft urging saw you lying back, nestling in the too-soft plush of your newly shared bed, but you willed yourself to focus entirely on him.

The soft curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the downturn of his lips as he frowned thoughtfully, the warm brown of his eyes as he searched your skin for any new bumps or bruises or scars; every inch of him devastatingly familiar and comforting in a way you feared you would lose with every case that took you away from home.

Careful fingers traced the curve of your cheek, trailed down your neck and brushed carefully over the pulse point you knew would betray your rapidly beating heart, but Marcus made no comment. Instead, he continued his slow descent of mapping skin you knew he was more familiar with than his own.

There was rarely any hurry in moments like these. Marcus knew you needed grounding, a return to the safety of your home - of your love, of his embrace - just as you knew he needed reassuring. He took his time searching for any evidence of the difficulty of your work, never failing to press soft kisses to the wounds he could, and your heart clenched as his eyes closed upon lifting the hem of your t-shirt.

A smattering of bruises covered your abdomen, ran down your side and disappeared into the waistband of your shorts, and you knew Marcus immediately imagined the worst. It had been bad and you planned to answer any questions he had, but the injury was of little surprise. The pain had yet to fully sink in - the stiffness, the ache every time you so much as shifted - but you’d seen worse and so had he.

“You should see the other guy.” The joke sounded weak in your own ears, half-hearted and hollow, but Marcus dutifully played along. 

As he carefully pulled the fabric over your head, he hummed. “I wouldn’t want to be him.”

Marcus leaned in then, careful to rest as little weight on you as he could manage, and pressed his mouth to yours in a soft kiss. There was a tentativeness to the kiss that he only showed in moments like these, a hesitance that reminded you of that very first date, but it lasted for only a second.

When your hand lifted to the back of his neck, fingers pressing into his skin to pull him closer, Marcus sank into you.

Every emotion he’d felt over the course of the week poured into the kiss. Each ounce of anguish, of worry, of relief bled through the embrace as his hand fell to an uninjured spot on your hip to ground himself. There were worries he’d never speak aloud - fears he kept to himself as he knew they’d only further your own anxiety - but in moments like these, you felt them clearly.

A sort of desperation gripped you, had you pulling him close despite the ache settling deep in your bones, as your fingers pressed hard into his skin. Your focus fell to him entirely, blocking out the darkness that threatened to overwhelm you more often than not, and you were grateful for his presence as he nosed at the hinge of your jaw.

Deft hands trailed down your warm skin, dipped beneath the band of your shorts and brushed at the fabric covering you. This was never truly about pleasure - not in the way it so often seemed to be with Marcus, a partner who truly understood what you needed, what you wanted. This was about connection, grounding, a moment to remind you both that you were home, safely tucked into the sheets at his side once more.

Despite that understand, Marcus was a giver. He never failed give his all and you were reminded of his generosity as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric of your panties.

Warm, featherlight kisses trailed over your jaw, down the column of your throat, as practiced fingers traced your slit. “Focus on me,” he urged, touch teasing but purposeful as he tipped his head to steal a glimpse at your face. “Just feel.”

With fingers still trembling, you lifted your hand to his chest and placed your palm over his heart. Marcus hummed encouragingly, a reminder of the first time he made that request, and you willed your own heart to match his rhythm. Steady and strong, just as he always seemed to be, helped you relax into his embrace as his thumb found the small bundle of nerves.

When he managed to draw a soft sigh, Marcus smiled. “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Soft murmurs of praise filled the room, warm and husky in that tone he reserved just for you, as his fingers pressed into you. With every swipe of his thumb, with every insistent press as he worked you open, you felt yourself returning to the moment at hand. Each flutter of your lashes grew easier, less daunting, and you marveled at his ability to capture your attention so wholly as the dark began to fill with visions of him.

Deep brown eyes, marveling at the way your lips parted and your chest heaved; soft lips, swollen from kisses and the way his teeth sank into them when you writhed beneath him; strong arms, desperate to wrap around your frame as you fell apart beneath him. Visions of Marcus steadily filled the void and warmed you from within, drawing soft moans and eager cries of his name as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

The only pause in his ministration was to tug the soft fabric of your shorts down your legs, eager to slip between your spread thighs in the way he so often did. However, before he could throw you over the edge with a talented tongue and eager eyes watching your every move, you gripped his bicep.

“Not tonight. I just…” It was soft, a careful plea that almost seemed brittle in comparison to your usual requests, but Marcus seemed to understand. With a deep breath, eyes stinging with unshed tears, you shook your head. “Just want you close tonight, please.”

Marcus acquiesced, always so eager to give you what you wanted, and you swallowed the pang of guilt you felt at the position you so often put him in. He deserved more - deserved stable, happy, soft, warm - but you refused to dwell on that thought as he shifted.

A careful hand lifted your leg, littered in more bruises you knew he’d catalogue later, and wrapped it around his waist to press impossibly closer. He nudged his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock before notching the head at your dripping entrance.

The stretch of him always hit you hard, captured your attention fully and made it impossible to think about anything other than his touch, and Marcus used that to his advantage as he leaned in to press his lips to yours. He eagerly swallowed the soft noises that left your lips, the sighs and moans that escaped as he buried himself to the hilt, and left only an inch of space when you both needed air.

With his forehead pressed to yours, those dark eyes always so observant, Marcus set a pace that had you clinging to him. He pressed impossibly deep, hitting the spot that saw stars bursting in your field of vision, and gave in to your insistent tugging as he leaned more of his weight onto you. You knew he’d move as soon as you both finished, eager to keep from hurting you, but you took all he was willing to give and comforted yourself in his presence as he wound you tighter and tighter.

Every snap of his hips, every soft press of his mouth to your rapidly heating skin, every whispered word of praise chipped away at you. Piece by brittle piece, Marcus broke you apart. He would spend the next day putting you back together again but you thought little of anything other than the heat of his skin pressed to yours.

The beat of his heart hammered beneath your fingertips, climbing ever higher with every snap of his hips - with every swipe of his fingers, of his mouth over your heated skin - and you reveled in the break in his voice as he urged, “Come for me, sweetheart. Let go.”

With a cry of his name and clinging to him, you came. Marcus swallowed every noise, lips ghosting over your own, and followed shortly after. And while he would’ve ordinarily allowed you to keep him pressed close, weight resting atop your body, he’d seen the state of you. He’d already pressed closer than he intended and pulled away the moment you both began to come down.

Marcus settled in beside you, pulled you into his chest and gave you space to shift until you were comfortable, before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. In the silence of the bedroom, you listened as his breathing evened and debated speaking for a long while.

But as the darkness settled, the silence oppressively loud, you couldn’t stop the words from escaping. “I’m sorry.”

The apology lingered in the darkness for so long that you began to wonder if Marcus had fallen asleep. You knew him better than that, however, and swallowed your own sigh as he made a comforting noise.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His voice was soft, comforting, but there was a certainty in the way he spoke that made your heart begin to hammer in your chest once more. There was a finality, a promise that made you realize he knew exactly what you were apologizing for, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as he lifted a hand to cradle the back of your head.

“None of this is on you, sweetheart,” he reminded you gently, voice quiet in the still of the room. “You see such terrible things every day. You’re constantly faced with the worst humanity has to offer but you keep going. You’ve helped so many people. I know how bad it hurts that you can’t save everyone but think of all the people you have saved. This case was hard and the next one probably will be, too, but you never have to apologize for needing help carrying that weight. We’re partners,” he stressed, a reminder you’d heard a thousand times before, “that’s what I’m here for.”

“I know. I just…” Marcus waited patiently, fingers careful not to press too hard to your skin as he brushed nonsensical patterns across your back. “You deserve better,” you settled for, voicing the one concern you held so close to your chest aloud. “My life, it’s just darkness. There’s never any guarantee that the darkness won’t follow me home, that it won’t come back to haunt me, that it won’t come back to haunt you because you love me. There’s no guarantee I’ll come back from the next case or the one after that.”

With a shuddering breath, you shook your head as best as you were able held so close to his chest. “You’re such a good man, Marcus. You’re so kind and loving. You give so much of yourself and ask so little in return. The least I could do is give you an easy love but I’m not… I’m never going to be that.”

“Sometimes, what’s easy isn’t worth having.” Marcus shifted away from you then, turned to the side to flicker on the bedside lamp, and met your eyes in the soft glow. “I don’t want an easy love,” he promised, so certain you felt your chest begin to ache. “I want this love. I want your love.”

When you blinked, tears threatening to fall, Marcus sighed quietly. “I worry. Every single time you leave, I’m afraid that I’ll get a call that you’re coming home with stitches or a cast or that you’re stuck in some hospital somewhere. I’m afraid I’ll get a call that you’re not coming home at all. I hate worrying about that because I know you’re capable and your team is amazing but I’m going to worry because I love you. Every time you come home, I see you doing your best to hold it together and I hate seeing you so broken but I’ll be sitting there, waiting, until you tell me to stop. I hate watching you look over your shoulder after the worst cases, never afraid for you but always afraid for me, but I’ll keep looking with you. You love this job and you do it well. This is your life and I knew what I was signing up for. None of this was a surprise to me,” he reminded you, gently. “I chose this, I chose you, and it was the best choice I’ve ever made.”

The tears began to fall then, both of relief and immense sadness, and Marcus abandoned his attempt to keep you physically comfortable in an effort to bring you the closeness he knew you craved. He pulled you in tight, arms wrapping around you, and held you to his chest. You both knew that this would happen again, that there would be another case and another bout of doubt, but you knew that Marcus would be there to reassure you again and again.

Just as he’d chosen you, you chose him. And it was the best choice you’d ever made.

___________________________________________________________

Author's Note: I'm in a Pedro mood. Let's capitalize on this and knock out a few WIPs and get to work on a Frankie fic. :) I have a job interview this week so fingers crossed it goes well and I get the offer!

Tag List: @peoniarose, @karie-me-home, @rachelwritestuff, @stardust-galaxies, @deliciouslydisturbed365, @a-louise-juliane, @ben-is-a-hoe, @weasleywinchester, @crowfootwrites​, @winchestershiresauce​, @kesskirata​​, @lyr1ssa, @viyasstuff, @negansnympho89​, @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​,  @kirsteng42​, @balekanemohafe​, @avengers-fixation​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @nintendhoe8​, @luciferiorbxtch​, @jettia​, @xoxabs88xox​

[fandomgirlz01]

Don’t Leave Me Pt. 1

Marcus Pike X Reader

Imagine on my fandom instagram?: No

Prompt?: No

Request?: No

Requested prompt?: No

Edited: Yes

Word count: 5,153

Ko-fi

Masterlist

Warnings here

You can listen to the story be read out loud here {Coming Soon}.

Post Date: May 28th 2023

Post Time: 3:16 pm

Summary: Together Marcus and the reader lead their team through a case. They get ambushed by part of Marcus’ past which makes the reader start to question things, but something goes wrong while they're out in the field. 

Third Person Pov:

After the whole Teresa thing and moving to D.C., Marcus had tried so hard not to get into other relationships, but then he met y/n. It was only about three weeks after everything and he’d still been feeling heartbroken– but who wouldn’t when a relationship fails as bad as it did? He’d walked into work that morning and the day went as normal as usual, until later when he was getting ready to go home. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, when in reality it’s now been almost four years. He had just finished packing up his bag, getting ready to turn out the light on his desk as his phone went off. It was his boss asking for him to come to his office. 

Marcus’ Pov: *Flashback* 

“Marcus, would you please come to my office? I have something important to discuss with you,” my boss's voice floods over the phone and I sigh as I move my hand from the lamp to the phone. 

“I’ll be right there, sir,” I promise him as I hold down the button that lets me reply to him before letting go. 

I wait a moment to see if there’s any response, but it stays quiet. I grab my bag, switch off the light on my desk, and start to walk to my boss’s office. 

I take the elevator to his floor, walk down a few halls, then start to walk up to the door and go to open it. 

“Hold on, Marcus. Mr. Hudson is in a meeting,” Destiny, his secretary, stops me in my tracks. 

“Oh really? He called me in to see him,” I tell her and she shakes her head, smiling at me. 

“He did? He didn’t inform me. Hold on, let me page him and see,” she tells me. I nod and put my hands in my pockets. 

“Mr. Hudson?” she questions as she presses the page button down. 

“What is it, Destiny?” he responds and she looks back up at me. 

“Marcus is here. I wasn’t too sure if you wanted me to send him in or not,” she replies and there’s a pause as she waits. 

“Yes. Yes. Send him in,” he responds before we can hear him release the page button. 

“Ok, Marcus, you heard him. Go right on in,” she tells me as she waves me off to the door. 

“Ok. Thanks,” I reply before taking a step forward and opening the door. 

I pop my head in and leave a little knock on the door. Mr. Hudson pauses as he looks away from someone who’s sitting in the right chair in front of his desk. 

“Ahh, Marcus. Come in, come in. Take a seat,” he tells me as he motions to the left chair. 

“Uhh, ok. Is there something wrong, sir?” I ask him and he shakes his head with a small smile.

“Nothing's wrong, my boy. I just wanted to introduce you to your new partner. She just landed half an hour ago and will be starting on with you tomorrow,” he informs and I nod, even though I’m very shocked. 

“Y/n, this is Marcus, Marcus, this is y/n. Your new partner,” Mr. Hudson introduces us.

I am immediately in awe when I see the girl sitting beside me. She smiles and says something before holding her hand out to me. I shake out of my daze and give her a confused look. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask and she lets out a giggle that sounds heavenly to my ears, making it easily become my new favorite melody.

“I said, hi. I’m y/n,” she reiterates and I again shake my head. 

“Right. I’m sorry, I’m Marcus. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve just had a really long day,” I reply as I reach out and shake her hand. 

“It’s ok. Really, I get it,” she promises me with a soft smile that makes my hands feel a little clammy, but I ignore it and remember my pact I made with myself when moving here. 

“Don’t take this as an insult,” I comment as I take a quick look at y/n and she shakes her head. “But sir, why do I need a partner? I thought we said I wouldn’t need to have one. That I’d be head of department,” I reiterate what we talked about before my move. 

“We did, but I just thought that you have so much to do that it could possibly take some off of your back. Don’t worry you're still head, she’s just here to take a little pressure off,” he explains as he gestures to her and I shake my head in denial. 

“There’s not too much for me to do,” I petulantly argue even when I know he’s right. 

“Marcus, my boy… not to add insult to injury, but you look tired and overwhelmed. You’ve only been here three weeks and you’re already behind,” he explains, pausing to give me a quick questioning look. 

“I’m not overwhelmed…” I again argue and he sighs, shaking his head. 

“Look, Marcus. You are and I see that. This is your new partner and that’s final. She’s only here to help you. Came just to do that. Please let her help you,” he begs me and I sigh reluctantly. 

“Ok. I guess,” I agree and Mr. Hudson grins. 

“Great! She starts tomorrow morning. You’ll be sharing an office, so don’t be surprised if there’s an extra desk in there in the morning,” he adds on and I see y/n smile an award-winning smile. 

“I’m excited to get started, sir. Thank you so much for the opportunity. I won’t let you down,” she promises him and I frown at the way she says it. 

It’s almost like she’s making a point known as she says it and he just hums while nodding. She quickly goes to get up, but Mr. Hudson stops her by holding his hand out. 

“Hold on, y/n, we’re not done here. Marcus, you can go,” he informs me and I nod before getting up. 

“It was so nice to meet you, Marcus. I hope we can grow a good friendship,” she sweetly tells me and I can’t help but smile at her. 

“It was nice meeting you too, y/n. Me too, you seem sweet. I’m sure we’ll get along great. See you tomorrow,” I reply warmly and she smiles up at me, making my stomach do flips. I quickly push the feeling aside as I so desperately try not to ruin the pact I made with myself after moving here. 

~End of Flashback~ 

Marcus’ Pov:

I sit leaning back in my office chair as we work on the case we’ve been vigorously working on for almost a week. After being in the office for a few hours I can’t help but let my thoughts wander. I think over the last four years and I smile when y/n —who’s now my girlfriend— lets out a sigh while rubbing her face. 

After she became my partner, it took a while for us to get to know one another —because I so obviously closed myself off after Teresa— but eventually y/n got me to open up, making us become closer and closer until finally I asked her out. She got me to open up in ways I never had before. I eventually told her all about Teresa and we both agreed to take things slowly. Never did I imagine this is where we’d be almost four years later. 

“Knock, knock,” Ezra Bradford, our tech person, announces as she stands in the door frame. She pops her head in, breaking me out of my daze down memory lane. 

“What’s up, Ez?” I ask as and y/n and I look up at her.  

“We caught the money trail. We found them…” she tells us and I look at y/n, who looks at me in almost excitement. 

“Well, where does it lead to?” Y/n asks and Ezra takes a hesitant pause. 

“Well, that’s the thing. It leads back to Texas,” Ezra hesitantly tells us and y/n's excitement quickly fades away. 

“Welp, I guess this means we’re going to Texas,” I point out with a shrug and y/n sighs. 

“Ok. We’re going to Texas. Marc, do you wanna contact them? Or should I?” Y/n asks me and I shrug as I stand from my chair, stretching out a bit. 

“Either way. Come on, I’ll drive,” I tell her as I reach forward and grab the keys off her desk. 

She lazily stands up, looking like the epitome of tired and lets out an exhausted huff. I chuckle before pulling her into my side. We walk out of the room, coming to a stop just in the hall of the office we share before closing the door up and locking it. I then turn and pull y/n back into my side, swaying with her lightly as I look back at Ezra over y/n’s shoulder. 

“You can tell the boss, yeah?” I ask Ezra, giving her a questioning look and she nods. 

“Yeah. I’ll have him get the jet ready for you too,” Ezra agrees with a firm nod before pushing her glasses up. 

“Can you send the presentation to me, please, Ezra?” Y/n asks her and Ezra nods in agreement again. 

“Sleepy?” I ask as I look down at y/n, who’s now cuddled into my side and she nods tiredly as she lets out a very small yawn. 

“It’s been a very long week,” she bemoans and I agree with a soft hum as I leave a kiss at her temple. 

“Well, you can sleep on the plane,” I tell her and she nods again as she lets out a very quiet hum of agreement. 

“Alright, we’ll hopefully see you in a few days, Ez,” I tell her as I look back up at her over y/n’s shoulder again and she nods. 

“Go get the bad guys. I can send over whatever information you guys need to Texas’ tech guy. Just say the words and I’ll do it,” she promises and with that, she gives us a small goodbye and scurries off. 

“I’ll contact Abbott right now,” Y/n comments, using her phone to send a message to Abbott as she continues to tiredly walk beside me. 

We start down the first hall of many halls we have to go down to get to the car garage as I guide —more like pull— y/n with me. We walk a few more minutes before coming up to the parking garage, then walk the four rows of vehicles and find our SUV that we share. Her phone pings as I unlock the doors and she gets into her seat while looking at it. 

“Abbott says they’ll be happy to help. He’ll inform the team and we can brief them when we get there,” she informs me and I nod as I start the car. 

“Babe. You want your sunglasses?” she asks me as she holds them up and I turn with a smile at her as she gracefully smirks at me. 

“You know me better than myself,” I tell her and she smiles, giggling softly and putting her head against the headrest. She gives me an endearing look that makes me grin back at her. 

“Of course. I mean, we have been partners for almost four years now…” she jokingly rolls her eyes and I snicker at her. 

“And you’ve been more then my partner since I met you,” I tell her with a soft look, crossing my features.

“Awe, Marc. That’s so sweet, babe. You’ve been so much more to me too. I love you,” she replies with a grin that makes my heart soar. 

“I love you too, baby,” I parrot her softly as I lean across the center console and give her a peck on the lips. 

“Go bags are in the back, right?” she asks me after I pull away and I nod as I finally take my sunglasses from her hand. 

“Ok. Well, let’s get this show on the road then,” she says jokingly and I chuckle. 

I shake my head as I turn and start the SUV. Once it’s up and running, I make quick work of pulling out of our spot before driving us out of the parking garage. I drive for a while before finally pulling up to the private FBI airport and park. 

After parking, I look over at y/n to see that she’s asleep. I smile fondly before getting out of the car and going around to her side. I open her door and lightly rub her leg. 

“Hmmm, Marc, don't wake me, not yet,” she whispers out and I chuckle, shaking my head. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you have to. We have to get on the Jet, then you can go right back to sleep,” I tell her and she groans, shaking her head. 

“Come on, honey. Just think of it. The faster you get on the plane, the faster we can try my favorite breakfast place in Texas. You know the one I’ve told you all about?” I bargain with her and she groans again. 

“You mean the one with the awesome pancakes?” she asks softly and I nod. 

“Yup. The one with all the different pancake flavors. I bet you’ll end up with the banana blueberry,” I exaggerate while bouncing my eyebrows at her. 

Intrigued, she sits up and looks down at me, raising an eyebrow. I laugh and help her out of the car.

“Marcus Mario Pike, the hell is so funny?” she asks with a scowl that only makes me laugh a little harder. 

“Nothing, honey. Nothing at all,” I tell her as I reach up and smooth out her hair for her. 

“Awe, I had sleepy head again, didn’t I?” she asks with a pout as I pull my hand back with a soft smile crossing my face. 

“Yes you did, but I find it rather cute,” I respond and she huffs, crossing her arms. 

“Cute, my butt. Marcus, I am not cute when my hair is all frizzy and sticking up in the air,” she argues as I walk to the back of the SUV and open the trunk with her trailing after me. 

“Oh, but sweetheart, that is where you are dead wrong,” I argue back as I pull our go bags out of the back before closing the trunk. 

“I really don’t get how you see my half-dead asleep looks cute,” she snorts out in amusement and I smile as we both turn to start towards the jet. 

“I find everything about you cute, sweetheart. Just accept that nothing about you is even remotely close to anything else in my eyes,” I tell her and she stops to  scoff, shaking her head as she crosses her arms. 

“I will never understand you, Marcus,” she huffs and I smile, chuckling before pulling her into my side as I leave a kiss on the side of her forehead. 

“Yes. But you love me and as you always point out, always will,” I joke with her as we start walking towards the jet now. 

“Well, you got me there. I have no comeback for that one,” she admits and I burst out laughing as we finally come up to the jet. 

“Sir. Ma’am,” the pilot smiles before stepping aside and gesturing to the open jet door. 

“After you, ma’am,” he says with a flirty smile directed at y/n and I feel red hot anger take over, but shove it down. 

“Thank you. Marc, baby, sit with me?” she asks as she turns to me and I smile. 

“Of course, babe. I’ll always sit next to you,” I tell her and she grins, almost beaming as she pulls me into the jet. 

She pulls me in and I put our go packs down as she picks a place to sit before pulling me down in the chair next to her. She then cuddles up to me and I wrap my arm around her shoulder as the pilot now walks in. 

“Ok. I’m going to get started with take off. All I ask is that you two be buckled for the ascent, and then when we’re in the air you can roam around all you want,” the pilot explains as if we haven’t done this before, but I just nod in agreement to appease him. 

“Ok. I hope you enjoy the flight,” he says with a grimace as he slowly backs away before turning around and disappearing behind the door of the cockpit. 

“Well, that was awkward…” y/n whispers and I let out another laugh as I rub her arm. 

“Yes, it was,” I agree with her and she hums sleepily. 

“I love you Marcus, don’t you forget it. It’s no one else for me,” she tells me as she nuzzles onto my neck, making me chuckle as it tickles, but I gladly welcome it. 

“And I love you too, sweetheart. It’s no one else for me either,” I parrot her and she smiles softly as she pulls the blanket off the back of the chair. 

“I’m going to get some sleep. You should too, babe,” she tells me as she closes her eyes and I snuggle her into my side. 

“I think I may just do that,” I hum in agreement as sleep slowly starts to take me over. 

I wake up and look around with my eyes squinted in confusion for a moment, before fully remembering where I am. I look at the clock that’s up on the wall and deduce that I only slept for an hour out of the three hour flight. I rub at my tired eyes with my free hand before reaching into my pocket and pulling my phone out. 

Y/n subconsciously snuggles farther into my side, making me smile as I look down at her. I lightly rub her arm for a moment, hoping it’ll lull her back into a deeper sleep before turning back to my phone. I use my phone for a while before I get pulled out of my thoughts when the pilot's door opens. 

“I just wanted to inform you that we are about to land in Texas,” he tells me and I nod at him. 

“Thank you,” I reply to him and he nods once more before heading back to the cockpit. 

I turn my head to look back at y/n, who still sleeps soundly against my side. I move my shoulder a bit, making it nudge her and she groans before just going back to sleep. I softly nudge her again and she groans again before frowning. 

“Marc, what?” she mutters out in a grumpy tone, making me smile. 

“I hate to do this to you again, sweetheart, but we’re about to land,” I tell her softly and she groans as she finally opens her eyes. 

“Man. I’m so tired lately. Don’t know why,” she comments as she sits up. 

“I know. After this case, we should take some time off. Get you rested up,” I propose and she hums softly as she gives me a tired look. 

“That sounds nice, babe,” she agrees and I smile softly at her. 

I quickly pull her into my side again and leave a kiss on her forehead before she nuzzles into my neck. We stay cuddled up until we’ve fully landed and stand up. I grab our go packs as the door to the jet opens. 

Together we walk off the jet and to the car they have waiting for us. I grab the keys from the guy who holds them out for me and give him a thank you as I slap his shoulder. He gives me a nod and smile before walking off. 

I get into the driver's seat and y/n already sits in the passenger seat. She gives me a huge smile before I start the car up. 

“Do you remember the way there or do you want me to put it in the navi?” Y/n asks me and I shake my head as I turn the blinker on to pull out of the airport parking lot. 

“I think I got it, babe. Thanks, though,” I tell her and she nods before sitting back in her seat. 

“I’ll get the briefing presentation loading up. Ezra should have sent it over,” y/n tells me as she pulls her laptop out. 

“I’m sure she did. Ezra’s very thorough,” I add and she grins. 

“That she is,” she agrees with me. 

I drive for a while longer and before I know it, I’m pulling into the parking garage of my old work office. I pull into the parking lot and park before turning the car off. Y/n quickly unbuckles and starts getting out of the car. 

I, however, freeze as I realize who I’m going to have to see when I walk in. Y/n seems to notice that I’m not getting out and opens her door again. She slides back in and gently puts a hand on my bicep, but it still makes me jump as it pulls me out of my daze. 

“Marcus, are you okay? If you can’t do this, I can handle it. You go get the hotel that I’m sure we’re going to need,” she tells me and I shake my head. 

“No. I’m not leaving you alone to deal with my ex-fiancé,” I inform her and she smiles softly at me. 

“Marcus. If you can’t go in, that’s okay, baby. I can do it. It’d be hard, but I’m sure I’d be fine,” she again tries and I shake my head again. 

“No. No. I just needed a moment. I’m okay. I’ll come in with you,” I promise her and she smiles. 

“Ok. If you’re really sure, my love. Let’s go,” she agrees with a soft nod before getting back out of the car. 

I sigh once at the thought of how lucky I have gotten and shake my head before getting out of the car myself. I meet her around the back of the car and open the trunk door. I pull my go bag out and she grabs hers before putting it on her shoulder as I do mine. 

She goes around the car on her side and heads for the building with me right behind her. She stops at the front of the car to look at the building before looking at me. 

“We do this together, yeah?” she asks me as she holds her hand out for mine. 

“Together,” I agree with a smile as I grab her hand. 

With one last smile from her, we walk through the door. The door monitor stands when he sees us as he asks for IDs and we both pull them out. He looks over them for a second before stepping to the side and nodding as he motions for us to move on. 

We walk farther in and soon I’m walking down familiar hallways. I show y/n where to go as we hit the first floor. 

“Did Abbott tell you where he was meeting us or where to meet up with him?” I ask her as we walk and she turns to look at me. 

“He said to come to his office and he’ll do the rest from there. Said you’d know where to go?” she tells me and I nod. 

“Yup, I know exactly where it is. Maybe we’ll get lucky and not run into anyone on the way,” I respond to her and she smiles, squeezing my hand. 

I then lead her through the building and to the elevator. I press the button to Abbott’s floor and lean back against the rail. She cuddles into my side and I put my arm around her. 

Once the elevator comes to a stop, we wait a moment for the doors to open. After they do, we walk through them and into the big room. We look around all the desks, but nobody seems to look up so I just quickly start to lead her down the hall to Abbott’s office. 

“This place is so huge. Definitely more beautiful than our office. I see why you liked working here,” y/n comments as she looks around while we walk. 

We soon come up to Abbott’s door and I leave a knock on it. We wait just a few minutes before we hear him tell us to come in. With one last squeeze of y/n’s hand, I reach out and open the door before walking in. 

“Ahhh, Marcus. It’s so good to see you again. How’ve you been?” Abbott asks as he looks up from his desk as we walk in. 

“Good, good. This is y/n, my partner and girlfriend,” I tell him as I introduce y/n while pointing at her. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Marcus, you picked a beautiful girl,” Abbott politely gives an affirmation to y/n that makes her smile. 

“Thank you, sir, but I wouldn’t say I picked her. More like she picked me,” I comment and y/n blushes. 

“No one picked anyone, we simply were made to meet one another,” she tells me and I smile before pulling the seat out for her. 

“Of course we were, sweetheart,” I tell her as I sit in the other seat. 

“Well, Marcus, how can we help you?” Abbott asks with a smile as he changes the subject. 

“Well, sir. We need your team to help us find a group of guys that stole a very important piece of work from the Washington museum. We tracked them here and need to get to them before they trade the piece,” I explain and he nods. 

“Do you have everything you need to brief them ready?” he asks and y/n nods. 

“Yes. I loaded it up on the way here. All I need is your tech person to help show me how to connect it to your database,” y/n replies and Abbott nods as he picks his phone up off the receiver. 

“Jason, I need you in briefing,” Abbott talks through the phone and he nods, humming before putting the phone down again. 

“Jason is on his way. He’ll show you how to connect. I’ll contact the team and have them all meet in briefing,"Abbott informs us with a light smile and y/n nods before standing up. 

“Thank you, sir,” she tells him with a smile and I stand up alongside her. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I know the way to briefing,” I tell her as I put a hand on her back as I guide her out of the room. 

We walk out of his office and straight to the briefing room right across from it. As we walk in, Jason stands there with a smile that grows wider when he sees me. 

“Agent Pike! So good to see you again,” he tells me before holding a hand out for a shake. 

“And you, agent Wylie, how've you been, buddy?” I ask him as I shake his hand. 

“Busy as always, how have you been in Washington?” he questions and I smile. 

“Life’s been going pretty good. By the way, this is my partner and girlfriend, y/n,” I introduce y/n, putting a hand on her back. 

“Oh that’s great news, how long have you two been together?” Jason asks with a smile at y/n. 

“Four years in a week,” y/n proudly tells him and my face falls. 

“That’s next week? Honey, I’m glad you said something now. I almost forgot,” I tell her and she playfully rolls her eyes at me. 

“Marcus, baby, it’s ok. I understand, we’ve been working on this case so much lately. It’d be hard not to forget what day or week it is with how much we’ve been in office the last few weeks,” she tells me as she squeezes my arm softly, making me smile. 

“I truly don’t deserve this girl,” I joke with Jason and he laughs. 

“Ok. What is it you guys need?” Jason asks and y/n smiles. 

“Can you show me how you guys connect your computers to the main screen?” Y/n questions as she holds her computer out to him. 

“Sure! I’d love to!” Jason replies as he takes her computer. 

“It's really simple. All you do is come over to the podium here and take this cord. Then just plug it in,” he tells her while showing her as I sit on the front table and she smiles enthusiastically. 

“Wow, that’s so much simpler then what we have,” she comments and he looks at her, shocked. 

“But you're DC. Isn’t DC like the highest building? Shouldn’t they have, like super advanced technology?” he asks and she giggles, shaking her head. 

“You would think they did,” but unfortunately they do not,” I add on and y/n nods. 

“It’s actually the worst. It always crashes and fails,” y/n explains and Jason shakes his head. 

“And the higher ups don’t fix it?” he asks, making y/n laugh again. 

“Nope. They care more about what’s in their offices than ours,” she answers him and he sighs. 

“Dang, that sounds annoying,” he comments and y/n nods. 

“Oh it most definitely is, but we love the job so we make it work,” I tell him with a shrug and he smiles. 

“Well, at least you love it. That’s gotta count for something, right?” he asks and y/n nods, smiling. 

“Oh it most definitely does,” she tells him before a throat clears from behind me. 

I turn around to see who it is and in the time I’ve been here, I really had forgotten about why I had been apprehensive to come back. That is, until now. My face falls at the site of Patrick and Lisbon holding hands as they look over us. For a split second, I freeze and just stare behind me as I look them over, noticing shiny rings on their fingers. 

I stay frozen, unable to move or speak as I look over at the girl I once loved now with someone else. It’s then when I feel another hand grab onto mine that I snap back to earth and turn to see y/n. She smiles softly up at me and suddenly all my anger washes away. I squeeze her hand to let her know I’m fine. 

I give her a questioning look and she nods subtly. So with one last sigh I close my eyes before turning to them and opening them to look at them again. 

“Patrick, Theresa,” I greet them with a small curt nod. 

To Be Continued…

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Tag List: Add yourself here

[tropes-and-tales]

Nothing is Certain

CW:  Heavy angst (character death); unrequited love; idiots in love; drunken confessions

Word Count:  3664

Other Pieces:  The final installment.  The first part is here, the second part is here.

A year passes.  Marcus doesn’t see you, doesn’t hear from you, and he tries to be okay with that.  He tries to accept that he was never a real friend to you and that you’ve made your choice to move forward in your life without him.

He tries to be okay with it.  He often fails, and he is tempted all the time to reach out, to find where you live, to accidentally run into you.  He knows that’s stalking territory, creepy behavior territory, so he doesn’t.  When the FBI needs an art expert and when they reach out to you, he always passes the communication off to another agent.  He refuses to cross that boundary.

He goes to therapy.  He gets a rescue dog he names Rothko.  He dates casually, but he finds the desperate drive to not be alone has died down a little.  He can be alone and be okay.  He doesn’t need to fall into one bad relationship after another.

He hopes you’re not alone.  He hopes you’ve found someone who recognized your worth the minute they saw you, and he hopes they cherish you every single day.

He considers that growth:  to pray fervently every night for your happiness instead of his own.  For the first time in his life, he’s considering someone other than himself.

-----

A year passes, and Marcus calls home every Sunday night to talk to his parents, but mostly his mother.

When his mother calls in the middle of the day on a random Tuesday, he knows it can’t be good news.  He answers, hears his mother say your name.

“Her dad died,” she says, and Marcus can hear the tears in her voice over the line.  “Just this morning.”

He sits down at his desk, hard.  He listens to the rest of it—how it was sudden, unexpected, a likely heart attack.  How there’s no arrangements yet, obviously, but how you’re already on your way home to Texas to be with your family.

“Mom, what should I do?” he asks, bereft.  He has no idea what to do.  Should he go home to Texas too?  Or should he leave you alone as he has been?

“Oh, honey,” she says.  “You know her best, but I can tell you:  moments like these make all the petty stuff fall away.”

Breaking your heart and mistreating your love for him hardly seems petty, but Marcus books the ticket home the moment he hangs up with his mother.  

-----

He knows he’s made the right decision the minute he finally sees you.

He goes with his mom over to your childhood home, his mom bearing a tray of tamales and him carrying a small flower arrangement.  Despite being friends as kids, Marcus rarely ever went to your house—you always went to his.  Your family was a step lower on the socio-economic ladder, and you had seemed embarrassed as a kid by how much smaller your home was, how much shabbier.  How your mom worked while his was able to stay home and keep their house clean and make homemade meals each night.

Your older sister answers the door, hugs his mom.  Takes the tray and the flowers with a murmured thanks, then calls your name.

He knows he’s made the right decision to come to Texas to be with you:  the moment you catch sight of him, you run straight to him.  Straight to his arms.

And for the first time in his life, he’s there to catch you.

-----

Marcus doesn’t have much experience with funerals.  Two of his grandparents are still alive; the other two died before he was born.  His parents are still alive.  He’s never lost a coworker in the field.

The closest he has is the death of his childhood dog, and that hardly qualifies.

When he sees you that moment at your house, he only holds you.  He murmurs against you that it’s okay, but then he stops because of course it’s not okay.

He says he’s there, that he’s got you, that whatever you need he’s there for you, and that seems better.

He leads you through the house and takes you outside into the backyard, and he urges you to sit on the steps of the back porch beside him.  He puts a tentative arm around your shoulders and you sag against him, grateful.

“No one saw this coming,” you tell him, your voice hoarse with tears.  “He just had a checkup.  Clean bill of health.”  You pause.  “They think it was a heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You start to cry again, quiet, as though you are exhausted.  You must be, Marcus figures.  Your world’s been upended, you probably threw together hasty travel plans, and now you’re in your childhood home, surrounded by your siblings and their young, noisy children.  Now you have to say goodbye and bury your father.

He sits with you like that for a long while.  He keeps his arm around you, takes your hand in his.  He keeps you tucked against him, safe, and he lets you cry until you can’t anymore.

-----

If Marcus has learned anything in therapy, it’s this:  he’s not always the main character of a moment.  Sometimes he has to step back, content himself with the role of a supporting character.

Which is what he does now.

Old Marcus would have forced himself into your family’s inner circle, pushed his well-intentioned kindness onto you and everyone else.  Which is why it was a tough thing to learn in therapy—because his intentions are always so well-meaning.  

New and Improved Marcus thinks of himself as being on standby.  Of waiting in the wings for his cue.

At the wake, for example:  he stays off to the side with his parents, but he keeps an eye on you.  When you seem to reach a point of…something, he pulls you out of the receiving line, takes you to the private room for family, and presses a glass of water onto you.

“You doing okay?” he asks, and you nod.  You drink your water and hand him the empty cup, then fix him with a grateful look.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

At the luncheon, for example:  he doesn’t get in the middle of it when you and your sister start to bicker.  There’s old resentments there; she stayed in your hometown while you went away for college.  There’s accusations of snobbery, of thinking you’re better than your family from her.  From you, there’s accusations of martyrdom, of thinking your sister is the heir to the family matriarchy.

Old Marcus would have stepped in.  New Marcus only goes to you when you and your sister part, exasperated with each other.  He only waits for you to make the first move, and when you turn to him with a look of despair on your face, he hugs you, tells you that everyone is just spread thin and grieving, emotions roiling near the surface.

And at the graveside service:  Marcus notices that your family is paired off.  Your mother sits with your older brother, your sister is with her husband.  Your other sister is paired off with her fiancée.  Only you sit alone, your hands clasped in your lap, your head bowed.

Marcus doesn’t sit beside you.  He hasn’t earned that right, but his heart breaks to see you alone, sealed off from any comfort.  

He sits behind you, his chair right behind yours.  He leans forward, puts his hand on your shoulder, and you startle, turn and see him.

“I’m here,” he says, his voice low, and you nod.  

Then you unclasp your hands and reach one out to him.  You reach back and he reaches forward, and he holds your hand tight while your father is laid to rest.

-----

Afterwards, the two of you go for a walk.  You’re restless—relieved for the ceremony of burying someone to be over, but exhausted from the grieving…and dreading the grief to come.

“What can I do to help?” Marcus asks, and you shake your head.

“Just being here…it means more than you know.”

“It was the least I could do.”

You start to say something, then shake your head.  You walk another few blocks in silence before you finally offer, “I’m sorry about how I left it with you.  At the coffee shop.  After the Jerzy painting.”

“Hey, no, don’t even—”

“I was mean about it,” you interrupt.  “You were trying to tell me about Theresa—”

“And you didn’t need to hear it,” he cuts in.  “You weren’t mean at all.  You were standing up for yourself.”

“No, I—”

“Stop.”  Marcus stills, and when you do too, he puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to face him.  “You gave me the kick in the ass that I needed.  I stopped feeling sorry for myself.  I started therapy.”  He pauses, then adds, “I finally realized how badly I’ve treated you.”

“Marcus—”

“No.”  He shakes his head, squeezes your upper arms.  “You did a good thing that day.”

You look skeptical.  “It doesn’t feel like it was good.”

He smooths his hands down your arms, then takes your hands in his.  It makes his stomach flip:  all the times he touched you in the past—the hugs and incidental touches—and it was never like this.

“I needed to hear it.  I took you for granted for so long.  You are…were my best friend, and I treated you terribly.”  He pauses, sighs.  “I’m sorry for never being there for you.  For all the things you’ve done, amazing things, and I wasn’t there to celebrate you.”

You squeeze his hands and offer him a soft smile.  “You’re here now.  That counts for something.”

-----

Your father’s death and its aftermath…it’s the beginning of your reconciliation.  

You return to your friendship, each of you different than you were before.  You’re sadder, still grieving—but more willing to speak up, to not blindly follow him.  He’s more self-aware, more deferential to your needs.

Back in D.C., you rekindle your friendship.  You text each other; you get lunch together.  You ease into it, but before long, the two of you are going to galleries together.  Going for walks with his dog.  Exploring the touristy stuff in D.C. that you both had missed before.

It’s the most miserable Marcus has ever been.

You loved him as a teenager and carried that love well into adulthood.  It had been a precious gift he squandered as he chose women like Chloe, like Theresa.  You had loved him, then mourned him, then moved onto a true friendship with him.

It’s a tragedy, then, to Marcus—how he falls in love with you far too late.  How he only falls for you long after that bright light you carried for him has been extinguished and replaced by a chaste camaraderie.

And worse than being miserable, he’s trapped—because now that you’re friends again, he can’t go anywhere.  He can’t ghost you, he can’t fade away.  Every lunch, every text is the same:  the same fluttery feeling in his stomach, his chest…then the sinking feeling, the sick-to-his-stomach feeling.

Now he finally knows what you had gone through, all those years before.  Karma can be cruel in her neat simplicity, Marcus finds.

-----

Six months pass.  A year.  You return to Texas for the one year anniversary of your father’s death, and Marcus stays in D.C.  He stops by your townhouse every day to feed your cat, bring in your mail.

Alone in your space, he allows himself to wallow a bit.  Your home is so perfectly you:  warm and cozy, neat.  You have, unsurprisingly, an excellent eye for color, for lines, for the art you hang on your wall.

Marcus goes from room to room, checks the place out.  The bedroom smells like you, the light coconut scent of the lotion you wear.  The giant, ragged sweatshirt you wear around the house hangs over a chair, and he scoops it up, takes in the cozy scent of you.

It’s easy to pretend that this is his home too, that you’re only at work and will walk through the door at any moment.  That you’ll make dinner together, eat together, swap stories about work.  That maybe you’ll crash on the couch, put the T.V. on and he will rub your feet or you’ll pull his head into your lap, finger-comb through his curls.

He doesn’t even allow the fantasy to extend to the bedroom.  He never lets it get that far.  It’s difficult enough to even imagine the mundane, day-to-day intimacies.  To imagine loving you like that, taking you to bed and being joined to you…then surfacing to his sad reality…it’d be too much.  It’d break his heart entirely.

-----

Marcus knows you go on dates.  You mention them obliquely sometimes; you pass on plans with him because you have “a thing” or are “meeting up” with someone.  You never say the word “date,” and he wonders if you can guess his feelings for you and are trying to spare him the pain of knowing you’re going out with other men.

He goes a single date.  It’s a friend of a coworker, and she’s lovely and funny…but the date goes miserably.  Marcus can’t summon up his usual charm.  He can’t stop thinking of you, in your townhouse with your cat, curled up on your couch.  Probably reading, in your pajamas and your ragged, oversized sweatshirt, bare feet tucked underneath you—

Marcus is as miserable as he’s ever been.

-----

He’s trapped.  He has no idea what to do other than suffer as he has been.

It’s a sweetly torturous suffering, because he has you back in his life.  His oldest, dearest, best friend.  The girl who sat beside him in art class, who grew up to be a woman who makes him laugh, who bolsters his flagging spirits.  Who gives him a soft place to rest when he’s tired or heart-sore.  Who cooks her signature buffalo chicken mac and cheese when he needs a comfort meal.  Who sketches ridiculous little caricatures of him and tucks them into his coat pockets, the glove compartment of his car to find days or weeks later.

-----

He resigns himself to a lifetime of this:  of being your friend, of never having you completely.

Isn’t friendship better than nothing?  Isn’t a half-life better than none?  Aren’t washed-out watercolors better than no color at all?

He settles into the sweet pain of this life, and he succeeds for months.  The pain becomes familiar and loses its sting.  He learns to live with it.

But ultimately, he fails.  Of course he does.  The heart wants what it wants, and Marcus wants nothing so much as he wants you.

-----

It happens that you both spend the holidays in D.C.  It is unplanned, but his unit is shorthanded and he can’t spare the time to go home to Texas.  You have a project you’re working on and can’t leave either and besides—the coolness between your sister and you remains, and you don’t feel especially welcome in her home for the holidays.

“We should do our own thing,” you suggest, and of course he agrees.  There’s no plausible reason why you shouldn’t—hell, even his dog and your cat get along, curling up together after chasing each other when he brings Rothko over.

You plan a sleepover on Christmas Eve.  Marcus packs an overnight bag, brings Rothko.  It’s so similar to those nights when he was getting over his divorce and you were working through your thesis.  He slept over a lot back then, slept on your couch and woke up to you making him breakfast.

For Christmas Eve, the two of you keep it simple, homey.  You make a big pot of spaghetti, split a bottle of red wine for dinner.  After dinner, Marcus does the dishes and you mix a pitcher of tequila sunrises.  Then the two of you retire to the living room to watch old movies together by the light of your Christmas tree.

Marcus can blame any number of things.  There’s the atmosphere—dark except for the colorful lights of your tree and the light of the television.  The room is warm, and he’s in comfortable clothes.  You’re in your pajamas (and old sweatshirt), curled up on the opposite end of the couch from him.

There’s the movies themselves.  You both love old movies, the old black and white screwball comedies and romances and thrillers.  Hitchcock mysteries.  Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Bette Davis, Jimmy Stewart.

There’s also your pitcher of drinks.  You always pour with a heavy hand, and when added to the wine from dinner, Marcus finds himself well on his way to being drunk without even meaning to.

But the evening is a perfect representation of his deal with you now:  close, but so far.  You’re within arm’s reach, and yet you may as well be miles away.

He gets through most of “Sabrina.”  He watches Audrey Hepburn fall for William Holden, then Humphrey Bogart, watches Bogart fall for Hepburn and think himself too old, unworthy.  Getting more and more drunk, Marcus makes it all the way to near the end, when Bogart tells Hepburn to suppose he was younger, suppose he was his brother, suppose he had the courage to ask her to join him in Paris—

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until you look over at him in alarm.

“Marcus, what—”  You untuck your legs from under you and shift to kneel by him, your hand on his shoulder.  “What’s wrong?”

He can’t look at you.  He’s ashamed and depressed, and a year’s worth of misery and desire come spilling out in equal measure.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says, and he tries to keep his voice level but he knows he sounds hysterical, a man standing at the edge.  He knows he sounds drunk too, slurring his words just enough to be noticeable.

“Can’t do what?”

“This.  Us.  I l-love you, and I fucked it all up, and I thought…thought I could just go back to being friends again, but I f-fucked it up so bad and if I hadn’t been so fucking s-stupid, we’d already be m-married.  I would have married you, not Chloe, not wasted time with Theresa, and now I’m miserable all the fucking time—”

“Jesus,” you breathe out, but you put your hands on his face, cup his cheeks and steer his face to look at you.

“Marcus, you’ve been miserable?” you ask, and your voice sounds so sorrowful, your eyes look so sad that his own eyes fill with tears again.

“You’re my dearest friend,” he tells you.  He hooks his hands on your wrists, and he can just feel your pulse under his thumb, fast and solid.  “You…you mean more to me than anyone.  I’m just…I’m just sad.  That I messed it up and can’t f-fix it.”

“Oh.”  You gaze at him; you brush your thumbs softly against his cheekbones.  “Marcus, I never went anywhere.”

“Huh?”

“I’m right here.”  You sigh, then shift one hand to stroke through his hair, finger combing through his curls just as he imagined.  “You’re pretty drunk, aren’t you?”

He grumbles, “you use too much tequila.”

He’s too drunk to understand the look on your face.  He’s too deep in his feelings, too far gone in his fear of losing you.  You sigh again, then take your hands from him.

“How about I get you a glass of water, and then we can start a new movie, okay?  And maybe we can pick up this conversation once you’re feeling more like yourself.”

-----

You switch off “Sabrina” and put on “Blazing Saddles,” and as Marcus rapidly sobers up, he works out how he’s going to escape this horrifying, mortifying evening.

He’s FBI.  He could, say, throw himself out of your living room window to escape.  Do a neat roll on your front lawn, then spring to his feet, take off running for shelter.  He’d have to leave Rothko behind but after his humiliating admission, it’s every man and dog for themselves.  

The reality is more mundane.  He sits forward on the couch, his hands on his knees, and he mutters that he should get going.

“You aren’t staying?”  You sound surprised, and a little hurt too.

He can’t even look you in the eye.  He stares forward, off to the side, at your tree.  “I don’t think I can stay.”

“If you…if you only said those things because you were drunk, we can just forget it, okay?  Nothing has to change.”  Your voice wobbles on the last word, and he glances back at you to see your eyes wide, shiny with tears.

Well, shit.  Now he’s made you cry.  Again.  Who knows how many times you’ve cried over him in the course of your life, and here he is again…making you cry on Christmas Eve.

“I meant those things,” he say solemnly.  “Of course I meant them.”

“And you think I don’t feel the same way?”

He raises his hand, drops it in a gesture of helplessness.  “Why would you?”

“Oh, Marcus.”  You reach out, take his hand in yours.  “Do you really think I just stopped loving you after that day in the coffee shop?  Really?”

He snorts, shakes his head.  Bitter.  “I would have.”  

“Well, I’m not you, then.”  A long pause, and he chances to look at you—you’re gazing back at him with the same big doe eyes, shiny with tears.

“I never stopped, Marcus Pike.  I don’t think I could if I wanted to.  Even when I hated you, even when I very much disliked you, I still loved you.  Still love you.”

What other choice does he have?  He leans forward and kisses you:  the girl who sat beside him in art class who became his dearest, oldest friend who became the love of his life.

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 29- Body Worship

Marcus Pike x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count- 1.1k

Warnings- smut (18+ only), praise kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), teasing, nipple play

Notes- I miss writing for the perfect boyfriend Marcus! List provided by the lovely @the-purity-pen​!

To say up to date on when I post, follow my update blog too and turn on post notifications @flightlessangelwings-updates​​. Reblogs highly appreciated!

~

“Shit baby… You’re so damn beautiful,” Marcus purred against your skin.

“Marcus…” All you could do was moan his name whenever he got into moods like this.

Marcus kissed his way down the side of your face and along your jaw. His hands roamed all over your body until they landed on your breasts and squeezed them hard. He hadn’t even removed a single piece of clothing off his own body, and whenever you tried, he pushed you away, insisting on focusing only on you and your pleasure.

You arched your back into his touch as you turned your head to the side and allowed him access to your neck. Marcus eagerly took the opportunity and attacked his lips to the sensitive spot there and sucked hard. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and held him tightly while he licked and nibbled along your neck while his hands still worked your breasts.

“I’m gonna kiss every inch of you, baby,” he groaned as he worked his way up the muscle in your neck and gently bit the lobe of your ear, “Kiss every inch of your beautiful body.”

You moaned as you felt his breath tickle your ear and it made you giggle softly. Even without the words needed, you felt the love and affection in every single one of Marcus’ touches and kisses. He always excelled in making you feel good, and wanted, and tonight was no exception.

He made his way down to your collarbone and sucked at the skin there, murmuring incoherent praises along the way. You whimpered as you buried your hand in his hair while he kissed his way down to your breast. When he reached the soft mound, Marcus wrapped his lips around your nipple and sucked hard.

You cried out in pleasure as he flicked his tongue against your nipple and bit down playfully. You arched your back, giving him even more access to your body, and Marcus responded by sucking on the sensitive bud harder.

“Fuck… Marcus…” you tugged at his hair hard when he hit a spot that sent a jolt throughout your entire body.

“You like that, baby?” he asked with a cocky smirk after he popped off your nipple.

You blinked your eyes open and met his gaze, and your heart fluttered in your chest when you saw the look of pure adoration there, “Yes,” you couldn’t even quip back with a smart comment when Marcus looked at you like that and made you feel this good. And he hadn’t even touched your pussy yet.

“Good,” he replied with a tease before he launched himself onto your other breast.

The scream you let out echoed in the room as Marcus sucked hard on your other nipple. You bucked your hips against his body, desperate for some friction to your aching cunt. Marcus groaned into your skin as he felt the desperation in your action and without breaking away, he snaked a hand down the front of your body.

When he reached your pussy, he let out an even lower groan when he felt how wet you were, “Shit, baby,” he moaned, “You’re soaking,” Marcus’ hair fell into his eyes as he looked you over with a glazed expression.

“All for you, Marcus,” you breathed as you felt your skin burn from the passions.

Marcus growled your name as he pushed a finger inside you without warning. His cock throbbed at the scream you let out, but he continued to kiss his way across every inch of your skin while his finger stayed buried inside you.

“Marcus… Please…”

“I wanna take my time with you tonight, baby,” Marcus soothed you as he hooked the finger inside you and gently massaged your sweet spot as he kissed along your body.

You whimpered as he made his way closer to your cunt, but purposefully avoided it in favor of your inner thighs. You let out a huff when Marcus skipped over your pussy and trailed a line of kisses along your right thigh. Just when you thought he would finally kiss the one place you wanted him to, he smirked and repeated the action on your left.

“Marcus…” you begged as you clenched your inner muscles around his finger in hopes that he would give in to your pleas.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned through gritted teeth, “You know I’m weak when you do that.”

This time it was your turn to smirk, “That’s the idea,” your voice was low as you squeezed your muscles again and rocked your hips against his hand.

“Alright… is this what you want?”

Marcus dove into your pussy before you had a chance to answer and devoured you like a man starved. You cried out in pleasure as you finally got what you wanted and your mind swam in ecstasy as he swirled his tongue around your clit. Marcus pumped his finger in and out of you a few times while his tongue worked your clit before he added a second one.

“Fuck… fuck… Marcus…”

“You taste so good baby,” he groaned into you, “So delicious… So beautiful…”

You moaned loudly as the hum of his praise went right to your core. Marcus slurped loudly at your pussy, now determined to send you over the edge. His fingers thrust in and out of you faster, and every time they were fully buried inside you, he hooked them to hit your sweet spot with precision. And it didn’t take much longer after that for him to get what he wanted.

With a loud scream, you came hard. Your body trembled as you clutched the sheets and threw your head back as you surrendered to your climax. Tears filled your eyes as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you. And still, Marcus didn’t stop. He kept going until he was sure he had pulled every ounce of your orgasm from you, and even then he licked at your clit a few more times for good measure.

Marcus finally broke away when you let out a whimper and your hands clung to his shoulders. Slowly and carefully, he pulled his fingers out of you before he kissed his way back up your body. This time, however, he was faster with his kisses; Marcus was too desperate to kiss you to be slow.

When he took your lips with his, you moaned into Marcus’ mouth and instantly wrapped your arms and legs round him to keep him close, “Marcus… That was… Wow…”

Marcus kissed the tip of your nose with a short laugh, “That was just the beginning, baby,” his voice was low as he rocked his hips against you, “I’m gonna spend all night making you feel good… And I have more of you to kiss too,” he winked and flashed that charming smile that made you weak in the knees. 

You couldn’t help the moan you let out, “Fuuuuuck…”

[wardenparker]

hi! I hope I’m not too late for the game but I’d like to request Blue 3 and Marcus Pike 🥺♥️

The rain held off until after your ceremony. That’s the important part. The short downpour made you worry that your intention of having beautiful pictures taken out in the vineyard where you carefully planned your perfect wedding would be all but ruined. Your sweet Marcus has other plans, however. 

He and the photographer got to work setting up a little photo area under cover of the gazebo where you had your ceremony. There is plenty of space for your small wedding party and with a little extra lighting from the photographer’s van, everything is brightly lit and ready to go. Even both sets of parents have to approve of the effort, barely tweaking the flowers around you to bring a little extra sunshine to the setting. “Rain on your wedding day symbolizes the last tears a bride will ever cry, dear,” his mother tells you confidently.

By the time you send the rest of the wedding party and your families off to cocktail hour to get some solo shots with just you and Marcus, the rain has stopped again. A big, beautiful, picturesque rainbow has lit up the afternoon sky and Marcus is once again the photographer’s assistant - bringing out the soft, velvet length of fabric that you walked down to meet him in front of the officiant and helping to turn it into a safe and dry place for you to stand in the wet grass so your gown stays safe. 

The photo of Marcus kissing you under a full rainbow not only sits on your mantle ever since, but it is on the front page of your photographer’s website - still one of his favourite moments he’s ever captured on film.

Play the Wedding Dress Game!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

If you’re looking for a good time, plop a tipsy Marcus Pike down in front of the Antiques Roadshow, hit mute, and let him go.

“Oh, now that—that—that...That doesn’t look genuine, like...At all.” “Okay see that canvas and brush strokes look authentic, but the frame! Is so mid-century! Wait, zoom in—Psst...Psst...Zoom in...Please...Thank you...” “Oh that is such a low-ball—That is a serious injustice—” “Were they keeping that in an attic?—Wait, unmute, unmute—A basement?...Alright, pros, possibly minimal damage from light sources, but my god, the damp.” “Oh they butchered that pronunciation—Please mute it again.” “Oh, well that period...I know very little about, actually, please unmute again.” "Thank you...You're so pretty...I'm talking about you and the vase. Mostly you. I mean the vase is nice but you're...Prettier...Stop laughing at me!"

[wildemaven]

A Washington DC winter with Marcus

[brandyllyn]

Anonymous Sex - Marcus Pike

Face-sitting || Cream-pie || Anonymous sex Marcus Pike x f!reader

Words: 2.2k Warnings: smut. fingering. PiV.

Kinktober Masterlist

A gin and tonic. A singer in the corner crooning over a soft piano about lost love. He could see her in the mirror over the bar, slinky green dress and hair swept back on one side. She was nearing the end of her set, which meant maybe another hour before the bar closed.

He wasn’t ready to go home.

Marcus sighed and drained his glass, holding his finger up for another. A long week for a case that hit a dead end. Well, a dead guy to be more precise. And Marcus had no fucking idea where to go next. They had been the only lead - a weasely art dealer who dealt in counter-fits and knock-offs.

Lewis had explained to him once the difference between a counterfeit and knock-off but it didn’t make a difference in Marcus’ like of work. A fake was a fake for his purposes.

"Put it on my tab," he told the bartender, plucking the lime off the edge and setting it on a napkin.

"It’s covered."

Marcus looked up, brow furrowed. "By who?"

The bartender nodded towards the end of the bar and he saw a woman sitting by herself, a small uncertain smile on her face and an eyebrow cocked. When he met her gaze she lifted her glass in acknowledgement and then her eyes flicked away.

"Thanks." He dropped a wad of cash on the bar and picked his suit jack up from the back of his chair, draping it over his arm before he picked up his cocktail. He slid through the few people left at the bar and stopped near the woman. She glanced up at him, biting her lip a moment before gesturing him into the chair next to her.

"Thank you," he held the drink up as he said it and she blinked.

"You’re welcome. I was watching you and… I mean, I saw you and thought maybe you could use one." She shrugged and looked away, "You didn’t have to come down here."

He studied her profile as she looked away from him. Full lips, bright eyes… his gaze roved down her neck to the small bit of skin exposed by her button down shirt. "A beautiful lady buys me a drink, I think I’d have to bean idiot not to come say hi."

She looked straight at him then and he was struck by the force of it. Lord she was lovely. For a heartbeat she didn’t say anything and then she smiled, a full one that made her go from lovely to downright gorgeous. "You’re a charmer."

"Not usually," he shrugged. Leaning slightly sideways he rested an elbow on the bar. "Honestly I’m a bit awkward at all this."

"Hooking up?"

He choked on his drink and his eyes bugged out. Opening his mouth to reply he stopped suddenly when he saw the look of amusement on her face. "You’re teasing me."

"A little." She took a small sip of her drink, "You seemed like someone who could use some teasing."

"Do I?"

She held his gaze for a long moment before her lips parted and a small smile tugged on her lips. "You do."

Christ she tasted like heaven. Marcus reached a hand out for his light switch, stumbling slightly before turning her and pressing her up against the wall. She shifted so her body settled against his, like two puzzle pieces slotting together. He groaned and palmed at her hip, giving up on the search for the light in order to tug her shirt free of her skirt.

"I don’t usually do this," he murmured into her lips.

She mumbled an affirmative against his tongue and pulled his own shirt free, slipping her hands beneath and he shuddered at the feeling of her cool fingers against his skin.

Swinging her around, he lead her backwards towards his couch. The bed was too far away, too many stairs and doors and just… the couch was right there and she pulled him down with her with one hand wrapped around his tie. This was better, her back arching up into his chest, his lips free to roam down her neck and nip softly at the exposed line of skin. She moaned under him and jerked his shirt up, not bothering with the buttons and instantly getting a mess of cloth stuck under his chin. He sat up on his knees, pulling his tie loose and then reaching a hand back to tug his shirt and undershirt up and off, tossing them to the side.

The way her lips parted at the sight of chest was gratifying and he had to press a hand to her shoulder to stop her from leaning up and doing something with her mouth.

"I don’t even know your name."

"Does it matter?"

He frowned, trailing his fingers along her arm. "I don’t usually do this."

"You’ve said that." She sat up fully, leaning back on her hands to look up at him. "Is it going to be a problem? We don’t have to-"

He kissed her, cupping a hand around her jaw and licking along her lips until she opened for him and he could thrust inside. When he broke away they were both breathing heavily. "What if I want to see you again?"

She grinned and pulled him back down onto the couch with her. "Why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it?"

Okay. Yeah. He could do that. A part of him was loudly proclaiming, yet again, that he didn’t do this - but it was being shouted out by another part that had followed her out the door of the bar when she asked if he lived nearby. The same part that was reveling in the feel of her fingers along the skin of his back and the soft hum she made when he stroked his hand along her thigh.

Those lovely fingers left him and he nearly protested until he noticed she was unbuttoning her shirt and then he was helping, reaching behind her to unfasten her bra and tossing both off the side of the couch. Marcus liked breasts. All shapes and sizes, and these were spectacular. He cupped her gently in his palm and then bent down to lick at her nipple, nipping experimentally and smiling when she arched under him.

"You have a condom?"

He frowned, looking up and gently kissing her chin. "In my wallet but I don’t think we’re there yet."

Hands cupped his cheeks, framing his face and drawing him up to look in her eyes. "Get the damn condom."

"Yes ma’am."

Lifting himself away he stood and pulled the condom from his wallet, dropping it onto the cushion next to her. He watched in fascination as she scooted upwards, shucking her skirt and hose as she did so.

"You just gonna look?"

He quickly shook his head, giving a soft moan when she reached for his pants, pulling his belt free and then slipping her hands beneath. He helped her push them off but didn’t expect her to take him in her mouth. The slow wet pull of her along his length.

"Jesus Christ," he swore, bringing a hand up to cup her neck. "Where have you been all my life?"

She giggled and he felt it vibrate along his shaft and fuck if he wasn’t ready to come right then.

"Lie back." He ordered and followed her down, slipping a knee between her thighs and pressing his hands to the cushion near her head. The tips of her nipples brushed his chest with the rise and fall of her quick breathing. Shifting his weight he reached down and lightly traced at the seam of her panties, pressing an open mouth kiss to her jaw when he felt how wet she was through the material.

"You going to let me play with you a little?" He slipped his fingers beneath and gave an experimental stroke into her. "Let me feel you come on my fingers?"

When no response came, just the shuddering breath and arch of her body he grinned. He might not do this kind of thing - but he certainly knew how to do this in particular. He petted her in short movements of his fingertips, finding the rhythm and motions that made her squirm and gasp. Playing with pressure and speed until she cried out and he watched her face as she came completely undone for him.

He continued petting her softly as she came back down, nuzzling into her neck and slowly rocking his hips into her thigh. She huffed a laugh, reaching down and wrapping her hand around his stiff length.

"Condom?"

"Yes," he agreed, pulling at her panties and sliding them off. "Yes, I agree wholeheartedly."

She laughed again and he kissed her, nudging her nose with his even as she pressed the foil packet into his hands. He took care of it quickly, giving himself a few swift strokes before pressing the head into her slick heat.

"Shit, you’re so- fuck."

Hands pulled him back down as he slipped inside, holding him close as he slowly rocked his hips to seat himself fully inside of her. Their breaths mingled, foreheads pressed together, bodies meeting and reacting to the other.

"You feel really good."

Marcus huffed a small laugh, giving her a gentle kiss, "That’s my line."

"You can say it too."

He grinned and slid out until only the tip of him was settled inside her. Then he slowly pushed back inside, feeling her walls flutter around his length. "You feel really good."

God he loved to hear a woman laugh, loved to feel their smiles on his lips, the small shakes of their body under his. Sex was supposed to be about joy and even though he was doing this thing he did not do, it was still nice to share the same kind of moment with her.

Then she lifted her knees to hook on his hips and every other thought flew out of his head. He groaned and shifted his knees, gripping her waist and thrusting up inside of her harder. He couldn’t help but watch how her breasts bounded with ever move of his hips, the way her lips parted when he hit just the right spot inside of her. When she slipped a hand between their bodies he moved to give her more room.

"Are you-?"

"M’close."

Thank God, there was only so much baseball he could think about. He dipped his head and sucked her nipple between his teeth, nibbling even as he felt her contract around him. Her back arching and a low cry falling from those utterly perfect lips.

"Yes," he grunted, capturing her mouth and quickening his pace, spilling inside of her with a low groan of his own. He tried to hold his weight off of her, he really did, but she raked her nails down his back and he shivered as he lowered his body down and nuzzled his nose into her neck.

It wasn’t long before his softening cock made its situation known and he groaned as he reached down and held the condom in place so he could pull out of her. She made a small sound of disappointment and it was so cute that Marcus pressed a kiss to her nose before he lifted away.

He half expected her to be dressed when he got back and was pleasantly surprised to see her curled on her side, one hand pillowed under her cheek.

"We could move upstairs," he offered.

She didn’t answer but her grunt sounded negatory and so he pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and slid in behind her - being sure to cover her as much as possible with the throw. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and pulled her flush to his chest, wondering what he had in his fridge to make for breakfast.

Marcus woke the moment she shifted out of his arms. He was a light sleeper anyway and being on the couch, as comfortable as it was, was not a recipe for deep slumber. She moved around the room quietly, picking up her dropped clothing one by one and slipping it on. From beneath his eyelashes he saw her look his direction and hesitate. He held his breath as she walked over, shoes and purse in one hand, hoping she was going to wake him.

Instead she pressed a soft kiss to his temple and gently pushed his hair back.

"Thanks," she whispered, so low he knew he wasn’t intended to hear the words. He waited until the door clicked shut before getting up, crossing to the window and watching through a gap in the curtains while she waited for her car. He didn’t move until he knew she was safely away.

Sighing to himself he went to his kitchen, pouring a glass of orange juice and carrying it upstairs before sliding into his ridiculously comfortable bed he really should have insisted they move to. Maybe if he had she would have stayed the night.

He pushed the thought away and settled into his pillows. Tomorrow he had to meet with the new art appraiser for the department and he wanted to be on his best game for the introduction.

Kinktober Masterlist My Masterlist

[say-al0e]

Isn’t It Funny?

Rating: PG

Summary: “When I’m with you, I’m at home.” for Marcus Pike. Requested by anon. || AKA Marcus expected a normal Friday night. What he gets is anything but. Isn’t it funny how those nights are the best?

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of incidents in trying to have children (that’s basically the sentence, nothing more in-depth), very vague/brief mention of Marcus being in the field. (If I missed anything, let me know!)

Word Count: 2.3k

If you want to be tagged in fics, check out this post. :) | Masterlist

Late nights were not a rarity for Marcus Pike.

Try as he might to build a routine and stick to it, he was no stranger to being stuck in his office - wrapping up paperwork, tying up loose ends, returning emails - or out in the field well into the night. It seemed that, more often than not, he found himself working far later than he planned, especially since he’d taken over as unit chief of the Washington field office.

The exception to the rule of late nights, however, was - and had been for nearly three years - Friday night.

Beginning after your first date, Marcus made it a point to spend Friday nights with you. Unless his presence was necessary elsewhere - and it sometimes was, neither of you deluded yourselves into thinking every Friday night would belong solely to you - the end of business on Friday meant that Marcus was yours.

Friday nights were date nights. Some nights saw the pair of you head to dinner, out to some new restaurant Marcus heard about or possibly one you saw online. Others saw you lying on the couch with a classic movie on television and a homemade meal filling your stomachs. Others still saw the pair of you at a concert or a museum or a bar or, on special occasions, on the road to some adorable getaway you’d planned together.

Regardless of the activity, Fridays were reserved for the pair of you and Marcus did his best to make sure he spent every Friday possible by your side.

In his line of work, you both knew that some nights, sacrifices would have to be made. He saw it in the way that your week nights were mostly spent alone, in the way that you’d built a routine for his late nights. You typically left the light above the front door on - and maybe a living room lamp, depending on how late you were able to stay awake - and tried to stay up for him.

Most late nights, you were already out by the time he got home. You left dinner on the counter for him - if he hadn’t already texted you to let you know he would be getting takeout - along with a note apologizing for not staying up later and he felt his heart constrict in his chest every time. You both hated late nights, you longed for a nine-to-five life that saw you both at the dinner table every night, but you understood.

It was a fact of life at this point.

On the rare nights that you stayed awake (most often a weekend), it wasn’t unusual to find a few lights on in the house as you wandered around, looking for something to occupy your time until he arrived. It was typically the bedroom, the living room, and the kitchen - maybe the extra room you both treated as an office (for now) if work had been particularly hectic - but even that was pushing it.

That was why Marcus was surprised to find the house fully illuminated when he arrived home at eleven - six hours later than normal for a Friday night.

He knew that nothing was wrong - you would’ve text him if it was - but he was still confused (and somewhat cautious) as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside. However, the moment he entered, he realized what was so different.

He spotted two pairs of shoes, neither of them yours, near the door along with keys and bags. That, coupled with the laughter he heard echoing through the halls, told him that you had guests and he had a fairly solid idea of who he could expect to find keeping you company so late.

He followed the sound of laughter and clinking glasses to the living room where he found you sat, glass in hand, with your two closest friends. Marcus knew them well, both through the impromptu gatherings you had and the few times he’d joined the three of you for pub trivia, and was always glad to see them. He knew that the three of you didn’t get to spend as much time together as you wanted so he was happy you’d gotten some kind of enjoyment out of your Friday night, even if it meant his plans for takeout and cuddles on the couch would be put on hold a little longer.

Marcus stood in the doorway for a beat, unnoticed as the three of you laughed at a joke he didn’t quite understand, but as they always seemed to, your eyes found his before he could announce his presence.

He wore a fond smile, one that made his eyes crinkle and that dimple on his cheek just a little more noticeable, that widened when he caught your attention. Your friends noticed your eyes light almost immediately and turned in their seats to look at him, both wearing grins that held answers to a question he didn’t know if he wanted to ask.

“Hi, baby,” you cooed, grinning at him you watched him place the bag of takeout onto the counter. “How was work?”

“Long,” he answered with a soft smile as he crossed the room to where you sat on the couch. He took a seat on the arm beside you and his smile widened when your hand automatically fell to his thigh. “I’m sorry I’m so late.” His apology was followed by a soft kiss. “I’m all yours for the rest of the weekend.”

“It’s alright.” You returned his smile easily and gently squeezed his thigh before glancing at your friends. “I had plenty to keep me occupied.”

Marcus nodded and turned his own attention to the women across from you, laughing quietly when he was met by obvious stares. “I noticed,” he confirmed, “I wish I would’ve known, I would’ve brought more food.”

“No worries,” Abbey, the louder of the two, assured him as she offered him a glass of what he came to realize was apple juice. “We’re not staying. We just wanted to celebrate before we left.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow at her statement and glanced at you, curious as you hadn’t mentioned anything worthy of celebrating - in your own life or in theirs. “What are we celebrating?” He nodded his thanks as Abbey poured him a glass and leaned into your touch as he waited for her answer.

“I’m not pregnant!”

Abbey looked so thrilled at her announcement that Marcus did little to hide his laughter as he gave her the high-five she was looking for. He knew that she wasn’t ready to settle down - she’d said so herself more than once and often asked him for his judgement on casual dates, just in case they turned out to be more; as did many of your friends - so he was glad that, regardless of what happened, she was happy.

“Congratulations,” he exclaimed as he watched her chug the rest of her drink. He glanced between the bottle of sparking juice and the three of you before asking, “Not that that’s not worthy of a celebration, but is that all? There’s usually wine involved in these celebrations.”

Lauren, who had dutifully fulfilled the role of ‘mom friend’ - and loved it - and had been married for years, smiled sheepishly. “I am pregnant,” she shared, looking near tears as she laughed. 

“That’s amazing, Lauren,” Marcus congratulated, his own eyes growing glassy as he recalled the few incidents she and her husband had experienced on their journey to becoming parents. “Congratulations.”

A bout of laughter, excited and relieved and nervous, overcame the four of you and filled the living room. It was a moment you hadn’t expected, not when your day had started off so mundane, but it was one that made all the difference. It was a shared moment of joy - for a chapter started and a chapter continued - and you were grateful to be a part of it. And, from the squeeze of Marcus’ hand on yours, you could tell that he felt the same.

Little else was said - there wasn’t much else to say - before your friends left. There was a bit more laughter, mostly joking as Abbey rejoiced in the fact that she would be able to enjoy spoiling a baby without actually giving birth to one yet, and a few more tears but the night ended relatively soon after Marcus arrived.

Abbey and Lauren left with smiles, ones that furrowed Marcus’ brows but he returned just the same, and the house grew quiet when the front door closed behind them. Marcus pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once the door was closed and locked before shooting you a smile and wandering back to the kitchen.

You took a moment, inhaled deeply and grounded yourself in the moment, before you turned and headed to seek Marcus out. 

You watched quietly as he divided the takeout into plates and smiled as he hummed to himself. He looked tired, exhausted by the week, but soft and content. There was a glimmer in his eyes as he moved around the kitchen with a bit more life than he had earlier in the week. The idea that he was so happy to be home, to be with you, made you smile as you wandered closer.

“You look happy to be home. Are you all mine for the weekend?”

Marcus turned his attention to you the moment you opened your mouth and the smile that lit up his face answered your question without words. “I’m always happy to be home,” he confessed with a soft smile before reaching out to place a hand on your hip. “But I’m happier to be with you. When I’m with you, I’m at home, regardless of where we are.”

“Cheesy, Agent Pike,” you mumbled as you leaned into his embrace and ducked your head to press a kiss to his jaw. “But you’re cute, so I’ll let you have it.”

Marcus laughed and you did little to stop the smile that seemed near permanent whenever Marcus was around. He leaned in to press a kiss to the crown of your head before squeezing your hip. “I’ll reheat the food and we can eat. It’s a little late for plans tonight but maybe we could go out tomorrow night? I was thinking about that museum, the one that just opened?”

He looked so earnest that you didn’t have to think twice. Instead, you nodded and reached out to keep him close. “Sounds perfect,” you assured him easily, “just as long as I get to spend time with you.”

Marcus looked particularly happy with your response, always thrilled that you were just as excited to spend time with him as he was with you, and laughed as he moved around the kitchen with you close by. And if he noticed you sticking closer to him than usual throughout dinner, he said nothing. Instead, he willingly pulled you closer when you curled into his side and happily kept some sort of contact until you both finished your dinner and he announced his desire to shower.

He left you in the living room with a kiss to the forehead and a promise to return quickly but you knew that he’d return much faster than he intended. As you heard him ascend the stairs, you stood and moved into the kitchen to wash the few dishes with the goal in mind to keep yourself busy until he returned.

Less than five minutes later, Marcus descended the stairs with a soft frown on his lips as he held a distinctive piece of blue and white plastic. “Did Lauren forget this?” He lifted his gaze from the test to you and tilted his head. “I figured she’d want to take it home to her husband.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your smile - and the few unreasonable nerves you felt - as you shook your head. “No,” you assured him as you shut off the water and reached for a dish towel to dry your hands. “She put hers in her bag and Abbey trashed hers.”

Marcus blinked, not quite following, before his eyes widened. You saw the moment realization washed over him and felt your own breathing grow just a bit shallower as you watched him. You saw the way his hand shook when he lifted the test and heard the soft gasp as he read the positive result displayed on the screen with new eyes. He stared at it for a long moment, a look of disbelief on his face, before he lifted his eyes to meet yours.

“Is this…” He took a tentative step closer and wiped his free hand on his slacks as he came to a stop just shy of the kitchen. “Did you take one, too?”

“I did,” you confirmed, voice soft as you dropped the dish towel and rounded the island to move closer to him. Marcus stared at you with shimmering eyes and you struggled to keep from grinning as you took your own tentative step toward him. “It was originally for moral support,” you explained gently. “Didn’t really think it’d be anything more than a funny story. But, surprise?”

Marcus blinked, still processing, before he stepped forward and closed the gap between you. He brought his free hand to cup your cheek and pulled you into a soft kiss. “The best surprise.” His voice was awed and you could hear the way it wavered as he pressed his forehead to yours but you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was thrilled.

Marcus wanted a family, a life and a happily ever after, and you were happy to be the one to get that with him. As cheesy as you declared it, you echoed the sentiment that no matter where you were, you were home as long as he was by your side.

You hadn’t expected this for your Friday night and neither had Marcus. But isn’t it funny how the most unexpected nights can become the most important?

_______________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I didn’t intend to post this on a Friday when I started it but look at that. If I go MIA for a few days, it’s because a) my parents are coming to visit (I haven’t seen them in ages I’m so stoked) and b) the new ACNH update drops next week and I’m working on my island. But I will do my best to have another fic ready to go next weekend!

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(If you want to be taken off just let me know; I know I haven’t posted for a Pedro character in ages)

[vonschweetz]

Ok ok ok but here me out. Marcus Pike in deep undercover for a case. In order to bust a whole art thief operation he has to gain the trust of the group making them think he’s this sophisticated buyer/patron and in order to do that he’s gotta go to other fancy people things like the theater. He’s a lover of the arts so he can blend in just fine but at one show he’s just floored by this performer who is just an artist in their own right. The more shows he goes to the more he’s just enamored with the performer. Maybe he goes to some swanky parties and meets the performer and he’s so smitten and a fan and it’s cute but also he’s on a case and pretending to be someone he’s not. But this is Marcus and he’s such a romantic deep down.

[tropes-and-tales]

No Idea What I’m Doing

December 1:  Ice Skating/Wintry - First Date (Marcus Pike x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts by the lovely @youvebeenlivingfictional​, found here)

CW:  Grumpy holiday Marcus; slight angst; tooth-rotting fluff; cursing.

Word Count:  1391

AN:  Requested by @bport76​

The holidays are supposed to be a time of family and togetherness, of cozy evenings with loved ones…and yet Marcus Pike feels so low, so depressed that he’s turned into something of a Scrooge around the office.  He scowls at the décor, scowls at the festive luncheons and happy hours and gifts passed between friendly coworkers.

He feels bad about it.  He hates that he can’t even fake it this year, but his ex-wife just gave birth to her second child, and Teresa just married Jane a month earlier, and Marcus is left to wonder when he’ll get his happily ever after.

And then he catches himself wallowing and feels even worse.

-----

It’s a coworker that sets up the date, and Marcus resists as much as he dares without being insulting.  It’s his coworker’s sister-in-law, and Marcus winces to imagine a future where he has to share holiday dinners with this guy…but his excuses are flimsy, and the coworker finally sells it as doing him a favor.

“Look, she’s a nice girl, but she’s shy and she’s coming off a long-term thing.  At the very least,  you’d be helping her get less shy, you know?  Get her sea-legs back under her so she can start dating again?” the man says.

Marcus sighs and agrees to it.  He’s only there to be a practice run, so there’s no pressure.  He can fake it for an hour or two, then get back to the serious business of wallowing in his own self-pity.

“Fine,” he tells his coworker.  “Give me her number and I’ll set something up.”

-----

It’s the Scrooge-Marcus that sets up the date at the National Gallery skating rink.  Romantic-Marcus would have found a perfect, intimate place to dine, then taken you to some perfect, intimate second spot—an art gallery or a pottery class or something unique and memory-making.

Scrooge-Marcus wants to put in the minimum effort (it’s only practice for you, and a favor to his coworker for him) and then go home alone to sulk.  Ice skating seems almost passive-aggressive as a first date:  he can’t skate at all, he doubts you can either, and it’s hardly sexy to dress for.  Plus it’ll be cold, noses will be red and runny…it’s almost cruel, in fact.  It’s something a middle schooler would plan, would get his mom to drive him to and from in a minivan.

Yet when he calls you to set it up, you seem excited at the prospect.  Marcus feels the tiniest bit of shame to be treating you so dismissively when you seem nice enough.

-----

The night arrives.

At the skating rink, the National Gallery is lit up, and there’s fairy lights strung around the rink.  Piped in holiday music makes the moment seem far more magical than he thought it might be.

You’re already there.  He can see you standing nervously by the skate rental, a pair of white skates already in hand.  You’re wearing a blue scarf the color of a robin’s egg, as you told him you would.

Dammit, he mutters to himself.  You’re cute.  Even shifting back and forth on your feet, even nervously pressing your lips together, he can see that you’re cute—

Then you turn in his direction, catch sight of him—and at that moment, it starts to snow.  As if it was on cue, for god’s sake.  The gentle fall of snow glittering in the lights of the ice skating rink, and you gifting him a shy, tentative smile—

Goddammit, he mutters again, knowing full well he isn’t getting out of this unscathed.

*****

David had warned you that Marcus Pike was not really looking for a girlfriend.  He gave you a rundown of the office gossip about the man, and you had groaned to hear how the entire date was sold to Marcus:  sad-sack sister-in-law, recently dumped, too inept to date without a few practice runs.

Unfortunately, there is some truth to it.

You aren’t that sad, you don’t think, but you were recently dumped.  And you are so out of practice that when you try the dating apps, you almost immediately delete them.  When did available men start the courtship dance by sending dick pics?  

And anyway, none of said dick pics were at all tempting, so why bother?

So you agreed to a date with Marcus Pike.  You needed the practice, and if nothing else, you’d get a night out from it.

Goddamned David never once said Marcus Pike was handsome.  When you pressed, your idiot brother-in-law shrugged and said, “eh, he has brown hair.  Brown eyes.  He’s okay.”

Not that looks matter that much, but when you turn and see your date for the evening, that slightly-mussed hair that curls against his collar, that slight stubble and those goddamned kissable lips…you honest-to-god go a little weak in the knees.

Fuck my life, you grumble as you turn away, as you take a steadying breath and wonder how in the hell you’re going to get through the next hour.

*****

Plan a date at the ice skating rink, Marcus had told himself.  It won’t be fun for her at all.

Bullshit.  

You bring your own skates.  You help him rent his own, and when he struggles to lace them, you kneel at his feet and do it for him, your face bent away from him so that he can only see the edge of your shy smile.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks, and he wants to kick himself for asking a stupid, obvious question, but you laugh and say you have.

“I took lessons growing up,” you reply.  You offer him a gloved hand, help him hobble out onto the slick surface.  He clings to your hand too tight, and he flails out his other hand until he’s grasping the waist-high wall.

There’s nothing sexy about skating-appropriate clothes, he had told himself too.

Double bullshit.

Once he’s sort of stable on his skates, he urges you to go on without him for a few laps, so you do.  You’re in black leggings, form-fitting to your curves, your thighs as you glide away from him.  You’re wearing a short jacket, also cut to your form, and the blue scarf and a matching blue headband, and you look lovely and cutely sexy as you warm up.

The shy tension on your face melts away as you skate.  Whatever muscle memory you have keeps you well served on the ice:  you glide like a natural, you do neat little swivels and turns, and once—when you’re warmed up—you even perform a jump, a tightly efficient single rotation in the air before you land on a blade.  You give yourself a pleased smile, then look over at him.  You startle to find him watching you—the only time you wobble on your skates and have to balance yourself.

When you return to him, there’s a sparkle to your eyes, and Marcus can’t help but smile at you.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confesses as he stumbles forward another step.  “I’m from Texas.”

You swivel on your skates and face him:  you drifting backwards, him stumbling after you.  You hold out both of your hands:  an invitation.

“Want me to teach you a few things?” you ask, and it turns out that Scrooge-Marcus has disappeared and Romantic-Marcus has returned.  He doesn’t want it, but he can feel the nervous hammering of his heart in his ribcage, the fluttery feeling in his stomach.  The first step of a crush, of new love, maybe.  

You smile at him, peer into his eyes like you might be able to really see him.  Dave said you were in a long-term thing, recently dumped.  Maybe you can see his pain because you’ve felt it too, yet here you are—game for this date with him, smiling at him even if he wasn’t especially warm to you over the phone.  You’re smiling at him, so he thinks he can salvage it, and already he knows of a place to take you afterwards:  the perfect little coffee shop where you can wrap your hands around a mug of hot chocolate, where you can tell him whatever you’re willing to share about yourself.  

“Please,” he says, and he takes your hands and allows himself to be led forward.  “Please do.”

[flightlessangelwings]

Kinktober Day 23: Cockwarming

Window/Balcony Sex || Squirting || Cock warming

Marcus Pike x afab!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: smut, cockwarming, established relationship, no use of y/n, Marcus being mischievous 

Notes: I had a lot of fun with this one! I enjoyed writing a more playful Marcus, but don’t worry he’s still our sweet Marcus! Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen​. Feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates​

~

Movie nights with Marcus were always the best. Ever since the two of you started dating, you always made sure to make it a weekly thing in order to spend more time together. You both led very busy lives, but it was important to both of you to carve out the time together, and neither of you had ever been happier. At first, weekly movie nights started as simple dates with dinner that usually led to more heated activities afterwards. But, as your relationship grew, so did the boldness from both of you.

That was when Marcus got an idea.

The room was dimmed while the movie played in front of you. Marcus sat on the couch with you in his lap… and his cock buried deep inside you. Your breaths came out deep and heavy as you felt the stretch of him inside you while you stayed still in his lap with your legs spread. You leaned back against his chest and his arm stayed wrapped around your waist to keep you close to him.

“Comfortable, baby?” he asked with a cocky grin in his voice. He let out a low groan, though, when you wriggled a bit in his lap in an attempt to rile him up a little.

“You feel so good, Marcus,” you whispered against his cheek as you placed a soft kiss on his beard.

“So do you,” Marcus replied in a low tone as he nuzzled his nose against the shell of your ear, “Now stay still until the movie is over, ok?”

You let out a soft whine, unsure if you could last that long. Of course Marcus picked out one of the classics from his collection, which meant you’d be like this for hours and you weren’t sure you’d make it. You felt like you might melt with how hot your body felt, but at the same time it was comforting to keep him inside you of like this. It was something new and different for you both, but you had the feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you’d do this.

After some time, you finally calmed yourself down and just savored the feeling of Marcus’ cock deep inside you. You knew that if you needed to stop this, he would without hesitation, and you trusted him to take care of you no matter what. He also knew that you would take care of him in return, and he trusted you just as much as you trusted him. 

But Marcus couldn’t help but be a little mischievous, and about a half hour into the movie, he reached around and lightly fiddled with your clit. You let out a squeal of surprise and clenched around his cock, which caused him to groan in response. 

“Marcus! Not fair!”

He laughed against your ear before he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’m sorry baby,” he apologized sincerely, “I couldn’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you tilted your head and took his lips with yours, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you chastised him with a smile before you both went back to the movie.

Another hour went by and you decided to take revenge on Marcus for his tease earlier. His cock inside you became a comfort at that point, but you still felt the lingering desire for more there. You smirked as you clenched your inner muscles and rocked your hips ever so slightly. Marcus let out a gasp and tightened his grip on your waist and you felt his cock twitch inside you.

“Baby…” he groaned.

“Payback,” you quipped back and you heard him snort.

“Ok, ok,” Marcus kissed your neck softly, which made you shiver, “I got the point.”

“Good,” you turned your head to kiss him on his lips.

Marcus immediately reciprocated and parted his lips to deepen the kiss. You moaned into his mouth and your body heated up as you felt his hands roam all over your skin. Passions quickly erupted from there and Marcus thrusted slowly from below you. One of his hands landed on your breast and cupped and kneaded the soft flesh there while the other found its way to your clit once more.

You cried out as you felt overwhelmed with sensations as Marcus rocked in and out of you. After all the teasing and keeping him side you, you were sure you wouldn’t last long if he kept this up.

“Marcus…” you moaned as you writhed against him.

“I got you, baby,” he cooed against your ear.

In no time, you felt the familiar warmth spread across your body as you reached behind you and clung to Marcus where you could hold. He moved his hand that was on your breast to your hip to keep you steady while he continued to thrust into you and rub at your clit. Marcus felt his own orgam fast approach as well, but he kept his focus on you, determined to have you cum first before he gave in to his own pleasure.

With the movie completely forgotten, Marcus thrust his cock in and out of you from below, his pace quickly picking up. The sound of skin against skin soon became louder than the noise from the tv as Marcus rocked against you harder and faster. The need from both of you was too much to stop now.

“You feel so good, baby,” Marcus mumbled against your skin, “So good to me,” he let out a low groan that went right to your core, “So perfect.”

With a few more thrusts, you came with a loud scream, and your body clenched around Marcus. You clung to whatever you could hold on to as you rode out your powerful climax on his cock, and a string of curses and praises left your lips as you felt so wonderfully overwhelmed. And Marcus was right behind you, your orgasm triggering his own. With a low groan of your name, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he spilled himself inside you.

When neither of you could take anymore, Marcus flopped down onto the couch with your limp body on top of his. Heavy breaths from both of you filled the room as you both felt like jelly. Marcus was quicker to recover, and he wrapped his arms around you once more and peppered your skin with kisses.

“You ok, baby?” he asked.

“Mmmhmm,” you didn’t even have the energy to open your eyes, but you had a blissful smile on your face, “So much for making it through the whole movie,” you added with a laugh when you had caught your breath better.

Marcus joined in your laughter, “Honestly, baby, I don’t think I would have made it either,” he confessed.

“We definitely have to do this again,” you said as you gave his cock a squeeze with your inner muscles.

Marcus hummed in agreement as he took your lips with a heated kiss.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

What’s in a Name? Pt. II

A/N: So I know I said that the first part was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done...but this takes the cake. The softest, cheesiest thing I’ve ever written and I will apologize for nothing. 

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no y/n)

Rating: PG for mention of guns??? A few smooches or two.

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: The five times Marcus Pike tries to propose and the one time he actually does. 

(Beautiful art by my bb @bucketheadredacted​)

Read part one!

Marcus Pike was finally a man lucky in love.

Maybe. Hopefully. God, he really needed to be lucky. Just this once.

He had bought the diamond ring three months after she had moved in—that was him moving slowly! Honestly! He had felt the urge to look at rings only a month after she had kissed him in the park but had refrained, his past failed relationships whispering at the back of his mind. He didn’t want to push her away. Didn’t want to scare her by moving too fast. Didn’t want to break his own heart again. It had been a strange uphill battle to just learn her name—and now he wanted to give her his name, too.

But he loved her. Truly.

And he knew that within a month of stealing kisses and slipping into overpriced hotel rooms between briefings and meetings and auctions across the country. And Marcus hadn’t been able to stop himself from asking her if she wanted to move into his Washington D.C. apartment six months later.

The words had tumbled out of his mouth while they were still half asleep, his alarm blaring in the background, alerting them both that she needed to get up to fly back to New Orleans.

And she…giggled and rolled over to press a kiss to his lips, uncaring of his morning breath. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

And it had been perfect. It had been good to come home and see her jacket slung over the back of the chair, to smell her perfume lingering in the bathroom as she dashed out the door, to wake up next to her when they both had a reprieve from their chaotic jobs and not have to worry that they would have to separate again within a handful of hours. It was good even when she tried a new recipe and the entire apartment smelled like burnt noodles for two days.

But he wanted to call her his wife and he wanted to be her husband. He wanted to have a family with her and maybe buy a house a little further outside the city—she had mentioned that she wanted a dog and a cat. “With room for them to run around!” She said with a smile.

And that all circled back to the ring. The platinum ring with the princess cut diamond. The ring he had been hiding for ages. The ring he wanted to put on her finger—if she said yes. Or he would have to tuck his metaphorical tail between his legs (again) and nurse a broken heart (again) and listen to his coworkers well-meaning condolences (again).

“When are you gonna ask her, man?” One of his fellow agents asked as they parked the agency-assigned SUV in the underground lot. Marcus had made the mistake of mentioning how he had a ring waiting at the back of his sock drawer and this agent—and honestly? Marcus couldn’t even remember his name—latched onto that and had spent the last three hours trying to ‘help’ Marcus come up with a plan on how to propose.

Marcus had a plan already. Thank you very much.

“I am going to take her to see the fireworks over the river.”

“Romantic. Good choice.”

Marcus felt himself puff up a bit at that. It was romantic, wasn’t it? This would be fine.

                                                     **

It was not fine.

The spot Marcus had picked was already crowded by the time they arrived—he was still grumbling about the flat tire he had to fix on the way there but his mood shift when he heard her sigh. It was a happy sound that had a smile pushing at his own lips.

“This is a good spot. Good choice.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his warm cheek before turning and grabbing the cooler from the back of his car.

Marcus quickly patted his pocket and felt the ring safely in its confines. This could work, right? He just needed to wait for the fireworks. He set a checkered blanket on the warm grass and helped her unload their cooler, filled with her favorite picnic foods and maybe a bit of alcohol too, hidden away in two tumblers. The wind off the river was nice, keeping them from getting too overheated and someone further down the bank had set up a radio, letting music provide a backdrop to the quiet lapping water and the conversations from the strangers around them. He was not the best conversationalist, Marcus had to admit, he was busy rehearsing what he was going to say in his head over and over, trying to imagine if she would cry or smile—or just…say yes. But he made her laugh and earned a few more kisses when he managed to contribute to the conversation and fed her a few of the grapes from the cooler.

It was good…it was fine…until it wasn’t.

It started with her swatting at something on her arm just as the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon. That wasn’t uncommon; the East Coast was notoriously buggy during the summer. It was probably a mosquito.

But then it happened again and again and again until she was standing up with a shriek, wildly hitting at herself. “Marcus! Marcus!”

“Honey?”

“There’s ants everywhere!”

He glanced down and…yes, there were ants everywhere. And then he felt his first bite.

They quickly gained more than their fair share of attention as they both scrambled to get the hundreds of ants off of them, knocking over their food and cooler with unpleasant groans and gasps as they gained more ant bites.

In a rushed haze, still swatting at themselves, they gathered up their belongings and all but dumped them in the back of the car. When their tires hit highway, they heard the first boom of the fireworks.

                                       **

“How’re you feeling?” She whispered as she rubbed a bit more cream onto Marcus’s back. It had been almost a week since the ant incident and his body was still covered in small red bumps. A testament to his failure.

He reached back, a little awkwardly from his angle on his stomach, and grasped her hand. “I’m okay, honey.” He hummed when he felt her pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Marcus turned his head just a bit and looked at her hand. Her ring finger was still bare. The ring had been tucked away in his bedside drawer after they both scrubbed themselves clean and then all but bathed in calamine lotion. But Marcus was a man on a mission. Having brunch, just to the two of them, all calm and relaxed, was just as good as fireworks.

When she’d been showering earlier, he had called in a delivery from her favorite breakfast restaurant, the florist down the block, and snuck around the apartment to try to tidy up a bit. Not that the apartment needed much. He had set a new set of candles in two overly-priced candle holders and lit them…and then quickly snuffed them out, deeming it too early for candles. He had slipped back into bed just as she emerged in a puff of lavender steam from the bathroom, looking much more comfortable than she had in days.

He rolled over and sat up to steal a kiss against her smiling mouth before coaxing her down onto the bed to apply her share of the strangely scented lotion to her matching set of bumps and bites.

“You know,” she started, face squished in the pillow, “for what it’s worth, I did have a really good time.”

“Yeah?”

“You know I always like spending time with you.”

“Even if you get eaten alive by fire ants?” He asked, a smile pushing at his mouth as his fingers trailed down her back.

She laughed. “Even then.”

He leaned down to press a kiss behind her ear before finishing her layer of lotion and his smile only grew when he heard the familiar, satisfied hum rumble in her throat. A knock at the door had him rising. “I’ll be right back.” Marcus pulled on a shirt as he moved toward the door and opened it, happily seeing two delivery men. He paid them both quickly and moved to the kitchen to set everything up as he heard one of his least favorite sounds.

Her cellphone ringing.

Marcus placed the flowers in her favorite vase but didn’t even move to plate the food he’d had delivered. What was the point?

She came out of the bedroom, rubbing at her temples and her phone in her pocket. “I-”

“You have to go,” he said, finishing for her. “Where to this time?”

She grimaced. “Nowhere fun. But apparently a Pollock has surfaced at an auction set for tomorrow night.” Her eyes darted to the flowers and her grimace softened. “Are these for me?”

Marcus smiled and handed them to her, chuckling as she all but shoved her face into the blooms to inhale their scent. He tightened the knot on the top of the takeout and handed that to her, too. “Here, you can eat this on the road.” And when she opened her mouth to apologize, he kissed the words away. Marcus would never fault her for her job and its uneven schedule, just as she never held his strange hours against him. “Home by Wednesday?” He murmured against her lips.

“Home by Wednesday. I promise.”

When he closed the door to her taxi and waved as he watched the yellow car disappear around the corner, Marcus sighed. Strike two.  

                                                 **

Patrick Jane was not who Marcus wanted to see right now. And neither was Lisbon. But that was beside the point. The point was that Marcus hadn’t seen his Honey in almost three weeks because of a demanding client wanting more and more art work so she was flown all over Europe to different auctions and private sales.

He had remembered how he heard her sniffle over the phone when she told him that this client was asking her to pick up more art. “It is good money, really good. I can probably take a few months off after I do this but I…” she hiccupped and his heart broke. “But I just really miss you.”

And that was why he had booked a table at this beautiful and romantic restaurant after she had managed to sleep off her jet lag and rinse the grime of the plane from her skin.

Marcus ordered expensive wine that she knew she only ordered when she closed a big deal and asked the chef to place the ring on the top of the tiramisu he had scheduled to be brought out in exactly 47 minutes.

But that plan had been fantastically derailed when that obnoxious blond man spotted him from across the restaurant and then had the gall to ask the hostess to seat them near each other. (What were they even doing in DC?) For her part, Lisbon looked uncomfortable, too, as they made small talk.

With each passing word and each forced anecdote, Marcus felt himself deflate. There was no way he was going to propose to the love of his life in front of his ex-fiancée and her husband.

“You know,” Jane started and Marcus felt his teeth grind, “Marcus always struck me as a family man.”

She smiled and reached out to wrap her fingers around Marcus’ and squeezed. “He is.”

“Oh?” Jane continued, leaning forward in his seat. “Is a congratulations in order?”

Marcus could hear his teeth grinding but her grip tightened on his hand while her smile remained steady. “That is none of your business. I am sure you can fill your time poking and prodding into other people’s lives. Now, please, you have interrupted my long overdue date with the love of my life with your prattle. I’m sure you’re lovely, but I am done entertaining you.” She raised her other hand and asked for the check which was quickly given. The hostess, for her part, did glance to Marcus to make sure it was okay before he subtly nodded. The ring was slipped back into his hand by a sly waiter.

“Marcus,” Lisbon murmured, “we didn’t mean-”

Marcus stood and buttoned his jacket before helping his Honey into her coat. “Have a good night, Lisbon.”

And they left the restaurant, flagging down a taxi as thunder rolled overhead. Marcus made sure to open the taxi’s door for her and let her slide in before joining her in the backseat. The pair was quiet for a moment, and then two before she started to giggle. The giggle grew into a full-belly laugh that had tears gathering in her eyes and Marcus had to laugh, too. She always made him laugh.

“God!” She said. “He’s so full of himself. And truly, Marcus, I’m sure Teresa is lovely but she has terrible taste in men. Choosing that over you? I would never.”

Marcus felt a selfish bloom of pride swell in his chest. “Yeah?”

She leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. “Yeah. I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”

And you know? That made Marcus smile just as much as putting a shiny ring on her finger. She wanted him forever.

He could propose tomorrow.

                                             **

He did not propose tomorrow.

Or any day after that for the next three months. There just…wasn’t the right time. The ring he now kept in his suit jacket pocket seemed heavier by the day. Even his fellow agents seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering him.

“Fighting with your lady, Pike?” One of them asked as they were huddled around a table in the art storage room, trying to devise a plan to catch a thief who had managed to disappear with fourteen million dollars’ worth of some blueblood’s family heirlooms which included an Artemisia Gentileschi original. It was a brazen heist and obviously a huge case that needed to be their sole focus.

But sometimes his group of agents were a little nosey.

“We don’t really fight,” Marcus muttered as he looked over the blueprints of the family’s home, trying to find a way that the thief had come in and out. The official police report said a downstairs window was open but he didn’t believe that. “We have our disagreements but she is the most levelheaded person I know. The most heated conversation we had was over which diner had the best waffles.”

Another agent gagged. “You two are disgusting.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘perfect,’ actually.”

Marcus shook his head and bit back a laugh—they really needed to focus on this case. “We’re not perfect.” And they weren’t. No one was. But that didn’t mean he loved her any less.

“Still haven’t proposed, eh?”

“Shut up, man.” There was no heat to his tone as Marcus scrubbed a hand down his face before looking at his watch. It was almost eleven at night. “Go home. It’s late. We can pick this up in the morning.”

The rest of the group grumbled their thanks and disappeared to the upper levels of the building, probably in search of their forgotten dinners before going home. Marcus tapped his pencil on the blueprints, his eyes constantly moving to the door leading into the ‘piano room’ which then led down to the wine cellar. He wasn’t sure why, but something in his gut just told him the answer led to that set of rooms.

“Marcus?”

He jumped at the sudden noise but quickly righted himself as he saw her entering the fenced off storage area, carefully skirting around a prized Greco-Roman statue they had just recovered in Philadelphia. It was no longer a surprise to see her down here, the front desk guards knew her by face and name and all but gave her security clearance, easily letting her through when they knew Marcus was working late. He stood and walked over to her, pressing a kiss to her lips and then forehead in greeting, listening to her hum in contentment as her hands wound around his waist. “What are you doing here, Honey?”

She smiled as she looked at him and shrugged. “I knew you were working late. Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d keep you company instead of tossing and turning.”

“You know I’m always happy to see you.” He led her over to the table and told her a little about the case, as much as he could without truly getting in trouble, and let her look over his notes.

She frowned as she turned the blueprints around and looked at them. “These people are like…billionaires, right?”

Marcus confirmed it with a frown but let her continue.

“Right. So, last time I was in LA, I was at that big, private auction at one of the gaudiest homes I’ve ever visited. Remember me telling you about that? The host got so drunk that he demanded he show everyone his three panic rooms and the private tunnel he had requested be dug behind his laundry room in the basement. Apparently he bribed the city inspector to keep it off the official blueprints so that a thief couldn’t use that tunnel.” She held up the blueprints and tapped at the wine cellar. “Ten bucks says there’s more to this wine cellar than just some ridiculous vintages.”

Marcus could feel his face lighting up. She was amazing.

They spoke a little longer, about possible suspects and how there was probably more than one thief—or at least a getaway driver—before their conversations shifted.

“The guys upstairs said something funny.”

“Hm?”

“They called me Mrs. Pike.”

His next breath nearly choked him. He was going to kill the guards upstairs. “O-oh? Really?”

“I think it sounds nice,” she said, her tone a little embarrassed. “Not that I haven’t thought about it before.” She smiled a bit, almost nervous. “We’ve talked about it, me and you, but to hear someone else say it…makes it sound…really nice.” She hid her embarrassment behind her hand and shook her head.

“I think it sounds nice, too.” He could do it. Right now. He could do it. They were surrounded by beautiful art. All by themselves. There was a light in her eyes that made his heart squeeze. His hand patted the pocket where he kept the ring and-

-it was gone.

“Marcus?” Her tone was filled with worry and she reached out to trail a finger over the crease that had erupted between his eyebrows, a gesture she did often when he brought work home with him. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, honey.”

He most certainly was not but it wasn’t like he could tell her that or propose. ‘Yes, honey. I lost your engagement ring. Will you marry me?’ Fuck.

                                          **

The next day Marcus was stopped by the man at the front desk as he headed toward his office. “Everyone’s been telling me about your big plans. Can’t do it without this.” He handed over a small bag and inside…was the ring.

“Where’d you find it?” Marcus asked, stashing the ring in his briefcase this time. 

Apparently his pocket couldn’t be trusted.

“Parking lot.”

Marcus could only sigh.

                                       **

This was it. This had to be it.

If it wasn’t? He was sure the universe was telling him to just give up. They were happy, right? In love? Maybe they didn’t have to be married. Maybe…

No. No, he wanted to be her husband and he wanted her to be his wife. And that was why the ring was (safely and securely) stowed away in his wallet. He just needed the right time.

She was sitting across from him at their favorite diner, a stack of pancakes and a plateful of waffles between them and half-finished milkshakes abandoned near the saltshakers as they tried to guess which type of syrup was in each little carafe from a single bite. It was a game they played a few times before—one they had played on their first official date, actually. It had lasted well past the dinner and museum visit he had planned and into the morning where they had landed at the diner as the sun rose.

“This has to be strawberry,” she said as she finished her bite. “What do you think?” She asked, holding out the fork for him to take.

He took his bite and nodded. “Strawberry, definitely.”

She lifted the carafe and smiled as she read the tape on the bottom. “Point for us!” They high-fived across the table, laughing. The waitress who always served them shook her head with a smile from her place at the counter, knowing their game too well.

Marcus poured the syrup on their next bite and guessed its flavor before letting her take a guess.

“Um…blueberry?” She licked her lips, contemplating. “Maybe?” As Marcus lifted the carafe and confirmed that it was indeed blueberry, she continued. “Oh, a display of Alphonse Mucha is coming to Georgetown.”

Marcus smiled. Over an hour of their first date had been filled with soft whispers and shy smiles in front of a wall of Mucha sketches. They had been asked to leave by a polite but tired museum guard, not realizing they were there past closing. It was one of his fondest memories. One of the first times he realized she was truly special. He fell a little (more) in love with her that night. “We should go.”

“I’ll get tickets!”

This was the time. This was the moment. He pulled his wallet out under the table and curled his finger around the ring and watched as she smiled, wiping a bit of syrup from her chin. “I love you.”

She paused and looked at him, smile continuing to grow. “And you know I love you, too.”

“And I’ve loved you for a long time. You make my life better, make me better. I know our jobs are crazy. But they’re beautiful. Filled with art and excitement. But you’ve really…made my life a masterpiece.”

“Marcus?” Her voice was soft, eyes narrowing just slightly.

But Marcus pressed forward. “And I know that’s cheesy but I-”

And his phone was ringing. Why of all times was his phone ringing? And worst of all, it was the ringtone he had set for his boss. He had to answer. And she knew it, nodding just once with a fading smile. 

He stood from his seat and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured before slipping away with his phone pressed to his ear.

            ��                                  **

Marcus was tired. Tired.

He had been to New York to Miami to Orlando to Atlanta and then finally to Rio. The band of thieves, making a run for it with millions of dollars of art—including a da Vinci sketch. But he and his team caught them before they disappeared into the wind and the art was lost to the black market.

But he was tired.

He yawned as he drove through the mostly-quiet streets, ready to slip back into his apartment and pull his honey into his arms and then…sleep for three days. 

That sounded wonderful.

But then his phone rang again.

And he had to answer it.

Thankfully, it was a short call. Someone had just broken in to one of the smaller museums in Georgetown and they wanted Pike to catch the thief in the act. Marcus sighed as he tossed his phone in the passenger seat. If this went well, it meant less paperwork. And then he could sleep.

The museum was dark when he arrived. There was only a faint bit of life coming from around of one the corners and he slunk around in the shadows, a hand on his gun. He was ready. He could stop a theft before it happened. He could-

Marcus stopped dead in his tracks as he realized what he was looking at.

Standing in the center of the hall, surrounded by (electronic) candles and priceless Mucha originals, was his Honey. His Venus.

“Hi Marcus.”

He took one step forward and then two and then three-

And she dropped to one knee and gently grasped his hands in hers, tears filling her beautiful eyes. “You make me smile every day. Even when I feel the need to hide all your socks after you make me mad. You have given me a new way of seeing art, appreciating it. You, Marcus Pike, have helped me grow, helped me breathe when I thought the world was just too much, helped me learn what strawberry syrup tastes like.”

Marcus had to laugh at that, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes. “And pecan, too.”

“And pecan syrup, too.” She squeezed his hands again with a growing smile. “I’ve never known love like this. And I never want to be without it. I never want to be without you. I just…” she hiccupped, a few tears falling down her cheeks. “I just love you. Will you marry me? Can I be Mrs. Pike?”

Marcus pulled his hands from hers and quickly pulled his wallet from his back pocket, pulling the ring (finally), from its depths. “Can I ask you, too?”

She all but tackled him to the sparkling marble floors and pressed kiss after kiss to his cheeks, chin, brow, and lips, a laugh on her tear-stained lips. “Ask me.”

“Will you marry me?” The words finally came out in a rush, his heart beating wildly behind his ribs as he watched her smile. Her beautiful smile.

“Yes.”

A/N: Please let me know what you think!