#Marcus Pike angst

[thetriumphantpanda]

I'll Crawl Home To Her | Marcus Pike

Fic Summary | Marcus Pike had been the man of your dreams until a promotion tore your away from him. Four years later, a wedding brings you back together, but it the bubble you've built over this one weekend going to crash and burn just like it did before?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Bridesmaid F!Reader

Fic Warnings | Explicit. Exes to Lovers, themes of second chance love, references to food and alcohol, descriptions of a wedding, Marcus Pike being a dirty talking menace, talk of contraception, unprotected PiV sex, creampie, semi-public sex, oral sex (F), overstimulation if you squint, allusions to oral sex (M) and mentions of a facial cumshot, mutual pining, flirting, two idiots in love, a touch of angst, basically two idiots who never got over each other have a lot of sex over a weekend.

Word Count | 7.9K (I can only apologise lmfao)

Authors Note | So, two weekends ago I was a bridesmaid and spent the entire time messaging @undercoverpena about how I wished Marcus Pike would whisk me away to the bathroom, tell me how pretty I was and give me a good time.... and this is what's come of this. Entirely self-indulgent but we love that for me sometimes. If you enjoy this, please consider commenting or reblogging - I'd love to know what you think of it! And if you'd like to support me further, you can donate to my Ko-Fi.

Moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only - reader is a blank slate. Although if you're interested in the dress I chose for her - it's this.

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Marcus is still out of breath as he clutches the champagne flute in his hand, chest heaving as his sucks in air to his lungs, “I didn’t mean to be so late.”

“Marcus, buddy, it’s fine,” His friend puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder, he knows Marcus gets anxious when things outside of his control happen, like the delay to his flight from D.C. to London, and then the delay in getting from London to the wedding venue, “You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

Marcus nods, chugging down half the champagne in one go, hoping it’ll calm his anxiety a little. He had cursed Mike and Cassie for choosing to have their wedding in England, but Mike’s family, most of them ageing now and unable to make the long trip to D.C. had insisted on it. As he looks around the large reception room, he muses internally to himself that it was beautiful. A huge room, semi-decorated for tomorrow’s reception and dinner. It’s a smaller affair tonight, immediate family and friends for the rehearsal dinner, but he can imagine that tomorrow, once all is said and done, it’ll be the perfect backdrop for their wedding.

“Where’s Cassie?” Marcus asks, looking around the room, finding a distinct lack of the bride and the bridal party Mike hadn’t shut up about over the last few months.

“She’s just sorting the last of the decorations for the ceremony room,” Mike explains, waving a hand to the waitress currently doing the round with a refilled tray of champagne, “She’ll be here soon.” He finished with a wink, which, although is odd, Marcus doesn’t question, just picks up another glass of champagne and stands talking to his friend and whoever is milling around offering their congratulations.

There’s a flurry of conversation that has Marcus turning around a few minutes later, he can see Cassie and her mother, who are pulled to the side by someone from the venue holding up two different types of ribbon, asking which one they want to drape around the columns and which one to tie around the chair backs. It’s not Cassie that Marcus is interested in though, it’s the bridesmaid that follows behind her.

He can feel his throat constrict, a small pit opening in his stomach that’s somewhere between the feeling of dread and excitement. He can feel the palms of his hands starting to get clammy, so he drains his glass and sets it down on the nearest table to avoid an accident. Then, he thinks he might actually pass out when you finally look at him, eyes searching his face and then the glimmer of recognition that you know exactly who he is, remember exactly the last time you’d seen him, and exactly what had happened when you had.

Your leg is bouncing underneath the dining table, food somewhat eaten regardless of the fact that it’s your favourite. You’ve dug half-moon shapes into the palms of your hands and bitten the inside of your mouth enough to taste blood.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” It’s Marcus, sitting across from you, plate cleared, completely oblivious as to what’s about to come.

“I got offered a promotion.” You tell him simply, running one hand up and down your opposite arm in an attempt to soothe yourself.

“Darling!” He exclaims, “That’s amazing!” He doesn’t move to get up, but reaches his hand out, palm up for you to take, which you do, letting his hand softly clasp yours in his own, “Why are you so upset then?”

Taking a deep breath in, biting your bottom lip, you decide it’s best to rip the band-aid off sooner rather than later, “It’s not here, Marcus,” You sigh, “The job is in D.C.”

The smile, the light of his eyes, everything on his face that had just seconds ago been showing joy, had faltered. Much like you imagine your face would have when you’d been offered the job. A significant pay rise, governmental opportunities, bigger clients, a shot at being a proper lawyer for once, but with the caveat that you had to uproot your comfortable Austin life for D.C. and with it, Marcus Pike.

“I don’t have to go,” You follow up with, “I haven’t accepted yet, I’ve got some time to think.”

You feel him squeeze your hand, his other palm coming out to rest on your wrist, slowly tracing the blue veins he can see there, “Look at me,” He asks softly, which you do, the tears that had been forming in your own eyes starting to spill down your cheeks when you find Marcus’ eyes glassed over too, “Baby, this is such an amazing opportunity, you can’t say no because of me.”

Because that’s what you would be doing. Marcus, brilliant, funny, intelligent Marcus, wouldn’t be able to follow you to D.C. There had been some talk about his work in the Art Crimes team with the higher ups, people who were impressed at his success rate, people who wanted to keep him here, send him off to California even. He was at too much of a crossroads to be able to follow you to D.C.

“I don’t want to lose you though,” You sniff, free hand coming to wipe away some of the tears that are falling from your eyes, “I love you.”

Marcus hums, finally pushes himself off his chair, letting the legs scrape across his kitchen floor, until he’s sat right in front of you, knees touching, his palms on the tops of your thighs, warm and soothing, “I love you too,” He says, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, making sure you’re looking at him, “But this is what you’ve wanted, you’ve been working so hard baby and I’m not going to let you stay here just because of me.”

It’s killing you inside, because you want so badly to ask him to follow you. To drop everything and come to D.C. You’ve been together two years, you’re comfortable together, he makes you so happy, you’ve talked about moving in together, starting a life together, but you know deep down you’re asking him to do something unfair.

“So, I guess your stance on long-distance relationships hasn’t changed?” You ask, tone soft and sad, tears falling down your cheeks.

You watch him as his own tears fall, his hands clutching your own so tightly as he gives you a soft smile, “Baby, I wish I could say yes, I wish I could drop it all and follow you, or promise you we’d talk on the phone every day and see each other every weekend, but you know we can’t do it.”

Biting at your lip, you nod, because you know he’s right. You’re a lawyer, you barely have free time as it is - weekends more often than not spent sat on the couch with him, tapping away at your laptop whilst he looks over case files. It would never work.

Marcus leans forward, presses a kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into a hug. You clutch your hands to his back, inhaling the smell of him on his shirt , watching the light blue turn darker as it catches your tears.

“When do you go?” He asks quietly into the crook of your neck, soft kiss placed to the skin right after.

“A few weeks, probably.”

“Well, let’s enjoy them while we still can, hey?” You nod silently, “And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

“And maybe one day, we’ll find each other again.”

Those words still echo in your ears four year later, like they have at various different points since you last saw Marcus Pike. Leaving had been hard. He’d helped you pack everything up, driven you to the airport, kissed you before security and promised he wouldn’t forget you. You’d text a for a few weeks before life dragged you in one direction and him in another. No-one had quite been able to live up to him either. Sure, you’d tried dating, seen people for a few months before deciding they weren’t quite the man who had almost been able to give you everything you ever wanted.

And now here he is, standing in front of you, pale as a ghost as if he’s about to keel over and have a heart attack. You want to run to him, to fling yourself into his arms and make sure he’s real. You want to press your lips to his, let him kiss you like he always used to, to clutch you to his body and whisper sweet things into your ear, but you have no idea what he’s been doing these past four years - for all you know, you could get closer and find a wedding band across his left finger.

It’s a blessing when Cassie’s hand wraps around your wrist and pulls you over to the side.

“Do you prefer the dusky rose or the blush pink?” She asks, holding up two ribbons that look identical to your eye.

You want to tell her does it really matter, they both look exactly the same. You want to tear your wrist away from her and go to Marcus, but instead you settle for a warm smile and “It’s your wedding Cass, you choose what you want.”

And when you turn around, looking back over to Mike, Marcus Pike is nowhere to be found. Like he was a mirage. A figment of your hopeful imagination. Something conjured up after your mother had set you down at the airport and said, “Bridesmaid’s always get lucky at weddings, you might find your own husband.”

When everyone is called to sit down for the rehearsal dinner, you jump at the opportunity to let Cassie sit down and eat, whilst you get pulled away by the staff to advise on which candles to use for the ceremony room and where exactly to place the flower arch for the best photos tomorrow. When you make it back, everyone is standing, milling around, getting drinks from the bar, which you decide you desperately need.

“A negroni, please.” You ask for after taking a few seconds to peruse the cocktail menu set out. The stronger the better.

“I see your tastes haven’t changed in the last few years.”

You’re pretty sure that if there was a mirror in front of you, the look of shock on your face would be comical, as Marcus Pike sidles up to the bar next to you. Up close, he’s just as handsome as he always had been, except now, he’s got a beard and more fine lines in the corners of his eyes, which means he’s been happy, smiling, whilst you’ve been gone. It makes your heart swell that he’s been happy.

“I wonder if yours have.” You counter, tilting your head towards the bartender who is waiting for him to order.

“Just a beer for now.” He smiles, but at you, not the bartender.

“That’ll be a no then.”

There’s a moment of silence between the both of you as you sip the cocktail given to you, and Marcus takes a swig of his beer. His left hand is wrapped around the bottle, no sign of the wedding ring you were convinced you’d find. You want to say something, anything, but when you go to open your mouth, he beats you to it.

“You look well.”

You can’t help but chuckle. Of all the things he could have chosen to say to you, you hadn't thought it would be that.

“So do you.” You compliment back.

There’s another silence, the two of you just looking at each other. You’re soaking him up, committing him to memory to replace the old Marcus you knew so well.

“Are you here alone?” You ask, playing with the glass in your hand.

You watch as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, “Are you?”

“I asked you first, Agent Pike.”

He tilts his head towards his shoulder in a movement that says he’ll give you that one, “I’m here alone.”

You can’t help but smile a little, biting at your bottom lip to try and hide how pleased you are, “So am I.”

Looking up at him through your lashes, you notice the exact moment those brown eyes that you’re so used to getting lost in darken, watching you as you sip your drink, tip of your tongue jutting out to catch a drop from your bottom lip.

“Is your room completely over the top?” You ask, watching as he swallows deeply, “Because mine is, I’d love to know what the honeymoon suite must be like.”

“Depends what you mean by completely over the top?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Do you want me to show you?”

He doesn’t even respond. He sets his half-finished beer down on the bar, takes your almost-empty negroni from your hand and does the same. Then he’s taking hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together like he always did, dragging you out of the room. You turn to find Cassie and Mike, looking at you both as you have to jog to keep up with Marcus’ pace. Both of them are winking, smiling, and Mike even throws a thumbs up your way. You can feel heat rising on your cheeks as you turn your head away from them.

“Which floor?” Marcus asks then you reach the grand staircase in the lobby.

“Second.”

He doesn’t let go of your hand, but takes the stairs two at a time, meaning by the time you reach the second floor, you’re out of breath from running behind him, trying to keep up.

“Which room?”

It’s your turn to lead him now, stepping in front of him to walk down the hallway to room 212. You fish the keycard from the back pocket of your jeans, wasting no time in pushing the door open when the tiny light turns green.

It’s dark inside, but you don’t care. Marcus Pike pins you against the wall, his thigh between your legs, both hands on your waist, and then his lips are on yours. The way he kisses hasn’t changed a bit. His mouth slants over yours, softly at first, but when you open your lips against his, hands clutching at the collar of his shirt, it’s just like you remember from all those years ago. He tastes the same, mint from the gum he always chews, the tang of the beer on his tongue, and that distinct taste that’s just him.

He swallows a groan from you as your pitch your hips down, denim rubbing on denim as he devours your mouth. His hands on your waist trail down just a little, finding the top of your jeans, floating under your shirt just a little to touch the bare skin underneath. His hands are warm and strong as they start guiding you to move against his thigh as his tongue works against yours.

Marcus pulls away from your mouth just as a particularly breathy moan leaves your mouth. It makes you both stop. Stand still. Eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room as you both realise exactly what’s happening. You know you should stop, talk about what’s clearly about to happen, but when did talking ever help anything.

“Don’t think about it,” Marcus sighs, leaning down to trail kisses along your jaw, “We talk after.”

“We talk after.” You say, mainly to the room more than anything else.

Your hands are still clutching at his shirt when his fingers find the button on your jeans. Still as adept at it as he’d always been, he pops the button open and pulls down the zipper, letting his hand trail down, settling across the lace of your underwear, cupping your pussy, letting his fingers trace along skin through lace.

A hiss leaves your mouth as you work your body in time with the slow, teasing movements of Marcus’ hand, “You’ve changed,” You manage to breathe out, your hand coming to the back of his neck to pull his mouth nearer to yours, “When you were desperate for me you’d never tease.”

You can feel his lips smile against the skin of your neck where he’s tracing wet kisses along the skin, hand still feather-light between your legs, “I’ve learnt to be more patient, honey.”

“And if I asked you not to?”

“In all the years I knew you, never once did you beg for it.” He pulls back, your eyes now accustomed to the dark, able to see him better, his voice is low, “Unless you’ve changed, you’ll have to put up with it.”

You grasp his cheeks in your palms, his hand still teasing you, pull his attention to you fully, “Marcus Pike, I swear to all that is holy that if you do not spread me out on my bed and fuck me in the next five minutes, I will die.”

He makes a ‘tsk’ sound, his head shaking in your hands, “That’s not begging for it honey,” He coos, “You gotta ask nicely for it.”

You let out a grumble of frustration, but you have to admit, this new version of the man you knew so well before is enticing. You can feel the way wetness is settling between your thighs, you’re sure if he dipped his fingers down he’d have some smart comment about how soaked you were for him already.

So you swallow your pride, you know it’ll be worth it in the end, “Please.”

“Good girl.”

It all happens in a flurry. One moment you’re against the wall, the next your back is against the mattress, Marcus’ hips pressed to yours as his hands work to push your shirt up and off your body. Your back hits the mattress again and his mouth is on you almost instantly, his lips trailing down your sternum, between the valley of your breasts. Pushing himself back on his knees, he brings his hands to the cups of your bra, pulling them down. Your nipples pebbling against the cold of the air.

His lips are back on you almost immediately, nipple enveloped into the warmth of his mouth, tip of his tongue flicking at it, making your back arch off the bed, pressing further into his mouth. Your hand comes to tangle in the curls at the back of his head, anchoring him to your body. As his mouth works across your chest, you can’t quite believe what’s happening to you. The man of your dreams, the person you always thought you were destined for, back, right here between your thighs, the bulge in the front of his jeans all too familiar to you.

Head tipped back in pleasure, you breathe out into the air, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

He tears off your breast with a wet pop, looking up at you through his lashes, mouth kissing down your body, across the soft of your tummy, he taps at your sides, lifting your hips up to drag your jeans and underwear down your legs, flung behind him and forgotten when you plant the flat of your feet onto the bed and let your knees fall open.

Marcus isn’t a religious man, he never has been, but knelt between your thighs, hands flying to rid himself of his clothes, watching as you gingerly trail your hand between your thighs, eyes on him as you play with your clit, he thinks he might have to start believing. As he stands to take the last of his clothes off, standing at the foot of the bed, naked with his cock in his hand, watching your face, he thanks the Lord for whatever mischief they had to concoct to get you back here with him.

He crawls back up your body, kissing from ankle to thigh, settling himself between your thighs, cock sliding through your slick folds as he lays his body down against yours, one of his hands slipping under your neck, cradling the back of your head, the other cupping your cheek, moving your face to look right into his eyes. He’s so fucking close to you, lips barely a hairs breadth from your own.

“I have to be inside you,” He pants against your mouth, “I promise I'll spend hours between your thighs later baby, but I have to be inside you.”

He doesn’t give you any time to respond, just shifts his hips a little, sinking himself into your aching cunt. You arch up into him, moaning against his mouth as he stills. The hand clutching at your cheek trails down your neck, thumb flicking against your nipple as it travels to rest on your hip.

“Stop squirming,” He pleads, “Please.. Just stay still a minute.”

He feels so right, nestled inside your pussy. The weight of his body pressed against yours takes you right back to all the nights before, locked away in his Austin apartment in the dead of night, making each other feel good, making promises at the height of your combined pleasure to each other that never materialised. You can feel tears settle in your eyes as he starts moving, pulling himself out of you slowly, pushing back in even slower.

Marcus leans down, kissing the salty tears from your cheeks, shushing you, “Don’t cry baby,” He whispers into your ear, “I’ve got you now.”

Your hands are clutching at his shoulders, nails digging small, half-moon shapes into his skin there. He feels just as incredible moving inside you as he always did, but there’s something settling in your tummy, the feeling that you knew so well with him, that you’ve only really known with yourself since.

“I can feel you baby,” Marcus groans into your ear as the thrusts of his cock get a little faster, a little harder, “Clenching all perfectly around me,” He takes hold of one of your wrists, dragging it between the both of you, resting it right where you need it, “I won’t last baby,” He admits, “Touch yourself and we’ll do it together?”

So you do, you rub tight, precise circles over your clit as Marcus pushes himself up, takes your thighs in his palms, pushing your legs back as far as he can. The change in angle makes you cry out as he really starts fucking you now. The only sounds in the room are the slapping of his skin against yours, your whimpers and his groans. You can feel the tightening coil across your abdomen, breath hitching in your throat, you’re so fucking close to coming undone on him.

“Marcus,” You whine, “I’m gonna-” You trail off as he shifts a little more, pressing your legs further back, cock hitting that unholy sweet spot inside you, “Gonna come.”

“Go on baby,” He encourages, “I’ll be right behind you.”

And that’s how it ends. Eyes shut so tightly you can feel tears pooling at the corners, cunt clenching around his cock as you cry out his name. It’s so familiar, the way it feels, the way he sounds, like no time has passed at all and you’re exactly the same as you’d both been four years ago. He’s pounding into you as your body convulses underneath, thighs shaking and toes curling as his hips start to stutter.

“Where?” He manages to choke out, his tone reminiscent of all those times before when he was holding on, teetering on the edge, wanting to know what you wanted.

“I’m s-safe,” You manage to choke out, head reeling from your own orgasm, “The pill.”

He doesn’t need to hear anymore, finally giving in, knowing you’ve fallen apart for him, he’s groaning your name into the dark, you can feel him spilling into you, claiming you, marking you as his own in a way only the two of you could ever understand. He lets go of your thighs, letting your legs drop back into comfort as he slowly drags himself from you, collapsing onto the bed next to you.

There’s a few moments of silence. Your arm is draped across your face, chest rising and falling as you try to suck in enough air to calm your breathing, Marcus doing the same across the bed. You roll over, putting yourself on your side so you can look at him. He’s led on his back, head turned to look at you in the dull light of the room - the moonlight through the window the only thing illuminating the two of you. He reaches out, traces your face with his hand.

“I can't believe you’re real.” He speaks softly, rolling over to face you, pulling your warm body to his.

“I know we said we’d talk after,” You whisper, hand trailing over his waist to rest across his back, “But can we just stay like this for a while?” It’s a soft plead, you don’t want to be reminded that this was probably a bad idea, you want to hold this man in front of you and forget that in a few short days it’ll all be over, he’ll go back to wherever he is now, and you’ll go back to D.C. lonelier than ever.

“I’ll stay here as long as you’ll let me, honey.”

Marcus, against his better judgement, stays with you all night. You don’t talk. You curl up into his side, settle against his body as he wraps his arms around you. It’s inevitable that he casts his mind back to how things used to be. To the history you share with each other. He still, to this day, hasn’t stopped thinking about you, about what would have been if you’d stayed. Would you be married? Probably, he thinks. He’d thought of it often towards the end, before your promotion. Stopped outside jewellery shops, tried to imagine which kind of ring you’d want – he’d even slipped one of your rings onto his own finger, figuring out where it stopped so he could pick the right size when the time came. Would you have children? He isn’t sure, neither of you had ever spoken about it, you’d never expressed a want to have them, but he’s certain if you’d have asked, he’d have given them to you.

He falls asleep, waking up hours later, darkness still pervading. He turns on his side, spooning his front to your back. You’re half-awake when you press yourself back into him, bring your hand up to clutch at his head as he slips inside you once more, his hand holding your thigh up. He breathes into your ear, whispers filth to you as he rocks his hips against you. When you feel his teeth trail over your shoulder, he chuckles when you tell him off.

“I can’t walk down the aisle with bruises on my shoulders, Marcus.”

It’s soft, and he tips you over the edge, feeling you clench around him as his fingers trace circles over your clit, following just behind you, filling you up once more. He doesn’t pull away from you, just settles your thigh back down, resting himself inside of you as you both fall back to sleep.

Then, he’s awake before your alarm. He wakes you with a kiss to your forehead, tells you to go back to sleep when you protest and try and coax him back to the warmth of your sheets. He has to shower he says, has to help Mike get ready, but he’ll be waiting for you, watching you all day. Marcus smiles, really smiles, when you curl over back onto your side, soft breaths and mumbles as you fall back to sleep, and as he walks to his own room and stands waiting for the shower to warm, there’s a feeling of content that spreads through him – should he have fucked you last night? Probably not. Should he have encouraged you to talk more? Probably yes. He knows he’s got his cards hidden, he’s not letting on that this might not have to just exist here, but he’ll keep that to himself for just a little longer.

“So,” Cassie smirks from her place in the make-up chair, artist flitting around her, pressing all number of products into her face, “You and the groomsman?”

“Shut up,” You mutter to her, trying not to scratch at your face, make-up already settling uncomfortably across your skin, “A momentary lapse of judgement.”

She hums, and then moves her focus back to the make-up artist who is tilting her face to put on some blush, “You don’t have to lie to me, you know,” She says to you as you pass her a mimosa, “I know that was Marcus. The Marcus.”

There’s a moment where you feel like a deer in headlights, like you’ve been caught being up to no good, even though you know that’s not the case. Then you turn slowly to her, eyebrow raised, and see her smirking, much to the chagrin of the make-up artist who urgently wants to get her lipstick on her so she can move onto the final bridesmaid.

“He’s Mike’s friend, they went to school together, see each other quite often these days – apparently he always talks about a girl from Austin, no-one could ever compare, he’s tried moving on, done this, done that, but always came back to thinking about the one who got away,” She stops talking to take a drink, “Which sounded oddly familiar to someone else I know.”

She’s not wrong really – Cassie had been a lifeline when you’d moved to D.C. a work colleague turned best friend, who has been the shoulder to cry on whenever dates had gone badly, or even when they’d been good, but you just couldn’t get Marcus Pike off your brain. She told you, like most good friends would, that it would take time, you’d find someone right for you, someone who would take your mind right off Marcus, but it never happened.

“You did this on purpose!” You accuse, but its friendly, because really, her and her soon-to-be husband have only done what you had always wanted to do yourself, pick up the phone, no matter how long it has been and tell the man you still loved him.

“Of course we did,” She chuckles, “Don’t think about it too much,” She adds, “Just enjoy this today and most of all, behave yourself.”

When Cassie walks down the aisle, it’s not her that Marcus is looking at – it’s you. He hadn’t thought it possible for him to find you more beautiful than he had before, but in your dark green dress, slit cut into the fabric to show off one of your legs as you walk, dress cut perfectly to sit on all the curves of your body that he always did love, he can’t deny you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He spends the entire ceremony making eyes at you, smirking when you meet his gaze. He wants to tell you how lovely you look, lean down and plant a kiss to your lips in front of everyone, but he doesn’t get a chance until cocktail hour, once you’ve had your pictures taken and Cassie has insisted on you finally having a drink and enjoying your day instead of flapping about whether she needs anything from you.

“Has anyone told you how beautiful you look today?” He asks, hand settling on your waist as you lean against the bar waiting for your drink.

“Funnily enough, it’s not me most people have been looking at.” You quip back, taking the margarita from the bartender when it’s handed to you.

“I’ve been looking at you.”

“I know,” You smirk, “Pretty sure I ruined my panties stood at the top of the aisle.”

“Because the ceremony moved you so much?”

“Because I couldn’t stop thinking about your face between my thighs, actually.”

He looks exactly like he always used to when you flirt with him like this. Eyes low and dark, mouth slightly ajar like he can’t quite believe you’ve just been so forward. He’s not thinking straight anymore, and much like he had done last night, he grips around your wrist and starts dragging you from the reception room, this time there are considerably more people so you manage to slip out unnoticed.

Instead of heading up the stairs, taking you to your room or his, he turns left down a hallway, tearing open the door to one of the bathrooms. It’s a single stall, lock clicking behind him. You press your back against the wall, setting your drink down on the sink.

Marcus takes three steps towards you, hand slipping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body, lips so close that you can feel his breath on your skin.

“Do you know how sinful you’ve looked all day?” He asks, “Walking around looking all innocent, but I know you’ve been begging to get fucked all day, haven’t you?” You whine at him in response, trying to chase his mouth as he pulls back, “Don’t think I didn’t see you rubbing your thighs together during the ceremony.”

“It’s only because you wouldn’t stop looking at me.”

His hand finds the skin of your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to trail up to the hem of your panties.

“If I put my fingers on you,” He breathes, “Will you be wet?”

“Why don’t you find out?” You cock your head to the side, biting your lip as you look at him, his hand pulling your panties to the side, thick fingers slipping between your folds.

“Baby,” He moans, finally taking your bottom lip between his, nipping your skin with his teeth a little before he pulls away, fingers slipping inside you, pulling a groan from your throat, “Soaked for me?”

“Always, Marcus.”

He drags his fingers from you, spins you around, and reaches down to bring your palms up to rest against the wall in front you. He puts his hands on your hips, dragging your ass backwards until you can feel him through his trousers. His hands shuck your dress up to your waist and instead of tearing your panties off, he pushes them to the side. You look over your shoulder at him, as much as you can, and watch as he undoes his belt, pulls the zipper of his trousers down and reaches in, pulling his cock out. His trousers are pushed down just enough to let him free himself, and you don’t think you’ve seen such a beautiful sight in your life, than Marcus Pike with his fist around his cock, running his hand up and down himself as he moves to nudge the head of his cock at your soaked core.

Unlike last night, he isn’t gentle when he pushes into you. He’s buried inside your cunt in seconds, setting a pace that punches the air from your lungs. You know that even though you’re locked in here, away from the party, there’s still every chance someone is going to walk past, try the door handle, and hear exactly what’s going on in here, so you’re trying your best to keep the noise to a minimum.

“Needed you so badly, baby,” Marcus chokes out behind you, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have his fingerprints embedded onto your skin, “Always so pretty for me, aren’t you?”

He’s hitting that sweet spot inside you, over and over again, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You feel one of his hands trail up your spine through the material of your dress, coming to rest with a grip around the nape of your neck, his fingers itching to slide up into your hair and grip it.

“You can’t,” You plead, “Don’t mess my hair up.”

“I won’t baby.” He pants out from behind you, trailing his hand down just a little so he’s not tempted to take a fistful of it to pull you back, arch you into him even more.

It’s fast and it’s hard, everything Marcus never really used to be. He liked to take his time, spread you out and have you crying for him before he slipped inside you, slowly, watching every contort of pleasure on your face. You think you like this new version of him, the one so desperate to have you he couldn’t make it up the stairs, couldn’t even pull your panties down your legs.

“Marcus,” You moan out, “Please.”

“What’s that, baby?” He asked, mouth right by your ear, “You begging for something?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What do you want?”

“Make me come?”

You think maybe he might try and tease you some more, but mercifully he takes the hand he’s got resting on your hip and snakes it down your body, letting his fingers find your clit - he had always been good at that. He drags the gathered slick where he can, cock still moving into you, pulling whimpers and moans whenever you feel his skin slap against yours, circles your clit quickly with the pad of his finger. You can feel your walls tightening around him, your thighs starting to shake as he continues doing exactly what he’s doing.

It’s no secret to either of you that making you come always took time. He’d never shamed you for it, always been more than happy to do whatever it took, for as long as it took, to get you there. But the mix of desperation for him, elation that he’s waltzed right back into your life, and the fact he’s fucking you in a public bathroom, have that coil tightening inside you quicker than ever.

“Can feel you getting tight around me baby,” He groans into your ear, “You gonna let go for me?”

You don’t have time to tell him yes. The tight coil snaps inside you, your eyes closed so tightly you’re sure the make-up around your eyes is dragging down your cheeks on tears. You can keep your voice down now as you flutter around his cock, you cry out his name, feeling his hands holding onto your hips to keep you steady as your legs threaten to fall out from underneath you.

You’re only half aware of him speaking into your ear, telling you he’s close. You can feel him start to pull himself out of you, so you reach behind you quickly, fingernails digging into the part of his thigh you can reach to keep him inside you.

“I swear to god if you get cum on my dress Pike, I’ll kill you.”

He lets out a deep, throaty chuckle behind you, slams himself back into you, “You just want an excuse for me to come inside you, don’t you?” He hisses into your ear, teeth nipping at the skin behind your ear, “You just have to ask nicely for it.”

“Please, Marcus, please.”

Never one to deny you, he does, having held out as long as he could, he thrusts once, twice and then he’s moaning your name into your ear. You can feel him spilling inside of you, filling you up, then you can feel him dripping down your thigh when Marcus starts pulling away from you, not quite quick enough to put your panties back on. He tells you to keep still, fumbling behind him for some paper he can use to clean your thighs up.

He speaks to you as he lets the material of your dress fall back down over your legs, “Walking around full of me for the rest of the night.” He coos as you turn around, reaching out to pull his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss.

You stay like that for a moment, both attempting to fix the others clothes. Marcus brings his thumb to his mouth, letting his tongue jut out to wet it, before he drags it under your eye, getting rid of the worst of the black marks he’s caused.

You reach behind him, unlock the door, but take hold of his hand as you push the door open. Thankfully there’s no-one waiting outside to use the bathroom as you drag him back down towards the party.

It’s late. Or early depending on how you look at it. Marcus had dragged you from the dance floor at midnight, walked you slowly up to his room instead of yours. He’d helped you out of your dress, let you shower and wash yourself clean, then, before you could put your robe on and insist on going to sleep, he’d taken your hand, led you to the chair near the balcony doors and he’d made good on his promise of last night to spend hours with his face between your legs.

“I can’t,” You whine, Marcus hand’s pinning your legs open, his tongue flicking against your clit, “It’s too much.”

He pulls off you just enough to speak, “Believe in yourself baby,” He says, sinking two fingers into you, curling them upwards, “I know you can, just one more for me.”

Your whole body feels like its on fire. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s made you come tonight. There had been a small reprieve when you’d begged to suck his cock, Marcus obliging, painting your face and your tongue, before he settled right back to his knees. It’s almost as if he thinks if he stops you’ll disappear.

Your fingers are tangled in his hair, battling between tugging his face closer and pulling it away as he sucks your clit into his mouth, the added pressure along with the flicking of his tongue setting your skin on fire even more than before. Your hair is sticking to your forehead and the back of your neck, rivulets of sweat gathering at various points across your body as Marcus tips you over the edge once more.

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, body feeling boneless as your whole body convulses at his touch. Almost like he knows, he pulls himself away from you gently, knowing that any more would be too much, saving you the need to beg him to stop. He presses soft kisses to the skin of your tummy, kissing up your body until he’s sitting up on his knees, kissing into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on him.

Marcus clambers to his feet, takes hold of your hand and pulls you to your feet, guiding you over to the bed to settle you under the sheets, the air peppering your sweaty skin with goosebumps. It’s a sad realisation that you have to go home tomorrow, that the bubble you’ve caught yourself up in over the past few days is about to burst. You think this might break your heart even more than the first time around.

“What are we going to do?” You ask against the skin of his chest as he pulls you into him.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, kiss pressed lightly to your forehead.

“With us, after this?” Your fingers are tracing over his skin, trying to map the feeling of him before he leaves.

“Well, I thought maybe we could go for dinner sometime?”

You look up at him, face contorted in confusion, “You’re going to come all the way from Austin to take me for dinner?”

“No baby,” He chuckles a little, “I don’t live in Austin anymore, I live in D.C.”

You push yourself up in bed, one hand on the mattress to keep yourself upright, looking down at Marcus, who reaches up to cup your cheek in his hand, thumb rubbing soft lines across your skin, “Since when?”

“Two years?” He offers, “I would have-” He trails off a little, “I would have told you but I wasn’t in a great place when I first moved, had no idea what your life would have even looked like either, I didn’t just want to turn up out of the blue if you’d moved on, found someone else.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at the wrist of the arm cradling your face, “I’ve waited so long for you,” You sigh, “I tried, tried to find someone else, but none of them were ever you Marcus.”

“I tried too,” He admits, because Lord knows he did, and for what? “I promise I’ll tell you everything one day, but right now, I want to fall asleep with you right here.”

You settle back down in bed, curling up against his side, arm draped over his waist, “Where in the city do you live?” You ask, sleep starting to make your eyes heavy.

“I’m on 4th street, in Petworth.”

You can’t help but laugh, because of course he fucking does. Marcus Pike has been living four streets over from you for the past two fucking years.

“You’ve been living four streets over from me for two years, Marcus.”

He runs his hands up and down your spine, gently, soothing you, “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” He asks softly, “I can be at your front door in five minutes.”

“You want to be my booty call, Marcus Pike?”

“If that’s what you want,” He speaks, “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.”

“What are you doing Wednesday night?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.”

“How about you take me on a first date?” You offer, “Let’s learn each other all over again and take things from there?”

Marcus colts your chin up to his face with a finger, leaning down and giving you the softest kiss you think you’ve ever received, “I would love nothing more.”

[atinylittlepain]

Little Pinch

nurse!marcus pike x f!reader

she needs to get bloodwork done. one small problem, getting bloodwork done never goes well for her, especially not when she's distracted by the very kind, very handsome nurse doing it.

wordcount | 3.3K

content info | 18+ discussions of getting bloodwork that includes needles, fainting, nausea, mostly fluff, nurse marcus to the rescue, this is just a fun time, also an un-beta'd time so like, be nice pls

a/n | shoutout to the girls (gn) that pass out every time they get blood work done (me). I have to get new labs tomorrow morning, and writing this is how I coped with that prospect :') this one is for the fainters, the thin veiners, the "just do it in my hand"-ers - i see you, i am you, gawd bless

..........................................................................

Here’s the thing, this never goes well. It wasn’t always like this though. She has a vague memory of being a kid and taking it like a perfect champ, testing for mono after a rash of cases at school. But then, well, something changed. 

It runs in her family. Thin veins that are hard for even the best nurses to find, lots of oh, I just lost it, and well, let’s try your other arm, and always, ultimately, hands? Should we try the hands? No, the nurses never listen when she tells them to just start with the hands, and without fail, somewhere around the third or fourth time they try to get the needle in, a cold sweat breaks, and the room starts to filter through a fuzzy pinhole of vision. It’s embarrassing, she thinks, because, really, she has no problem with needles. Can watch it go in, no issues with piercings, et cetera, et cetera, but getting blood drawn? Yeah, forget about it. She usually comes to with paperwork around her feet that she had been holding, and a well-meaning nurse pressing a damp paper towel to her forehead and breathing the remnants of her lunch over her face and alright, hon? Usually a box of apple juice and an escort out to her car to make sure she doesn’t go offline again. 

The other thing is, unfortunately, she’s pretty sure her little fainting, fading thing has gotten worse over the years. A conditioned response, she thinks, that cold sweat starts the second she walks into the waiting room, already anticipating what comes next. And today, well, even worse than some of the others. Twelve hours fasted, and no, that certainly won’t help her case, no matter how much water she downed before she came here, no matter how tight she squeezes her fist in the hopes of pumping even one vein up enough to be tenable. She looks at the woman sitting across from her in the waiting room, reading a back-ordered issue of Cosmo, flipping and flippant and really, why can’t she be like that? Why can’t she be normal like that? Instead, her heel is doing a frantic tap, whole leg jerking with it, and everytime she checks her watch she feels her heart creep a little further up into her throat. 

If she’s being honest, she thought about canceling her labs. No, doc, all good, doc, don’t need to know, doc. And then a friend pointed out, frustratingly, that avoidance is only going to make it worse. Right, so, right, so right, so, here she is. And here’s the nurse opening the door and right, calling her name, and it’s a man nurse, male nurse, though she’s pretty sure she’s not being PC by making that specification in her mind because really, twenty-first century, and really, anyone can be a nurse. But not anyone, right? Lots of schooling, right? Right. She realizes a bit too late that she hadn’t responded to the nurse calling her name, jerking up out of her chair and trying for a smile that she thinks probably looks more like constipation. And that’s just great because now man nurse, sorry, just nurse, probably thinks she’s constipated and she’d rather not have the, actually, very handsome, just nurse, thinking that on top of whatever she’s got going on that necessitates lab work she also can’t take a shit. Right. 

“We’re going to be in this room right here.” Handsome just nurse has a nice voice too, deep but kind, and a strong jawline, and a patchy beard but she likes that it’s patchy, and he’s tan and he’s got one of those big watches that tells you how hard your heart was beating on your run and he probably runs in the afternoon after clocking out of the needle-in-arms gig and that’s probably why he’s so tan, probably has a golden retriever who runs with him too, because he looks like a golden retriever guy, dark flop of wavy hair and that smile and oh, oh, he just asked her a question and now she’s supposed to answer it. 

“I’m sorry, could you say that again?” He smiles, nods, being nice, at least, about her whole scared prey animal situation. She presses her palm down hard on her knee to keep it from bouncing any more. 

“It says on this order that these labs need to be taken fasted. Can you confirm to me that you haven’t had anything to eat or drink besides water in the last twelve hours?” Oh yes, yep, she can confirm that for you, Marcus, his name is Marcus, says so on his little lanyard badge. Thanks for the easy one, Marcus, pitch right down the middle, Marcus, with your nice smile and your clipboard and your, well, needles and tubes. But before he can get started with his, well, needles and tubes, she makes a strangled, sort of despondent sound because in situations like these, she comes with a warning label. 

“I should let you know I have, um, bad veins? Honestly, you can just start with my hands, I don’t mind it. And also, I’m a fainter, yeah, so, it happens every time, just so you know.” And usually, usually, her spiel is given very little notice, mmmokay, hon. Sure, they’ll lay her back, how merciful, so she doesn’t crack her skull open on the way out of conscious orbit. That’s about it, though. But this time, she thinks, might just be different.

“Okay, thank you for giving me the heads up. If you’re sure you’re alright with starting with the hands then it’s fine by me to get it done that way.” So, so fine, Marcus, and maybe, just maybe, she thinks she might not pass out this time. He sets the exam table at a reclined angle and she wills her rigid spine to settle against it, trying to find the balance between breathing so deeply she starts to get light headed, and not breathing at all. In case you were wondering, yes, she is on medication for anxiety, it just doesn’t seem to presently be working. 

“Just gonna feel around a bit here for a good one.” She only feels a little insane for the kick and clench in her heart when he takes her one hand in both of his, because he’s just palpating the back of her hand to find, as he said, a good one. Yes, the word for it is palpating, and there is certainly nothing romantic nor, hello, sexual about anything that’s called palpating. But, hey, taking wins where she can get them, and even through the latex gloves, his hands are warm and big and very know what they’re doing about the whole thing. And she’s no expert, obviously, but he’s got a very nice, very visible vein in his forearm, and she bets phlebotomists love him, bets that when he gets blood drawn, he’s in and out no problem, bets that even she could draw blood from him. Nope, nothing sexual about that, nothing weird about that, right? Right. Nothing sexual either, when he ties off the tight band around her arm and she watches his one bicep flex a little with the effort. 

“I can count you down, or you can look away and I’ll just get it done, whichever you prefer.”

“Uh, no preference, I’ll just look away and you can do whatever you want to me.” Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. She realizes exactly what she just said a bit too late, him, Marcus, nice nurse Marcus, letting out a laugh that fizzles out into a cough. Great, now she’s made her fucking phlebotomist uncomfortable, possibly one of the last people you want to make uncomfortable. But if that, whatever that was, lingers, he doesn’t show it, already swiping an antiseptic wipe over the back of her hand and pulling his little cart of tubes closer to himself. And she knows this part, she’s good at this part, letting her eyes sweep up and to the right, because he’s on her left, and willing whatever vein he decided is a good one to stay a good one. Little pinch, little prayer, she lets out a held breath when he says a quiet alright and keeps the needle exactly where it is. Hallelujah.

“This might take a little longer, just because we’re drawing from your hand.”

“I’ll bleed as fast as I can then.” At the very least, he laughs, even though she wishes she had kept that one to herself. 

“Do you live around here?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Sorry, I’m trying to distract you.” 

“Didn’t they teach you how to do that in like, phlebotomy school?” She still has her eyes turned up and away, only a little wince when he switches out one tube for another. He hums at her question.

“Not really, I could ask you about the weather, is that better?” 

“It’s cloudy. Not much of a conversation starter.” 

“Well, why don’t you ask me something, since you’re such an expert on starting conversations.”

“Do you have a golden retriever?”

“What?”

“Sorry, you just, you look like the kind of guy who’d have a golden retriever.” Another tube clicks into place, but she’s not paying any attention to that now. 

“Uh, no, no golden retriever. I do however have a very old, very deaf pit mix named Lucille.” Goddamnit, somehow that’s hotter than the golden retriever. 

“Great name.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. She came with it when I adopted her.” God. Fucking. Damn it. What next, is he a volunteer firefighter on the weekends?

“Alright, that’s the last one.”

“Wait, really?” She chances a skittish glance but, sure enough, the needle is out.

“Yep, just let me get a band-aid for you and you’re all set.” Is he? Is she? Really? Going to make it out of here with no blackout? She considers, very briefly, as Marcus is smoothing a band-aid over the back of her hand, whether it’s possible to put a phlebotomist on retainer. 

“If you want to sit for a minute and make sure you’re feeling alright before getting up that’s totally fine. I can also get you water or juice if you’re getting lightheaded.” 

“Oh, no, I’m fine actually. Which, hey, thanks for not making me faint and stuff– that’s a first for me in a very long–” Oh, oh, stops herself mid-compliment because oh, oh, maybe stood up too fast, because the room is going a little dark, a little sideways, cold prickle and nauseous and–

“Easy, easy, I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?” His voice is a little fuzzy around the edges. To be honest, he’s a little fuzzy around the edges, though she knows right away what happened. No, not her first rodeo, like she blinked and then came to in a strange sprawl on the end of the exam table. Marcus presents a dixie cup to her, holds it right in her line of sight because clearly, she’s still a little slumped, still a little vacant, and a little warm, actually, which is new, and a little pleasant, and, oh, it’s because his arm is curled around her shoulders, firm palm held there to help her sit up. Oh. He smells like clorox and something woodsy, and it shouldn’t, but it kind of works. 

“You feeling okay?”

“Mmmhmm.” She’s afraid of what might come out of her mouth if she doesn’t keep her lips pressed in a thin line, mmhmms again when he asks if she can sit up on her own, only a little despondent when he takes his arm away. 

“So, you really weren’t kidding about that happening every time, huh?” 

“Nope, wish I was. It’s– I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That you had to deal with that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, it’s part of the job. And actually, you fainted about as perfectly as I could’ve asked you to.”

“I didn’t know you could faint like, well.” 

“Right before you went down you said I’m gonna faint. That’s a lot better than getting no heads up and turning around to find my patient unresponsive on the ground.” 

“Oh gee, I bet you say that to all your patients.” Lord, if there was ever a time to put her out of her misery it’d be now. She probably still looks green from her little trip to outer space but sure, flirt with Marcus, handsome nurse Marcus who just watched you absolutely eat it. Kick your feet and bat your eyelashes while you’re at it. 

“I take it you’re feeling better then? Are you okay to walk out to the front desk?” And the rest is, mercifully, easy. He walks her to the front desk, squeezes her shoulder and gives her a good job today that she likes a little too much. She makes a mental note to herself to never come back to this clinic for any future bloodwork, lest she make a fool of herself all over again in front of a man who, with any luck, she will never see again. 

…

“Yes, this is she speaking.” This is she speaking in the middle of the cereal aisle with a half-filled grocery basket at her feet. She sets her gaze on a hyper-realized image of a granola cluster (now with real strawberries!) while the woman on the other end of the phone tells her that her lab results came in and were sent over to her doctor. 

“Oh, great, thank you for letting me know. Do you know– did things look okay?” 

“We don’t interpret the results, ma’am. Your doctor will go over that with you.” She doesn’t quite catch that, doesn’t catch the woman’s ma’am? either, a little preoccupied with staring down the aisle, because is that? Is he? He looks good out of the scrubs. 

“Ma’am?”

“Sorry, no, um, of course. Thanks again.” If the woman had anything else to tell her, it’s a little too late for it, already hung up, and she’s trying to decide if she wants him to see her, or if fleeing immediately is the best course of action. He probably wouldn’t even recognize her, she thinks. It’s been a couple of weeks since the whole ordeal. And actually, she’d prefer if he didn’t recognize her. Oh yeah, the one who, well, ate it. But it seems the choice has already been made for her, because he saw her, walking down the aisle toward her, with his chin tilted down and part of a smile like he isn’t sure, but he’s pretty sure. He says her name like a question. Guilty as charged.

“Marcus, right?” Like she forgot his name, ha. His smile stretches, a little brighter, palm to the nape of his neck, and while she got the golden retriever part wrong, she totally clocked the rest, watch on his wrist and nice-looking athletic shorts and just-right-tight t-shirt with the little swoosh on the chest. She thinks his hair might even be a little sweat-damp, curled ends nearly getting in his eyes. In other words, she’s a goner. 

“How have you been since we– you, well–”

“Since I passed out on you?” Yeah, that, he laughs out and yeah, she likes him, sue her. 

“Just for the record, I believe it was you who said I passed out perfectly, so.” Shrug, so, he takes a step closer, leans in a little like he’s going to tell her a secret. In the cereal aisle, of all places. 

“Just for the record, I really don’t say that to all my patients.”

“No?”

“Nope, just the nervous, pretty ones.”

“I was not nervous.”

“You weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“Are you just gonna blow past the other thing?”

“What thing?”

“The pretty thing.”

“Yep.” Something a little giddy, like being back in high school, shared, shit-eating and smug grins. He shakes his head and she rolls her lips back in her mouth to stop her smile from getting any cheesier. 

“So, you do live around here then?” 

“Mm, yeah, I do. And so do you?”

“I do.”

“Nice, nice.”

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“Wow.” 

“What? I’m making conversation.”

“You’re still not very good at it.”

“I’ll keep working on it for you.”

“Sure, okay. What kind of cereal do you get?”

“What kind do you think I get?”

“You look like a Kashi guy, if I’m honest.”

“Somehow I feel insulted.”

“Well.”

“You’re not even right either.” 

“No? What do you get then?” He just smiles, steps away and reaches up to the top of the shelf and she is very grateful to General Mills for being located on the top shelf because his shirt rides up just enough to see a bare hip. In cheerios we trust. 

“Apple cinnamon, seriously?”

“What? It’s a classic.”

“Actually, you know what, that tracks.” 

“What do you get?” She waggles her basket in front of him in response, goods already procured. 

“Peanut butter chex, respectable choice.”

“Thank you, thank you.” 

“You know, I’d say we’re pretty good at this conversation thing.”

“Yeah, we’re not bad.”

“Do you want to do this again sometime? Not in the cereal aisle?”

“What, you mean like in the produce section?” He smiles at that, rolls his eyes, his basket lightly bonking against hers. 

“I was thinking more like dinner, or drinks if that’s your thing?” 

“I might be free on Saturday.”

“I might also be free on Saturday.” 

“Well, sounds like we’re both free on Saturday.”

“Can I get your number?” His lockscreen is a picture of a dog. Lucille, he tells her, before she was very old and very deaf. She can’t help how big her smile gets at that. 

“Text me, and we’ll do this whole conversation thing again.” I will, he says, phone tucked back into his pocket, though he seems to think twice before asking her can I see something really quick. Not entirely sure what he means when she nods, but then his hand sort of hovers over her forearm, may I? He really does have nice hands, she doesn’t think twice about nodding again. 

“Oh yeah, we didn’t have to use your hand. I could have totally gotten it from here.” His hand curled around her elbow and his thumb lightly pressing into what she can only assume is a vein, and he says it so earnestly that she can’t help the incredulous laugh that rises up in her chest. 

“Really? You’re still stuck on that, huh?” He smiles something sheepish, pad of his thumb rubbing an apology into her skin before pulling away. She didn’t really want him to pull away.

“Sorry, occupational hazard, I guess.” 

“Kinda weird, you know.”

“Did I just ruin this whole thing?”

“Mmm, no, I kinda like it.”

“So, Saturday?”

“Looking forward to it, Marcus.” 

[moonpascaltoo]

marcus pike

MASTERLIST • PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS • 07/07/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs

𑣲 if teresa tried to get marcus back I @lionlena

𑣲 francisco’s wife I @absurdthirst - @storiesofthefandomlovers

You are Francisco Morales’ ex wife, now dating Marcus Pike after your divorce. Everything is perfect until Frankie unexpectedly comes back into the picture and Marcus has strong feelings on how to keep you.

𑣲 sugar, sugar I @/absurdthirst - @/storiesofthefandomlovers

Tired of being alone, Marcus gets talked into signing up for a Sugar Daddy website in order to find some companionship. You are the one he chooses and it sparks a fun, flirty time for both of you. 

𑣲 love in an elevator I @/absurdthirst @/storiesofthefandomlovers

Meeting his new neighbor in the elevator every morning before work has become common and flirty. What will happen when you get stuck in there together

𑣲 your ride, best trip I @qveerthe0ry

you sleep with your boyfriend marcus for the first time

𑣲 in your hands I @psychedelic-ink

when you start to go out with Marcus, you're aware he's heartbroken due to his relationship before you. Knowing this you want to go slow and since he's your boss, the two of you keep the relationship a secret. But your hopes for a slow romance is thrown out the window when you accidentally say something that shocks the both of you.

𑣲 can you ever really know? I @jolalibrary

marcus hadn’t intended to meet someone, never mind begin seeing them.

𑣲 secret message I @frenchiereading

Marcus has a plan. For it to work, he'd very much like you to get to the bottom of your morning coffee. But life keeps getting in the way.

𑣲 tommy miller’s stall I @beefrobeefcal

BBQ + "It's a Surprise. Close your eyes."

[guess-my-next-obsession]

In the mood for Marcus pike or Javi Peña 🫣 perhaps friends/partners to lovers or fwb (up to you) But, please I need a happy ending today.

Thank you comadre 🫶🥰

glitch

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

rating: F (fluff, mentions of hookups, two idiots in love)

word count: 1.2k

How many times did you have to put yourself through this kind of shit before you finally grew wise enough to see yourself out before your heart got torn to shreds?

Marcus was only supposed to be a source of relief, no strings attached, no complications. What was only meant to be a one time thing all too quickly snowballed into a I-need-you-every-night thing, his apartment becoming more of a home to you in the last three months than your own. Still, no matter how many nights spent beside him, the fear of growing too attached—of caring about him beyond the point of rescue—prevented you from staying the entire night.

Every morning around 4 a.m., right before the sun had started to rise over the horizon, you carried yourself out of his bed, tiptoeing your way through his apartment until you had snuck out to the safety of your own conveniently down the hall. Marcus pretended not to notice or care, greeting you each morning in the office with a subtle nod that was casual enough to not arouse any suspicion from your coworkers, though it lit flames of desperation inside of you.

You yearned for more from him, your hands itching every time he was near, your eyes searching for him in every room you found yourself in. You’d never longed to touch someone so much, especially considering how well acquainted you were with nearly every inch of his golden, smooth skin. It was completely backwards and yet you knew it was the safest thing for you.

To let him in would just give him the opportunity to let you down, and you couldn’t risk that again. Not with Marcus, at least.

“Hey,” his voice was low and tone to the point as he greeted you at your desk, tapping the manilla folders in his hand against the wood while avoiding your eyes. You stared up at him from your seat, drunk off his proximity and filled to the throat with nerves.

“Hey,” you responded in a soft voice, too anxious to speak any firmer.

“You left earlier than usual this morning,” he noted, finally bringing his wandering eyes back to yours. You gave him a shocked look, eyes wide as though you were a child who’d just been caught misbehaving. “Thought you didn’t leave until four.”

“Yeah, uh,” your eyes turned to the papers spread out on your desk, your fingers bending the corners into unnecessary rabbit ears just to keep them busy. “I don’t know.”

“You know you could stay the whole night one of these days,” he offered, one corner of his mouth curling up just a bit as you lifted your eyes back to his. “Promise my morning breath isn’t that bad.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and exhaling as you nodded in acknowledgement.

“Seriously,” he tried again after being met with your pitiful response. “Why are you always leaving? Did I say something to make you think I didn’t want you around—“

“No,” you assured, your eyes flickering over to where a coworker stood by the copier, not-so-subtly eavesdropping on your conversation. “We can talk about it later on.”

“Alright…” he tapped the folder again as he lifted himself off the corner of your desk where he’d been perched. “Just…come by whenever.”

“Okay.” You watched him walk away a bit defeated, a hope you resented brewing in your chest at the thought of him potentially wanting more from you. There wasn’t a question of you being willing to give yourself over to him—it was what you’d spent every day of the last three months longing for. The question was whether or not you thought you could survive the loss if he woke up one day and decided he was done with you like so many of these friends-with-benefits relationships had gone before.

“Knock, knock,” you let yourself into his apartment like so many evenings before, Marcus having given you direct permission to come over whenever about a month in after you’d earned his trust.

The smell of steak searing on a pan and boiling potatoes caught you by surprise. Marcus had told you he knew how to cook once, though you always doubted the truth in his confidence, but you’d never once seen him make even a sandwich before.

“Hey,” he greeted with a rare dimpled half-grin as you made your way up the three steps from his living room to his kitchen. “Making some dinner, should be done soon.”

“What’s the special occasion?” You let out an impressed chuckle as he turned around to grab a pre-poured wine glass from the countertop beside him, handing it over to you. “If I was a romantic, I would think this was a date.”

Hiding behind the mask of a cold-hearted woman again.

“Just sorta realized I’ve been sleeping with you for three months and yet you and I have never had dinner,” he shrugged. “Thought I should fix that.”

“Well,” you blushed, flustered by the sentiment. You sat yourself on top of the counter, unsure of what to say or do to prevent yourself from slipping too far into this delusional hope you felt pooling.

“I gotta know,” he turned to you with an almost amused smirk as he flipped the steaks in the cast iron pan over, the sear on them perfect. “How do you keep shit so separated?”

“What do you mean?” you chuckled, sipping your wine in hopes of easing the flipping in your stomach.

“I don’t know, I just…” he laughed at himself, shaking his head. “I thought I was going to be good at this whole casual hookup thing, but it’s too…blurry for me.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, the hope inside you being drowned by worry that he was about to end things for good. “So…you’re making me a farewell dinner.”

“Or,” he tilted his head and gave you a bashful smile as he carried the pot of potatoes over to the sink.

“Or…” you urged him on, not wanting to be the one to take the next step. Marcus looked hesitant as he set the pot down on the counter, wiping his hands on a cloth before standing between your legs, his hands on your hips.

“Or we could maybe try to do this for real?” Marcus’s eyes searched yours frantically, the same fear of rejection you’d been feeling for the last few months clear in his eyes for the first time. You cracked a smile, unsure of what else do do, and placed your hand on his cheek.

“I’m…scared of it ending badly and me losing you,” you admitted, running your thumb over his cheekbone. Marcus shook his head and turned his face so that he was kissing your palm.

“I’ve wanted more from you since day one,” he husked. “This isn’t something I just decided on without careful consideration, baby.”

You melted at the pet name and his smile grew wider, aware of the effect it had on you.

“I’ve wanted more for a long time too,” you confessed with a shy smile. “Just too used to being burned to make the first move.”

“Well,” he leaned in, pressing his lips to your jaw. “I don’t mind being the one to take the leap as long as I know you’re right behind me.”

You giggled as his beard tickled your skin, your head nodding. “Yeah. I’m right behind you, Marcus.”

“Good,” he pulled back and chuckled, gesturing at the meal he was cooking. “I don’t think I’d be able to eat steak again if this went the other way.”

[galaxyedging]

Do It Yourself

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[getitoutofmymindwrites]

New beginnings | joel miller x f!reader, 7.8k

Summary: What happens when you run into that handsome stranger from the bar at Trish’s house? Where do the two of you stand two years after this unexpected encounter?

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some back and forth on the timeline, mutual pinning, light angst, slow-burn, a smidgen of fluff, cursing, Joel being kind of a prick, Joel being an idiot, insecurities, let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Part two of the I don’t even know your name series and yes, I know it’s been a long time coming, sorry about that! I’m confident (well, aren’t you a bold one?) that the third part will be coming much, much sooner! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all!

Dividers by @strangergraphics

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BEFORE

You know that warmth. You remember it. His warmth. His large, calloused hand completely encircles yours as you formally introduce yourselves. If his reflexes weren’t fast enough, you’d still be staring at him, unable to believe he’s standing right before you.

The storm of all those memories overwhelmed you and Joel realized that, unlike the rest of your company who continued to stand behind your back in blissful ignorance. Your mind had become detached from your body, which seemed to make decisions of its own; you were ready to do anything at this moment.

If he chose to show his hand and acknowledge you, you would follow his lead. If -by some miracle- he chose to lean in and kiss you, you would reciprocate. If he chose to pretend he didn’t know you, you would put up with it. You would do anything to be good for him, no common sense left in your dazed mind. But his face is serious and his warm, dry hand is firmly on yours, squeezing it lightly, in a silent form of communication, I know; it’s ok; get a grip; what the fuck. He doesn’t let go of your hand, acting as an anchor, until you decide you feel grounded enough to handle the situation. It’s at that moment that you can tell he’s waitin’ for you to be in control of the narrative. Whatever you say, goes.

You take a deep breath and tell him your name, as you finally release your hand from his and move aside to let him enter the house. The muscles between his eyebrows and around his mouth twitch imperceptibly, almost in disappointment, you think. His scent as he passes by you, hits your nostrils and your memories flood back into your mind, even stronger than before. Your body tenses and you feel your nipples tighten against the fabric of your bra. You begin to wonder how you’re gonna make it through the night.

You all move into the living room while dinner is being prepared, except for Trish who excuses herself to the kitchen. Tommy sits on the couch next to you while Joel is standing in front of the window with his arms crossed over his chest and Sarah is relaxing in her favorite spot, on some big fluffy cushions randomly scattered on the floor next to the fireplace, scrolling through her phone.

“Trish, do you need a hand?” you try to keep your voice steady, although you desperately need an excuse to leave the room. No such luck. “No babe”, comes the wrong answer, “I got it, you chill and have fun!” Why she has to be such a good friend is beyond you. You smile awkwardly and look everywhere but in Joel’s direction. Tommy puts you all out of your misery by asking you about your relationship with Trish.

“Oh, we’ve been best friends for a long time, done pretty much everything together,” you explain, deliberately raising your voice for the last part, “it’s starting to get unhealthy if you ask me,” you look towards the kitchen entrance, waiting for her reaction. “You’re not moving outta here any time soon, missy, so stop whining!” comes the reply from the kitchen. You grin as Tommy and Sarah laugh. Joel just stares at you with a scowl on his face.

“Are you staying long?” Tommy continues.

“Tommy.” Joel warns him.

“I’m just making conversation sunshine, ‘mnot being nosy!”

“It’s ok, really, no problem at all.” you intervene, feeling sorry for Tommy, still avoiding looking directly at Joel. “I’ll be out of her hair, as soon as I find a place to move to..”

“No, you won’t!” Trish protests. “Yes, I will!” you deadpan, “I told you it was getting unhealthy.”, you wink at Tommy before you could stop yourself. Why the hell did you wink at him? You need to calm down before you do something stupid. Joel’s fingers tighten, clutching his arms tighter to his chest. Shit, you don’t think straight when you’re stressed. Tommy seems to like it, though.

“Maybe we could help you”, Tommy offers, “we see lots of places ‘cause of our job, we could keep you in mind if something good comes up.”

“Tommy.” Joel drags his brother’s name across his tongue as a warning. You look at him quizzically for the first time since your handshake, wondering what they do for a living. Fortunately, you work up the courage to ask Joel directly, before Tommy has time to protest to his brother again.

“I’m a contractor” Joel informs you with the slightest hint of annoyance, as if he was reluctant to share this mundane information, “and Tommy works with me.”

“Oh, that’s cool!”, you raise your eyebrows in admiration, your eyes brightening. He takes his eyes off you and you wither inside.

“Well, never heard that one before. Joel is cool.” Tommy says in mocking surprise, giggling. You look flustered and Joel looks annoyed. “She didn’t say I was cool.” he frowns at his brother, “I know my job is far from fancy, you don’t have to just say that.” he turns his reply to you, displeased with your comment.

God, you feel like a little child in his presence, he can’t just chastise you like that, you have two kids of your own, you’re an adult, for Christ’s sake. “I know I’m not,” you say defensively and you start to get irritated. This is how the night is going to unravel? “I mean it. I have always admired people who can build and repair things with their own hands. Three pairs of eyes are now looking at you, all of them quite surprised.

Joel has absolutely no confidence in himself to start a conversation with you right now, but his curiosity gets the better of him. So, “How so?” is the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

Your eyes widen slightly in startlement at his sudden elaboration, you hadn’t expected him to continue the conversation. “Uh,” you sigh, raising your brows in deep thought and shaking your head slightly, “maybe it has something to do with my dad, he was always good at fixing things. I don’t know, it made me feel safe, taken care of. Still does, even the thought of it. I always thought that if the world ever came to an end, your kind would be the ones to survive.” you shrug, unable to look Joel in the eye and fidgeting with your fingers on your lap, the answer more intimate than you intend it to be. But you give it anyway, for him.

You want him to know that you would never lie or make fun of him. That night, however indifferent it was to him, made him indelibly etched in your memory. And even though your interaction was so brief, one night out of the thousands in your life, it made you feel something for him. Childish as it may sound, you felt he deserved your respect in some way.

There’s a moment’s silence in the room, Joel staring down at his feet, not wanting to look emotional. Taken care of. He can’t get the words out of his head; it’s what he felt for you that night, what he wanted to offer you before his chance was torn apart by the fucking knoc-

“Our kind?” Tommy intervenes once more.

“Yeah,” you try not to blush, but you can feel the heat in your cheeks, “you know, resourceful, competent, reliable.” Sarah tries to hide her grin behind her mobile phone, sneaking glances in Joel’s direction, little devil, while Tommy looks so pleased with your perception of their profession.

“Then you should definitely keep us close, take full advantage of us,” Tommy fills the silence, now his turn to wink at you, oh god, what a mess, “I’m in the same business, too, like Joel said.” Subtle. “We’d be more than happy to help darlin’, right Joel?” he turns to look at his older, brooding brother. Joel seems lost in thought or uninterested in answering. “Right?” he presses eagerly. Joel slowly raises his head, looks deep into your eyes and says nothing more than “Right” in a deep drawl of a voice. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He makes you feel so small but you feel a glob of arousal pooling on your underwear, making you wonder what the hell is wrong with you.

Tommy turns to you expectantly, his eyes shining under the lights in the room.

“Maybe I intend to.”, you smile softly, glancing briefly at Joel before turning your eyes back to Tommy. Joel’s body stiffens, giving you the impression he’s trying to hold something back.

“Is it something particular you’re interested in, so we know what we’re looking for?” To your and Joel’s dismay, Tommy doesn’t let up. Your eyes turn briefly to Joel for help, but he looks down again, his arms still stiff across his chest, as if they had a mind of their own and were capable of murder if he let them go at his sides.

“Uuuuh,” you laugh nervously, “anything will do considering my situation, I can’t really be picky.”

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart?” Tommy frowns worriedly. Joel stiffens at the sound of the endearment.

Where do you start with what’s going on in your life right now? Only one person -apart from Trish- seems to know and he doesn’t look very happy at the moment. “Well, Tommy, I’ve two kids, two little girls and I can’t find a place that is decent enough, at a good price and owned by someone who doesn’t mind renting their property to a single mom.” Tommy’s brows are raised so high in shock, they would touch his hairline if they could. “Goddamn, how the hell did that happen?”

“How did what happen?” you ask confused. “You,” he says, his eyes roaming all over you in a definitively not subtle way, “being a single mom with two kids. What the hell did he d-”

“Tommy.” Joel’s tone is more raised this time, shooting daggers at his brother, warning him again to drop it. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ” Joel mutters through his teet, a look of disbelief on his face at his brother’s lack of discretion and if you weren’t already looking at him, you wouldn’t have heard it.

Trish comes out of the kitchen before you or Tommy can react.

“Ok guys, let’s move it to the dining table.” she clasps her hands together, “Dinner will be ready in ten!”

While everyone’s attention is focused on Trish, including yours, Joel’s eyes penetrate you in a silent command to look at him. You feel him staring at you and you turn your attention to him. He continues to stare at you as he asks Trish if she has any tools to fix her bathroom cabinet, since Tommy forgot the one thing he was supposed to remember. He takes his eyes off you as the others laugh at his accusation and turn to look at him.

“Yeah, I think I have a small toolbox in the supply closet upstairs, next to the bathroom. I don’t remember exac-”

“That’s ok Trish, I’m going to check on the girls anyway, I’ll help Joel look for it.” you take the opportunity to excuse yourself.

You stand up carefully, feeling your legs go numb and praying you don’t trip and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Joel follows behind you as you go up the stairs. You can feel the tension between you, his body heat almost warming your back. He can’t be that close though, can h-

As soon as you reach the door to the bathroom, he opens it in a hurry and pushes you in, grabbing hold of your arm as he follows suit. You gasp at his gesture and turn to face him. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. His arms are clenched in fists at his side, giving you the impression he’s trying to control himself.

You’re both silent, despite a vocabulary so vast, none of the words seem to fit your thoughts and emotions. “You’re OK.” He speaks first. It’s not a question, not a reassurance. It’s a statement of fact. You look confused, trying to work out where he is going with this. He thought you would break down at the sight of him? Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t need to know. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be?” It comes out harsher than you intended.

You see in real time a series of thoughts crossing his eyes, something fragile and vulnerable in the air. But it passes as quickly as it came.

“Nothin’, nothin’.”, he shakes his head and closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He opens his eyes with a sigh and looks at you. You stare at each other for a good minute and then you both realize that you are together again, the two of you, in a small bathroom, behind a closed door. Your brain is blank, the only thought crossing it is to say something, say something, say something, but he beats you to it. “It’s best if we don’t tell them we know each other.” Is he serious right now? From all the things he could have said, this is what he came up with? You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration, “Well, I think we’re already past that, that firm handshake at the front door made that quite clear.”

“You played along, though. So, don’t go around accusing m-”

“Hey, hey, I’m not accusing you of anything, where is this even coming from?” you frown in confusion. He wanted you to admit you knew him in front of everyone? In front of his daughter? “Hey, guys, how do you know each other?” “Oh, we almost fucked in a bar bathroom!”. That would have gone well.

“Yeah, I’m just sayin’-”

“Look, Joel, there’s nothing to say. It’s not like I was going to shout it over the rooftops anyway.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”, he looks offended for some reason.

“Means that there’s nothing to say.” you insist sternly. “Literally.”

He laughs nervously, obviously irritated. You don’t understand why, you thought you were making his life easier. What does he want from you? “Right, right,” is all he gives you, nodding his head a few times. You raise your hands in resignation, your eyebrows raised to your forehead, your mouth open, not knowing how to navigate the situation.

“What is your problem, what do you want me to say? You pretended not to know me when you saw me and you just told me, like 30 seconds ago, not to mention anything to anyone! I think I’m doing all right so far, don’t you? How am I pissing you of exactly?” your anger makes you raise your voice slightly.

He’s all over you in a second, pinning you between his body and the bathroom door. “Keep your goddamn voice down.” he grits through his teeth, his one hand a clenched fist at his side, the other next to your head, palm flat on the door. The sudden invasion of his scent in your nostrils and the fan of his breath on your lips is all you can register, but his words come back to you and your anger boils in your gut.

“Watch your tone with me, I’m not some child you can intimidate.” you shoot back. That seems to snap him out of his headspace and he backs away slightly. He exhales loudly from his nose and rests his forehead on his outstretched arm, the other now resting on his hip. His unruly locks are so close to your face that you can practically smell his shampoo. You clench your fist to resist running your fingers through his soft hair. “Shit,” he mumbles through closed eyes, he really doesn’t seem to be able to keep his eyes on you long enough, “’msorry”.

He smells so good, so delicious, that it takes every ounce of strength you have not to wrap your hands around his broad torso. You want this moment to yourself, to wrap your arms around him and comfort him, to plant kisses all over his face, to nuzzle your forehead where his thick neck meets his shoulder, to breathe him in. The corded muscles bulging under his tanned skin make you salivate. This guy is pissing you off and all you can think of is how you’d die to touch him. Great. You rest your head on the door behind you, close your eyes and grit your teeth, trying to regulate your breathing.

“’Msorry” he mutters again, shaking his head. He looks so worried and uncomfortable, you decide to give him another chance. Maybe he’s confused, too. You both had to make a call at such a short notice, with his whole family looking at both of you expectantly to introduce yourselves. It was the logical thing to do. Wasn’t it?

Maybe he’s afraid you’d expose your naughty deeds in front of his daughter. After all, no parent wants their child to know that they’ve almost had sex with a stranger in a bar. You totally understand. And to be honest, you did leave him all hot and bothered back in that bathroom and run the opposite way, so why would he want to be in the same room with you? He probably feels insulted by your reaction that night.

Or maybe- how did you not think of this before? Maybe he has a wife. But he’s not wearing a ring. Not that it matters, lots of people take their rings off at some point. Maybe he has a girlfriend. Wouldn’t she be here with them for dinner if that was the case? With him? He doesn’t look the type, either. The cheating one. But you hardly know him, you don’t really know much about him beyond what he told you about his past that night.

“Joel.” you call his name looking at him through your lashes, your head still resting on the door.

“Hm” he hums, still in the same position.

“Joel, hey.” you try to get his attention again, this time lifting your head to look straight at him, a gentle smile on your face.

His eyes finally meet yours in a subtle, tired hey, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly.

You hold each other’s gaze taking each other in, and you both laugh softly in a quiet understanding. But this feels so warm, so soft and tender, is he really that angry with you? He must be, otherwise why the tension? You should try and put him at ease.

“Look, I understand this is awkward and unexpected; I do. But we’re fine; we’re gonna be fine, Joel.” Damn, the sound of his name in your mouth. “I won’t say anything, really, don’t worry. We’ll have a nice meal, we’ll make the typical minimum small talk and when this night is over we’ll be out of each other’s hair, you won’t have to see me again if I can help it, I don’t mean any trouble, seriously.”

And there it is again, the disappointment. “Yeah, no, I know. Sorry I snapped at you.”

Joel looks as if he’s going to say something more, but at the last moment he changes his mind.

You nod in acceptance of his apology. “Let me hand you that toolbox, before they start wondering what’s taking us so long, hm?”

“Sure.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Ok, I’m gonna check on the girls and then head downstairs.”

Joel nods as he takes the toolbox from you, careful not to touch you and crouches down on his knees to inspect the damage to the cabinet. You glance in his direction one last time, admiring his wide, strong form kneeling on the floor and then close the door behind you quietly.

“Fuck.” you both exhale on either side of the door.

Two rotations of the earth around the sun had passed and Joel had become a constant in your life. He came and went like the seasons, with an orbit of his own.

Winter.

His orbit was longer and colder. The distance between you grew, more so emotionally, as if something was holding him back. The domesticity of it all was too much for him, scratching at old wounds he tried too hard to keep buried. He always cared, always kept an eye on you, but from a safe distance.

Like the time you came home late from work and cursed yourself for not cooking dinner in advance. You were starving, but the thought of making something to eat seemed like too much trouble; you were exhausted. Thank goodness the girls had their dinner ready, all you had to do was heat it up. Two minutes after you let yourself in, the doorbell rang. You rushed out of the bathroom and opened the door to a takeaway, its temperature indicating that it had just been delivered to your doorstep. You looked around but saw no one. You were pretty sure it was a mistake, but then your phone vibrated,

Eat, while it’s hot.

Did you leave these outside?

Yes.

Why?

Trish told me you were caught up at work, thought I’d save you some time.

You just kept staring at the screen, your heart warm but your mind confused. A second text came while you debated what to answer him.

Need to take better care of yourself.

No, why ‘d you leave?

Summer.

His orbit was shorter and warmer, like a pleasant summer breeze. He was around more, more involved in your life.

Like the time he was in on your house hunting trip.

Like when he talked you into buying a house and not renting because he found one for you that was beautiful and ideal and close to Trish’s so you wouldn’t be alone and your daughters would love it and it was a family house. Yes, the house was a ruin. OK, maybe not a ruin, but really old. It was beautiful, but it had definitely seen better days. It needed a lot of renovation.

“Joel, I can’t afford this.” you said as you looked around, almost pained to have to say no. It was a really lovely house.

“Listen to me-” Joel tried to make his point but you interrupted him anyway.

“I am listening to you, that’s how you convinced me to consider buying a house instead of renting an apartment. But if I do, I’ll use up all my savings, I can’t afford a renovation of this magnitude,” you continued, looking around the house, moving from room to room, imagining how you would have decorated it if it was yours.

“I’m gonna help you with that.” he said bashfully.

“How are you going to do that, Joel?” you rolled your eyes at him.

“Do you remember what I do for a living?” Joel teased you and you glared at him.

“I’m not sure, I think you mentioned something about a contracting bussiness?” you mimicked him. “Joel, I’m serious. Of course I would choose you and Tommy if i could afford it.” you said in despair, eyes wide, hands in the air as if you’re pleading with him. Which you were.

“I’ll do it in my spare time.” he suggested, looking down at his feet, avoiding eye contact and hugging his chest with his arms, as if trying to protect himself from the vulnerable position he had put himself in.

It took you a minute to register what he was implying. Your jaw dropped, unsure of what to say when you did. Your heart ached with warmth and your breath caught in your chest. It was too much.

“There’s no way I’m accepting this, you know that.”

“I really don’t min-”

“Absolutely not, not in a million years.”

“Goddamn, you’re stubborn!” he snapped, not used to not getting his way. Take the fuckin’ help, goddamn it. Your eyes looked glazed, you never had the ability to deal well with people snapping at you quite well. Especially people you cared about. Joel felt your discomfort and immediately regretted his temper. Soft things needed gentle handling. And you were soft. So soft for this world. For him.

He stepped closer to you and engulfed your hands in his with a deep sigh. “Look, I’ve done the calculation. This is the best deal you can get. The price of the house is fair. In fact, between you and me, it’s low. And I’ve already worked out what needs to be fixed.” He paused, breathing in and exhaling a little harder. “I want to do this. For y- for the girls”, he stuttered and you looked down to where your hands met. These hands. His hands. Big and warm and capable. Capable of renovating your house, capable of holding your hands in his, capable of taking you apart piece by piece. Were they capable of putting you back together again?

Your whole body tingled with another wave of warmth at his touch. But it was too much. It was always too much with him. The unbearable distance or the suffocating closeness. All because he wouldn’t make up his damn mind. He couldn’t do that to you. Give you a glimpse of affection and then pull away. Because you were sure he would eventually. As he had done so many times before. This time you had to protect yourself. So you pushed him away the only way you knew how.

You tore your hands from his tender grip as you attacked him in a raised tone pointing at him. “We are not your responsibility!” You regretted it the moment you spat it out. You didn’t have to be so harsh. So quick to anger. Please, please be angry with me. Scream at me. Turn your back and walk away. Make me feel like shit.

He looked at you in shock, his eyebrows raised, a hint of sadness on his face. And something else, more subtle. As if in understanding. As if he could hear your thoughts. You were not his to care for. You were not his to protect. “I know that.” he sighed, squeezing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Joel,-” you tried to take it back, there were not many things you hated more than what was happening right now. The fact that you couldn’t take back what you had just said. You felt terrible.

“Look,” he interrupted you, raising his arms in resignation. “I’m just trying to help. You moved states alone with two kids, starting from scratch. I just thought maybe I could ease some of the burden. It’s the decent thing to do.”

“Joel, you are cutting yourself short. This is beyond decent. Trish and you- and- and- Tommy and Sarah of course,” you mumbled embarrassingly, “you’re all I have and you have supported me in more ways than I can count. That’s why I can’t be a burden to you.”

“I didn’t mean you were a burden.”

“No, no, I know, this is not on you, this is me, I-”

His face was full of concern as he waited patiently for you to speak your mind.

“I don’t want to be a burden. Or to feel like one. Even if I know-, I know I’m not that to you. I know that. But just the thought of the possibility makes me freak out. That’s why I need to keep everything under control, because if I give it away, even a little, I don’t know how I could ever repay this kindness. I don’t even know if I’m worthy. I’m not-” your voice broke at this confession and you took a breath to recover, “my life is not easy to navigate, I don’t want anyone to stress over me.”

Joel seemed shocked for a moment, not believing what he was hearing. “You think you’re not worthy of kindness? That’s very cruel coming from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yeah, someone good and kind and caring.”

“You must have me confused with someone else.” you joked, feeling uncomfortable at his praise.

“Darling, if I had known anyone else like you, I would have held on to them for dear life," he spat, before realizing what he had said. He laughed awkwardly, frowning at the slip of his tongue and looked around the room to avoid your gaze. Why don’t you hold on to me, then? was all you could think of, but you didn’t dare ask him. So you moved on, protecting the friendship.

“I just- Jesus, I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” you murmured through your teeth, “I was brought up to be strong, never to ask for help, otherwise it was considered a weakness. I learned to do everything myself. By the time my parents grew out of their own insecurities and urged me to be more open, more vocal, it was too late for me to change.” Why on earth are you telling him all this? Why did you mention your parents?

“So, you do kindness, but you don’t accept kindness.” Joel observed and you realized that you had never made that connection.

“I- I don’t know how to receive it; what to do with it.”

In the end, he practically forced his help on you, bit by bit, one sweet word at a time, day by day, until the house was a home. Everywhere you looked you saw Joel’s efforts.

You saw the care with which he worked on this house as if it were his own. You heard his laughter as you forced him to take a break and shoved food into his mouth, knowing he hadn’t eaten all day. Every step you took on the hardwood floors reminded you of his broad back as he knelt down to replace the old floor. Every shower you took was a painful reminder of his massive, veiny hands sweating as he reinstalled the hardware. Everything felt like Joel, even in his absence.

NOW

“What is this party for, again?” you call out from her bedroom as you apply your lipstick in front of her vanity mirror. You almost didn’t come, but you knew she’d drag your ass back to her place if you didn’t.

“This is fooor..” Trish replies from her en-suite bathroom as she searches for a good excuse, unable to find one. “You know what, I don’t need a reason to have a party! Think of it as a chance to see each other more!”

“Trish, we can do this without a million people around us and me leaving my kids with a babysitter.” you roll your eyes in fake exasperation.

“Your kids are gonna be just fine. They want you to have a good time.”

“They’re four and two years old, dude.”

“Well, in that case, they want you to find them a daddy.”

“Oh my god, Trish! Seriously?” you snort at her comment.

“That’s what’s the party’s all about! You finding yourself a daddy; if I’m being honest-”

“Please don’t!” you beg her to stop.

“-you need it more than they do. That is so perfect! I actually have a couple of guys in mind and they’re a bit older, just like you like ‘em-”

“What?” you swallow tightly and you’re glad she can’t see your face right now. “What are you talking about?”

Trish pops her head through the door and wiggles her eyebrows, “They’re about Joel’s age, is what I’m talking about.” You shake your head in denial, your eyes are closed in frustration. “Trish..”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, there’s nothing going on between you; that’s why you’re both hot and flustered every time you’re in the same room.” Your shoulders slump down but you don’t answer because this is getting old.

“What, nothing to say for yourself?” Trish weighs up your reaction and lack of response.

“Frankly, I don’t know what else to say to you.” you shrug in defeat.

“Fine, then find someone to fuck, tonight. That would clear up the air.. for all parties.” Thankfully, you’re saved by the bell, “Jesus..” you mutter to yourself as she leaves you once again to open the door for the first guests.

The party is a success by Trish’s standards, as the house is overflowing with guests. Some of them you knew, most of them you didn’t.

Joel is somewhere in the crowd, chatting to a couple of ladies who have trapped him between them, ogling him like vultures. You make it your mission to rescue him, judging by the desperate look on his face and the furtive glances he throws your way.

As you move to head to his direction, an arm gently encircles your elbow. You turn to see who it is, and are greeted by a stranger. Tall, broad, sweet brown all over his features. He exudes an earthy and secure aura.

“Hi.” the stranger smiles warmly at you, looking deep into your eyes.

“Um,” you blush, why on earth are you blushing, “hi!” you say back. Original.

“I’m Marcus, a colleague of Trish’s.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you!” you tell him your name and shake his hand.

“I knew I was right.” he says amusedly, as if talking to himself.

“About what?”

“Trish gave me your name and told me to come find you.”

“Excellent tracking skills, are you a detective or something?”, you tease him playfully.

“Yeah, something like that..”

“Oh- I-” the words catch on your tongue.

“But I had a great lead, wasn’t that hard, to be honest.” he adds.

“Can you share it with me, or you’ll have to kill me if you tell me?” you joke. He was so easy to talk to.

Marcus tips his head back, laughing, “I wouldn’t resort to such methods; let me buy you a drink and we’ll call it even.”

You look down at your hands, your cheeks red from his attention, rolling the bottle of beer you are holding between your palms, too tightly.

“I mean, not right now; I’m sure we could work something out if you’d indulge me.” he adds sheepishly, somehow sensing your train of thought.

God, he’s adorable and not too bad to look at. Actually, he’s quite handsome. “Well, I’ll have to see if your lead is worth my time first.”

Panic rushes through you as you realize the sound of what you said while trying to be funny, and you try to correct it quickly. “Not that- oh gosh-” you feel so embarrassed, but Marcus laughs heartily and shakes his head from side to side.

“Shit, sorry, it was a joke, that’s not the only reason I would go out with you-” Isn’t it? What are you doing? What is he doing to you? Where is Joel? Shit, Joel.

You steal a glance in his direction and he’s already watching your interaction with Marcus, his face hard and unreadable.

“Isn’t it?” Marcus’s voice draws your attention back to him, your eyelids flattering in confusion. He grins, pleased, but so sweet it’s impossible to roll your eyes at him. Your shyness pours through your body language, making Marcus want to comfort you.

“Hey, hey, it’s cool, don’t worry about it. I know it was a joke; I liked it.” he says honestly, “And even if that was the only reason I’m sure by the end of the night you would have changed your mind.” he gives you a lopsided smile, but there’s no smugness on his face.

When he starts to speak again, Trish interrupts, effectively shutting him down. “What took you so long, I thought you couldn’t find her!”

Marcus smiles again, warmth and familiarity washing over you instantly, “Oh, I found her, quite quickly.” his eyes twinkling.

Trish smirks as if she’s realized something, “Come on, I need you outside.”, she grabs your arm and pulls you along, “I’m gonna steal her for a bit, sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s OK, I’m confident I can find her again.”, Marcus winks at you and your heart skips a beat.

You start to walk away, but abruptly turn back, your curiosity overpowering you.

“Never told me about that lead.” you ask him, your eyes wide and wondering.

Marcus bites the inside of his cheek, looking briefly down and then meets your gaze with a hunger in his eyes. “Oh, I had to find the most dazzling woman in the crowd.”, he shrugs as if it was the most self-evident fact in the world. “Mission accomplished.”

You replayed your interaction with Marcus in your mind as you helped Trish light the lanterns on the porch. He had been so kind, direct and sweet, making you feel seen. What bothered you was your reaction. Your insecurity, your inability to believe that he was talking about you. The urge you had to fight when you thought of looking around the room to make sure he wasn't referring to someone else.

What bothered you most was that although it had been two years since you had separated from your husband, you had never felt insecure about yourself. He couldn’t make you feel that way. Of course you doubted yourself at first, looking for your share of the blame, but his actions spoke louder than words, and you couldn’t blame yourself for everything, even if you tried.

But Joel did. He made you feel insecure, vulnerable. With his mixed signals and his constant back and forth, he managed to drive you crazy. What did he want from you? Why couldn’t he make up his mind? Why weren’t you enough? Were you too much?

Maybe it wasn’t just Joel. Maybe anyone in his position would have the same concerns. Perhaps Marcus would do the same if he found out about your family status. Where did that come from? You don’t even know the guy, stop it.

“OK,” you hear Trish behind you, “all set, let’s get back inside.”

You nod, but as you turn to go into the house, Trish comes close, a mischievous look on her eyes and lips. “Maybe, uh..” and she pauses dramatically making you furrow your brow in puzzlement. “Maybe I was wrong about the age gap, huh?”

Oh, god.

“He’s one of the good ones; I approve.” she winks at you and slaps you on the ass cheek, ushering you into the house while you roll your eyes the hardest you could manage.

“Ok, now I need to know.” He laughs heartily, his eyes wrinkling, his whole face lighting up. It didn’t happen very often. It made your heart swell that you were the one making it crinkle with laughter. You loved that face.

“What?” you reply, unsuccessfully fighting back a laugh, dragging out the vowel. You had had a few beers and were relaxed and comfortable around him. You were both standing near the stairs, giving yourselves a bit of privacy from the crowded party. You were still visible to everyone, but it was a little quieter than the constant buzz throughout the house.

“Well, you’re obviously mad at him-” Joel states matter-of-factly, as he leans his back against the wall behind him, but you interrupt before he can finish, “No, I’m not!” and slap your hand on the railing next to you for good measure.

“Uh, uh, uh, none of that,” he looks at you mischievously, “but you never say anything bad about him. So, which one was he?”

“What on earth do you mean, Joel?” and you half whimper his name, thanks to the alcohol in your system, making his cock twitch. God, the things he wants to do to you.

Joel inhales sharply, trying to keep his composure, because he really needs to know what kind of an idiot husband you had chosen to place by your side only to be betrayed; a side he would die to be by. If only he had been the right man for you.

“Which half was he?”

You burst out laughing, finally figuring out what he means. You’re impressed that he still remembers, although it makes sense since you sort of insulted him that night. You know you can’t lie for shit, so you brace yourself, anticipating his reaction. You can almost see the face he’s going to make.

“Actually..” you start, prolonging the suspense, not on purpose, but because you are choking on your own giggles. It’s going to sound so pathetic, but for some reason you can’t wait to tell him how you’ve been deliberately putting yourself down for years. “Yeah...?” His eyes are fixed on you, amused, but you can see the agony underneath.

“He was both.” And you can barely contain your laughter, almost snorting.

He is still at first, as if some invisible remote control has paused the whole scene, waiting for the oh, I’m kidding. When that moment passes, his eyebrows go up so high, his forehead fills with wrinkles. His jaw drops open and he actually looks shocked to the core, almost frightened.

“Both? BOTH?” he practically hovers over you in frustration. “So, emotionally unavailable and bad sex.” he says again, incredulous that someone like you would ever choose someone like your ex.

“Joel!” you chastise him, slapping him on the shoulder, looking around you to see if anyone has overheard your conversation.

Joel fake hisses at your fake hit and taunts you with his laugh.

You shake your head dismissively, “What can I say? You know me, I don’t go halfway, I go all the way.” you reply between laughs, pumping your fist in victory.

He shakes his head in mock despair, then looks down for a few seconds, as if he’s making his mind up for something and then up at you through his lashes. “Oh, baby,” he sighs, “you really need someone to take good care of you” his voice drops, his eyes still holding the amusement but there is a hunger behind his words.

You inhale sharply and then hold your breath as your brain fantasizes about him taking good care of you, right now. You stare at each other for a long time, as if there’s no one else around, and finally you break the silence. A slight anger begins to glimmer in your chest, but you try to push it down. “Well, no such luck on that front.” you drop the bait and see where it takes you.

He can’t say things like that and expect you to do nothing. A small glimmer of hope tries to climb over the uneasy feeling inside you. It sinks its claws into your heart, scratching at the surface of your well-hidden desire. Maybe this time he’ll take a chance on you. Maybe this time he will ask you. Maybe. You try to push that away as well.

“Maybe you should put yourself out there more.” There he is. He’s pulling back, again. It’s fucking exhausting. You know you should be more patient and see where this goes, but your anger is boiling fast, ready to pour out of every pore. He started it, so you might as well finish it.

“Unless, what I need is in here.” Please, please, don’t make me regret this. Over and over, like a mantra.

He swallows so hard you can see his Adam’s apple bobbing, his knuckles turning white around his beer bottle. His eyes keep darting between yours, searching for something.

“Pretty sure it’s not, if you know what’s good for you.” Did he just say that? Your pulse rises and you hold back the tears that tend to gather so easily at your waterline. How could he say that to you? But you recover quickly, he won’t see another drop of tears from you. Not ever again.

“What, you don’t like Marcus?”

“Who?” you see Joel’s body stiffen at the man’s name, his eyes frantically scanning yours for an answer and revenge never tasted better. You would say you were drunk on power if it weren’t for the damn beers.

“Marcus, Trish’s colleague from work, she introduced us tonight- well- not exactly, but- anyway.”, you dismiss your own comment by waving your hand in the air. “Maybe you’re right. I should start giving people a chance. Maybe I’ve waited long enough.” There’s someone interested in you. He’s interested in you and he’s shown it. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to feel the look of desire in someone’s eyes. But you’d rather it was Joel’s.

Check mate. His move now.

“Are you sure you want to lead with Marcus?” His voice full of mockery. “You don’t even know the guy.”

“Oh. So, let me get this straight.” you counter. “I should get myself out there and I should do it with someone I know. Let me think.” you take a deep breath and in that short time of in and out through your nose, you debate whether you should say it. Joel seems to catch up with what you’re thinking, raises his hand and purses his lips, but before he can speak-

Fuck it.

“Are you offering?” You ask playfully, with a saccharine smile. Sometimes you really wish you were not so direct. But you couldn’t deny the sweet satisfaction of nailing him to the wall, when you saw the look of mortification on his face. The time for regret would come, but it was not right fuckin’ now.

Joel is speechless, his eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes without a sound. He clearly thought you’d back down. Maybe he thought you liked this dancing around. Maybe he thought he had more time on his hands. Or maybe he didn’t expect you to finally confront him head-on. Still playful, but head-on.

He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. He starts to say something, but you don’t catch it because out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus approaching you quickly. If a higher power was listening tonight, it was focusing on the wrong part of the story.

Just before he enters your personal space and you excuse yourself, you linger slowly over Joel, touching his waist with one hand. You feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt and under your palm. You take your eyes off his and look at his plush lips as your face comes dangerously close to his. Your lips brush the space between his earlobe and his neck and you painfully accept this is probably the most you will ever have of Joel Miller. His breath hitches at the feel of your soft lips and the puff of air as you whisper in his ear, “Relax Joel, I wasn’t counting on you.”

That hurt.

previous |

[jpbpxma]

hi, this is a new writing blog for pedro pascal & his characters. I have many ideas of my own to post but I'm also accepting requests for scenarios, specific characters of his you'd like to see written or just anything really, even if it's just to talk so shoot me an ask :)<3

(yes the picture is a way to bring your attention to this post)

[thetriumphantpanda]

thunderstruck | marcus pike

Summary | You're scared of storms but it's okay, because Marcus always knows how to soothe you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Explicit - descriptions of thunderstorms, softness/fluff, rain, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, our boy Marcus just being Marcus. No use of y/n.

Authors Note | This is my contribution to @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge. It's a blessing that I got anything out because this brief gave me so many ideas, but I've missed my man and knew he would be the one I'd want to comfort me through a rain storm. Enjoy.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by @saradika

Are you busy?

No baby, what’s up?

I don’t like the storm.

They’ve never been your favourite. Something about growing up on the coast, when the rain and wind would bring the waves crashing near your home, and your parents would walk about like nothing was wrong and there wasn’t the immediate danger of your house being washed out to sea. The nights, when the wind would clatter the shutters against the windows and drag tiles from the roof to break onto the ground. It might be Washington D.C. now and you might live in a new apartment building, but it doesn’t make the torrential rain and gale force winds any easier to handle.

You’re sitting on the couch, curtains drawn with all the lights on to try and make it feel less scary, but when the first clap of thunder hits you jump and scream all the same, burying yourself further under the blanket, some childhood wish for that to keep you safe.

There’s a knock at the door a little while later, the only thing that could drag you from the warm cocoon of blankets. Padding gently to the door, you open it, Marcus stood in front of you, dripping wet from the storm outside. He steps across the threshold, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This feels stupid.” You grumble as you shut the door behind him, following close to his heels as he walks through your apartment, so familiar with it now that it feels like home to have to him here.

“It’s not stupid if you’re scared, baby.” He soothes, sitting down on your couch, opening his arm to encourage you to snuggle into his side, which you do without question.

You can feel his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm as you settle a little, but it’s short-lived, when a crash of thunder bellows through the room from outside, making you jump and bury your head into the side of his neck with a groan.

“I blame the coast,” You speak softly, “I was always so scared of it blowing our house away when I was small.”

“You know what helps?” Marcus murmurs against your head, another soft kiss placed to it.

“Hmmm?”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to be louder than the storm.”

You look up at him, confused for a second, until you can feel him moving the two of you, laying you gently down on the couch. His mouth sponges kisses across your neck, trailing down across your collarbone before he drags it away to peel your tank top from your body. You hear Marcus hum in approval at your lack of bra, his hands gently pressing your tits together before his mouth is suckling a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it until it’s stiffened to a peak, giving the same attention to the other side until you’re gasping, bucking your hips into his, the bulge in his trousers evident as his mouth trails further south, tongue leaving a trail from your tits and down your stomach until he gets to the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“Lift up.” He murmurs softly, voice almost drowned out by the constant smattering of rain against the windows.

Doing as you’re told, you lift your hips up, letting him hook his fingers into the waistband to drag them down your legs. You miss the weight and warmth of his body when it’s gone, but then you feel his warm palms on the inside of your thighs, pressing your legs open, and then you don’t mind so much at all, especially when you look up at him, watching him admire the already sticky mess accumulating between your thighs.

Marcus moves to run his thumb across your folds, dragging your slick across your skin, but not daring to dip below to where you truly want him.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He muses, moving to situate himself between your legs, hot mouth pressing wet kisses to the delicate skin of your thighs, teasing you by putting his mouth everywhere but where you need it most.

“M-Marcus, please.” You whimper when his face moves, he’s so close to your cunt you can feel the hot of his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, running that damn thumb over your folds once more, this time though, his other thumb rests to the side, gently pulling your folds apart to bare you to him, “Want me to kiss it a little?”

“Oh god, oh please Marcus, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for it.” He speaks, and you’re about to say something smart when he leans forward and presses a single, open-mouth kiss to your clit.

It’s tiny in comparison to what you really want, but it makes you throw your head back anyway, back arching, trying to press your cunt closer to his face. Thankfully, he takes pity on you, kisses your clit once, twice more, and then you can feel the tip of his tongue, flicking up against your clit, then dragging back down, sometimes circling, working you gently until you’re whining and bucking your hips into his face.

You’d almost forgotten about the storm outside, the movements of his tongue distracting you just enough, until the loudest clap of thunder echoes through the apartment. It makes you scream, jumping slightly, but you feel Marcus’ hands grip tightly to the skin of your thighs, tearing his mouth away from you. You look down at him, mouth glistening with a mix of your slick and his spit, glint across his brown eyes.

“What did I say?” He asks, squeezing at your thighs again, “What did I tell you earlier?”

“Um…” You wrack your brain, trying to remember, “I needed to be louder than the storm?”

“That’s right, my clever girl,” He praises, heat rising across your skin, “If you scream for me, you won’t notice.”

Once again, before you can retort with your smart mouth, he’s back on you, lips closing around your clit, tongue resuming it’s flicking across your bundle of nerves, but then you can feel two of his fingers sinking inside you, easing into your walls, curling up against that perfect spot inside of you.

It makes you cry out, his name dropping from your lips as you arch off the couch, his tongue working in time to the press of his two fingers in your cunt. You’re chanting his name into the room, moving your hips in time to the movements of his hands until you’re teetering on the edge of bliss. He knows, of course he does, the way your walls start to flutter around his fingers, so he slows his fingers, keeping you dangling over the edge but not quite pushing you just yet.

“Marcus p-please,” You whimper, hands tangling in his hair, “Please make me come.”

“You asked so nicely, baby,” He muses against your pussy, letting his fingers curl just perfectly against the spongy spot inside you, “Whenever you’re ready honey.”

It takes very little more, his mouth suckling at your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, and then you’re crashing, skin aflame with pleasure as you do exactly as he told you and scream his name into the living room, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers as they still inside you. You’re clenching around him as his tongue moves gently across your clit to work you through your orgasm until you’re boneless and pliant beneath him.

Marcus drags his fingers from you, letting them run up the skin of your thighs, as he finally relents and pulls away from you, just in time for more thunder to sound out, this time a little further away.

“Well, listen there,” He whispers, fingers moving to undo the button of his trousers, “Storm still hasn’t passed,” He speaks as he drags the zipper down, “Think you can make a little more noise, baby?”

You reach up, hand clutching the back of his neck to pull him back down on top of you, mouth meeting his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you before you pull away, “I can make all the noise you want.”

[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

..............................

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. 

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Closer

Summary: Your due date is close and you finally give in and reach out to Frankie to talk over things. But before the talk can happen you run into him. And his son.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem. Reader; Marcus Pike x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, fluff, angst, implied complications at childbirth, implied character death

A/N: so. yeah. this escalated quickly.

Part of the (Ir)replaceable series

You were getting closer and closer to your due date. And by closer you meant next week.

You, for some reason, hadn’t run into Frankie anymore. And you didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand you were happy, because he seemed to respect your wishes, on the other hand… 

It was his child you were carrying. Yes, he hurt you, more than you would ever wish to anyone, but he was the father of your child. Your little girl.

God, you wished you could just handle this like every other break up and move on. But you would have to see him at some point. If he chose to have a relationship with this child, your child, that was. You didn’t even know if he told the truth about having told his wife. 

“Sweetheart?” you turned your head, a smile sneaking to your face as you heard footsteps. 

“I’m here,” you called out, your smile widening when you saw Marcus walk on the patio. 

He kissed your forehead before he sat down next to you, his arm coming to rest around your shoulder.

Marcus had turned out to be your biggest surprise. Again.

Yes, he had come home with you, and yes he continued to be a big support for you but there was a voice deep inside in your head that told you every single day that he would leave. 

But it’s been months and Marcus had been to every single doctor's appointment with you. He had gone to birthing classes with you. He had been your rock. 

But you both decided that you would take it slow. 

Not only because you both had been burned in the past, but because you were a hormonal mess and Marcus was scared you would hate him once you had given birth and your hormones were back to normal. 

And while you wanted to laugh as he told you about this fear, you ended up kissing him softly and agreeing to wait. 

Which was why even though you were sleeping in the same bed, you haven’t had sex yet. Much to your (and his) frustration. 

“You really wanna go to the store? I could get what we need,” he asked. 

You smiled, taking his hand. 

“Might be the last time we can go alone to the store together for a while,” you hummed and he smiled. You both rested your hands on your belly that looked like it was ready to burst. 

You felt so fucking huge, you were ready for this pregnancy to be over. 

Lately you had caught yourself wishing it wasn’t Frankie’s baby, but Marcus’. A thought you felt guilty about. But then you had talked to your therapist about it (oh yes, you had started therapy to work though all of those feelings and issues) and they had told you that it was normal for you to imagine this with how you had been hurt by the biological father. 

Marcus had practically moved in with you. He still had his apartment and he still had his job back in Washington. But three weeks ago he had officially asked to transfer to the office here which was only a formality. The FBI was glad to have him here. 

“I can’t believe you’re due next week,” he said.

“Me neither,” you sighed. 

“Have you… Have you thought about reaching out to him?” Marcus asked hesitantly. 

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded. 

“I think about reaching out every single day. I… Even though he hurt me, he has the right to see his daughter. And I have to…. I have to come to terms with seeing him. If he wants to see his child that is.”

Marcus kissed your temple. 

“Maybe ask him to come over to talk? I could go so you could talk about everything and…” you shook your head. 

“I want you there when I talk to him. You are going to be part of her life too. You will most likely spend more time with her than he will. You… I can’t do this without you,” you said. Marcus squeezed your hand. 

“Tell me when and I’ll be there.”

“Which one?” Marcus held up two different brands of mint chocolate chip ice cream and you pursed your lips in thought. 

“Both?” you said after a while and he chuckled. 

You had texted Frankie, left your phone at home and then went to the store with Marcus. It was almost 10pm and the store was pretty empty. Only a couple of people walking around. You were pushing the cart, which was mostly filled with snacks you had been craving throughout your pregnancy. 

Marcus came over, his hand resting on your back after he put the ice cream into your cart. You grinned up at him and he kissed you, his other hand resting on your belly. 

He was obsessed with your belly, talking to your little girl all the time, telling her goodnight stories when he thought you were already asleep. 

You wondered if Frankie would have been like that too. Was he excited to be a father? And to two children at once? 

You wondered how his wife took the whole affair and second baby thing. You didn’t know if he told the truth when he told you he had confessed everything to his wife. 

You blinked your eyes, getting rid of the thoughts as you pushed the cart forward into the next aisle. 

And suddenly he was there, his eyes already on you when you stopped in your tracks. 

You could hear Marcus say something, but it was like you were under water as you looked at him. But it wasn’t him that had your attention, it was the child strapped to his chest. You only got out of your trace when you felt Marcus hand on top of yours, your knuckles white from the way you were squeezing the shopping cart. 

You felt the familiar panic inside of you building as you looked at Frankie. 

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Marcus tilted your head towards him and you blinked up at him. 

“Do you want to leave?” he asked quietly. You gulped, letting go of the shopping cart to let him guide your hands to his chest. He breathed with you, in and out until you felt the fog in your brain disappear.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked again, his eyes full of concern. His eyes left yours only briefly to look behind you before they were on you again. It was forever before you shook your head. 

“Are you sure?” he asked again, checking in with you. You nodded, taking a deep breath before you turned around again, finding Frankie still at the spot you had last seen him. 

Marcus' hand on your back was grounding you as you slowly made your way down the aisle. 

You were tired of running. 

And until you moved to another city (which was a whole other conversation you would have with Marcus at some point) you did not want to walk around town, scared you would run into the man who broke your heart. 

“Hey,” Frankie said as you stopped next to him. 

He looked��. He looked miserable. His eyes sad and exhausted. And you hated the part of yourself that was happy about it. 

“Hey,” you said back, your eyes wandering down to the sleeping baby against his chest. 

It looked so tiny against him as it slept peacefully, the squishy cheek resting on his chest. 

“Uhm… Hi. I’m…. I’m Frankie,” you watched him reach out his hand towards Marcus, who shook it. 

“Marcus Pike,” he said with a nod, before his hand came to rest on your back again. 

“How… How are you?” Frankie asked and you shrugged. 

“Almost there. My due date is next week so… Any day now,” you said and he nodded. 

“I… I got your text. I wanna talk. I just….” he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I have to bring him, if that’s okay,” he gestured down to the sleeping child. 

“What’s his name?” you asked softly. 

“Mateo,” Frankie said with a small smile as he looked down. 

“It’s okay to bring him, but why? Can’t you leave him with… with your wife?” you asked. Frankie looked briefly at Marcus before he looked at you before he shook his head. 

“She’s… He came early, got out of the hospital only yesterday and there were complications during the delivery and…” Frankie shook his head, clearing his throat. 

“I can’t leave him,” he said, looking at you. 

You looked up at Marcus, whose hand ran around your back, resting on your hip, squeezing you softly. 

“Come over for lunch tomorrow?” you began to speak. Marcus nodded at you and you looked at Frankie. 

He nodded at you. 

“Okay. We’re… We’re home all day. Just come over around lunchtime. So… So we can talk,” you said. 

“I’d… I’d like that,” he nodded. Frankie looked down at Matteo just as he blinked his eyes open. You smiled softly. He was really cute. 

“See you tomorrow then,” you said and Frankie looked at you. 

“See you tomorrow,” he whispered before he slowly pushed his cart forward and walked away. 

You stood there for a couple of moments gathering your thoughts before you looked up at Marcus. 

“Do you think…?” you whispered. He sighed. 

“It sounded like it….”

Marcus pulled you against his chest, kissing your forehead as tears sprung to your eyes. 

“Let’s go home,” you whispered. He nodded, taking your hand, leaning down to kiss you softly.

He didn’t let go of your hand until you went to bed and you fell asleep in his arms. Safe. 

[avastrasposts]

@secretelephanttattoo told me about this fic yesterday and I've now read it all in less than 24 hours. It's amazing! Absolutely so sweet and fluffy and a little bit sad but I loved the whole thing! (and the smut.... 🥵🥵🥵 )

Read it!!!

Duality Masterlist

Marcus Pike x F! Reader.

You: a London-based owner of a bakery.

Him: an American FBI agent with a terrible relationship history and the most beautiful smile you have ever seen.

What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter One - Enough Said

Chapter Two - It Never Really Began

Chapter Three - In My Heart It Was So Real

Chapter Four - The Sea Wants To Take Me

Chapter Five - Your Triumphs And Your Charms

Chapter Six - Treat Her Kindly

Chapter Seven - Not For You, My Love

Chapter Eight - Why Are You On Your Own Tonight?

Chapter Nine - In Each Other's Arms

Chapter Ten - Love Is Natural And Real

Epilogue - In progress

Additional Duality ficlet for WriterWednesday on 28/7/21 here

Additional Duality ficlet for WriterWednesday on 25/8/21 here

Additional Duality ficlet for WriterWednesday on 15/9/21 here

Additional Duality ficlet for Day One of the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge here

Additional Duality ficlet for Day Seven of the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge here

Additional Duality ficlet for Day Nine of the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge here

Additional Duality ficlet for Day Seventeen of the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge here

Additional Duality ficlet for Day Twenty Eight of the 2021 Christmas Writing Challenge here

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Your Best American Girl, Chapter One:

pairing: 1920’s journalist!marcus pike x singer!ofc (Evelyn Edwards)

rating: M (1920’s shit, alcohol consumption, allusions/brief descriptions of DV/assault, i think that’s all for now)

wc: 2.3k

series masterlist | marcus masterlist

As Marcus arrived at Nonnie’s Books, a tiny, hole in the wall brownstone with the store’s name written in yellow cursive on the window, he wondered how this “store” got away with things for so long. It seemed clear as day to him that no actual business occurred here, and as much was confirmed when he and Betty stepped inside.

Tall, dust covered bookshelves lined the walls of the red brick interior, a few more sitting in the middle of the lamp-lit room. Most of the copies were tattered and worn, as if from a personal and well-loved collection.

“This is where ya takin’ me?” Betty asked in a whisper, though it was hardly needed with the thumping music of the jazz band in the basement.

“Yes,” he replied before slipping his hand into hers. “Trust me?”

“As much as any girl can trust a fella.”

Marcus smiled and nodded. As he walked up to the register, a tiny, old woman greeted him with a studious look. He flashed her that winning smile of his before reaching in his coat pocket for a bill.

“Seems a nice night for a little music, doesn't it?” he asked, his question a code. Nervously, he awaited the woman’s judgement.

“Sure is,” she replied, finally cracking something resembling a smile. “Come along.”

Betty gave Marcus a giddy smile and hugged his arm as she walked with him beyond the till to the door that sat behind it. Inside what seemed from the outside to be a closet, Marcus and Betty found themselves faced with a staircase that led down to the basement, the music now less of a dull thump, the chatter from the club and the scream of the saxophone replacing it.

“Oh, Marcus!” Betty exclaimed, grinning wild as he led her down the staircase and into the red-painted club. “And ta’ think, I thought ya was takin’ me to some bookstore for our first date.”

“Not a date, Betty,” he reminded patting her hand as it rested on his arm. “Just a little bit of research.”

“Ya do enough research,” she said, moving to stand in front of him as he scanned the room for a pair of empty seats. “Live a little.”

Slipping her hand in his, she tugged him onto the dance floor with a wide smile and bright eyes. He chuckled at her as she danced and shook and swayed for him, undeniably attracted to the way she seemed at home in this scene so unfamiliar to him. He wished he could fit in anywhere the way she seemed to fit in here.

“Have you always been this wild and carefree, Betty?” he asked, still as he stood in the middle of the dance floor watching her come alive.

“Since I was born, Mistah Pike,” she replied with a grin. “Maybe ya should try it out for yaself.”

“I’m perfectly content watching,” he said.

He stood there for a while longer, somehow both stiff and relaxed as he remained a voyeur to the scene around him. Drinks flowed freely, conversation seemed plentiful, the music coming from the trumpets sounding like nothing more than a screech to him but to everyone else it sounded more like a call from heaven—or hell.

An emcee of some sort took hold of the microphone as Betty finally leaned in and asked for a drink. Marcus led her over to the bar and allowed her to order for both of them, having not indulged since prohibition went into order. The bartender slid over a two glasses of whiskey, the sight of the amber liquid placed in front of him making his mouth water in a way he hadn’t expected it would.

“To gettin’ ya outta the office for a change,” Betty announced, lifting her glass for a toast. Marcus joined in, clinking the crystal against hers before taking a sip. He winced at the burn of the medicinal liquor as it went down, his head shaking as though his body was cursing him for it.

“Please welcome to the stage, the lovely, the gorgeous, the talented Miss Evelyn Edwards!” Marcus turned to look at the red-drowned stage, the brick wall behind it and large grand piano looking lonely until a doll of a woman stepped out from the side stage with a winning smile, her pale skin and hardly-blue eyes shining in the spotlight.

Marcus recognized her immediately as the woman in the blue coat, running away from nothing. He felt the air puff out of his lungs as she opened her mouth, her own rendition of Helen Kane’s, “I Want To Be Bad”, drawing all of the rambunctious men in the room to the edge of the stage to watch her as she flossed her feathered boa around.

“Look at her,” Betty gasped, her eyes wide with admiration as she watched Marcus’ doll put on a show. “I’d kill to look and sound half as good as that.”

Marcus couldn’t muster a reply, not when he was as drawn into her performance as every other man with a working pair of eyes.

“Welcome, Mr. Howard!” A fellow standing behind Marcus and Betty at the bar called over the music, causing Marcus’s eyes to shift from the beauty on stage to the staircase. He watched as Jack Howard swaggered in with his posse, all of them dressed more expensively and elaborately than everyone else in the club. “Right this way. Saved you a table over in the VIP section.”

“You’re too kind, Georgie,” Jack smiled, winning and bright, as he patted the shorter, rounder, and older man on the shoulder, allowing him to lead them through the packed club to a roped off section in the corner. Marcus downed the rest of his drink as he kept a watchful eye on the group, studying every bit of movement, every parting of their lips in hopes of understanding some of the conversation from where he stood halfway across the room.

When Jack pointed at the stage and leaned back in to Georgie, the older man looked worried for a moment, but that winning smile of Mr. Howard soothed it. With a nod, Georgie found his way to the side stage and waited for Miss Edwards to finish her song and collect her flowers.

“Only one song?” Betty whined from beside him.

“I guess,” he replied, focused on watching Georgie and Miss Edward’s conversation on the side of the stage.

She seemed adamantly opposed to whatever the older man was proposing, though the band drowned her shouting out. Jack, meanwhile, seemed smug as he watched Georgie pull her over against her will, his winning smile seeming more devious than it did when he first witnessed it.

“Oh, she’s with Jack Howard?” Betty asked, leaning in so close her breath fanned over Marcus’s ear. “Makes sense. Too beautiful for any of these other new money wannabes.”

“You wanna go sit?” Marcus asked, pointing at a table that just opened up near the VIP section, hopeful to get a better grasp on the enthusiastic conversation Jack and Miss Edwards were having. Betty nodded and allowed him to guide her over to the table and pull her seat out before seating himself down beside her.

“Jack, don’t you dare touch me!” Miss Edwards shouted, loud enough to draw eyes, but Marcus remained facing away from the scene. “No! No! Georgie, I swear to god—“

“Hey, quiet down,” Jack hissed, the sound finally enough to pull Marcus’s eyes over to the scene. Jack yanked her down onto his lap hard enough to make her yelp, the sound making Marcus fist clench as it rested on his leg beneath the table. “You’re makin’ a scene.”

“You’re making a scene,” she countered, elbowing him in the stomach. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me.”

“Baby doll, you’re testing me, now,” he warned. Marcus watched as he stood to chase her out of the club but relished in him being held back by his friends.

“I think we should go,” Marcus whispered to Betty, earning a pout. “C’mon. Not leaving you in a place like this.”

“These, Mistah Pike, are my people. Fun people. Unlike yaself,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m gonna stay with my people.”

“No,” he shook his head and sighed. “You’re going to let me hail you a cab so that you can go home.”

“Ya think I don’t go out by myself every night? Nothin’s happened yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated. “Come on, now.”

“No, ya gonna have to pick me up if ya want me to leave.”

“Hey, you can hand her off to us if you want,” one of Jack Howard’s posse chimed in, flashing a smile at Betty.

“See,” she said, standing up and walking into the section. “These are my people, Mistah—“

“Right, right,” Marcus interrupted, shaking his head at her recklessness. He didn’t want to leave her here with this crew, but unless she suddenly gained sense and reason, there was going to be no getting through to her. “I’ll see you at work Monday, then.”

Finding his way out of the club and back into the bookstore, he found Miss Edwards standing in front of a bookshelf, crying.

“Excuse me,” he called, approaching her where she stood in the dim light.

“Listen, I don’t go home with strangers.”

“Hm? No, no. I wasn’t—I just wanted to see if you were alright,” he replied, finally earning her eyes on his. She studied him from head to toe, a chuckle leaving her painted lips.

“You a cop?” she asked.

“No,” he shook his head. “Just a writer.”

“A writer, huh?” She smiled as if there weren’t tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “You look like a stiff.”

“I suppose I am one,” he admitted, cracking a smile. “Explains why I’m leaving the club already.”

“You get to see my set?” she asked, turning her body so that she was facing him now.

“I did,” he nodded. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

“What are you really? You can be honest with me, I’m no snitch.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he replied. “I’m a writer.”

“Mm,” she hummed in skepticism. “Don’t buy it. You know cops?”

“A couple,” he shrugged. “Do you?”

“They know me, I’m sure.” Marcus laughed genuinely and nodded.

“Well, aren’t they lucky,” he said, bringing a more sincere smile to her face than the playful one on it before. “I, uh, I saw what Mr. Howard was doing to you and I just wanted to check in—“

“You crazy?” she asked, furrowing her brow at him before looking around the empty bookstore. “Tryin’ to get us killed?”

“No—“

“Keep talkin’ like that here and you’re gonna.” Marcus was about to speak when Miss Edwards gripped his bicep and walked him out of the store and onto the sidewalk. “What’s your name?”

“Marcus,” he answered while trying to match her quick pace down the road. “Are you in danger—“

“Shh,” she hushed. “Marcus who?”

“Marcus Pike,” he replied.

“You ain’t a cop?”

“No—“

“Would you like to come over for coffee sometime, then, Marcus?” she asked.

“I, uh…are you alright?” he asked, forcing her to stop. “Your lip is healing, but it was busted, wasn’t it?”

“You are a cop. A detective, or somethin’?” Marcus felt like he was going insane, his eyes squeezing shut out of frustration.

“I’m not a cop. I’m just a stiff. Now, will you tell me whether or not you’re in danger?” Miss Edwards eyed him carefully for a moment as she pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Somethin’ like that. I don’t know,” she sighed and shook her head, looking off into the distance. “It’s nothin’ a writer can get me out of.”

“You’re in on Mr. Howard’s affairs, I assume.”

“No,” she scoffed. “I don’t know shit about what he does. All I know is he can pack a mean punch.”

“He hits you?”

“Don’t all men?” she retorted with a raise of her brow.

“No. Not good men,” he replied, struck by the resignation in her eyes. Had she never known a good man in her life?

“Are you a good man, Mr. Pike?” she asked, her eyes falling to his bowed lips before lifting again to his dark brown, almost black eyes.

“I try hard to be,” he replied.

“Are you busy tomorrow afternoon?”

“No—“

“Good, then you can join me on my trip to Long Island,” she announced as she hailed a taxi. “There’s a cottage I like to rent there for real cheap. Pretend to be one of the rich for a couple nights. Sounds like fun, huh?”

“You want me to join you—“

“Pack a bag, will ya? Gonna be there all weekend.”

As the taxi pulled up, Marcus stood frozen in confusion, wondering how and why this had all happened to him.

“What’s your address, Mr. Pike?” she asked as she opened the door for herself. Marcus gave her his address and she smiled, ordering him to be out front at noon sharp. “I think you and I are gonna be good friends, Marcus.”

“You hardly know me,” he chuckled.

“I know enough,” she smiled. Sitting down inside the car, she gave him a wave through the window. “Have a good night, detective!”

“And you too, Miss Edwards,” he called out as the car took off down the road, his hand waving her off until the taxi became just another bright light faded into the city.

And as if by some sort of magic, a friendship that would change both of their lives forever was born out of nothing. Or nothing, it seemed.

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[lionlena]

"7.44 am" MarcusPikexwife!reader

Summary: It couldn't be Marcus. Marcus' body was warm and soft... Made for cuddling. That body you were looking at was cold and stiff. Even his face was different... You fell to your knees and started screaming: "He's not my husband!"

Warnings: ANGST, temporary death, pain, suffering after loss, mourning, depression, angst, hurt/comfort

"7.44 am"

"You've got a hold on me, I've got a hold on you You can't let me go, I can't let go of you It's in the air I breathe, it takes over me I can't let you go"

*

You felt a warm kiss on your cheek. His stubble tickled your skin and you giggled. Your husband, Marcus, always kissed you before leaving the house, even if you were sleeping. It often woke you up, but it never bothered you. You opened your eyes and yawned. He gave you a sweet smile.

"I have to go to work now. Have a nice day."

You stroked his cheek with your hand.

"See you later, darling."

Marcus kissed your cheek one last time and smiled. His silhouette disappeared behind the door. You looked at your watch. It was 7:44 a.m. It was too early to get up, so you turned over and went back to sleep.

If you only knew...

Over an hour later, you got up and started your day. You found a note from Marcus on the kitchen counter: "We're out of toast, but I'll buy it on the way back... And I'll buy your favorite jam ♥"

You smiled to yourself. Your husband was the sweetest man in the world. He knew how to make you feel better even when he was away from home.

You made yourself some coffee, turned on your laptop, and started working. A few hours later you heard the doorbell and you were a little surprised. You didn't order anything, you didn't wait for anyone... You reluctantly stopped what you were doing and opened the door.

When you saw the two FBI agents and their faces, you knew it. You just knew... The worst day came. That was supposed to be just a nightmare, but it became true.

"How?" That was all you could say.

They suggested you sit on the couch and wanted to bring you some water, but you refused. You just wanted to know how... How did you lose your heart and soul?

They finally told you that Marcus was chasing a criminal in an abandoned warehouse. The killer he wanted to subdue had a gun, so Marcus pulled out his, but the gun jammed. The criminal shot him straight in the chest with a large-caliber weapon. Marcus didn't stand a chance. He bled out within minutes.

You wanted to scream, to cry, but you just stood there in shock. Marcus died because of fucking bad luck. Not because he was too slow or careless. The damn gun just must have jammed.

"I want to see him."

They tried to convince you that it was a bad idea, that it was unnecessary. The others recognized him, so you didn't have to identify the body, but that wasn't what you wanted.

You just had to see him... You had to touch him, believe that... That he was gone.

An hour later you stood in the morgue and couldn't believe it. It couldn't be Marcus. Marcus' body was warm and soft... Made for cuddling. That body you were looking at was cold and stiff. Even his face was different... You fell to your knees and started screaming:

"He's not my husband!"

You didn't remember what happened next. Someone picked you up. Someone took you home. Someone asked if you needed help, but you said no.

When you got home, you couldn't eat or drink anything. You grabbed Marcus' shirt from the laundry basket and laid down on the bed. You pressed your face into the fabric, breathing in your lover's scent, and cried. It was so long and so hard that you fell asleep from exhaustion.

You woke up the next day and looked at your watch, it was 7:44 a.m. You sat up in bed abruptly, still holding onto your husband's shirt tightly.

"Marcus!"

You waited for a few moments until you realized he wasn't coming. What happened the previous day was not a dream.

You wanted to cry, but you had no tears left. You stood up and started walking around the empty house full of your husband's things. His tie over the chair, his perfume in the bathroom, his jacket on the hanger, the book he was reading the day before...

Everything was overwhelming you. This emptiness. This silence.

You didn't have any children and at that moment you wondered if that was better or worse. You weren't against having children, but you just weren't trying hard to get pregnant either. You always said, "Whatever will be."

Maybe you'd be better off if you had a piece of Marcus with you. If you knew that everything didn't disappear with your loved one.

You shook your head... You wouldn't want to see your children suffer. You were sure that Marcus would be the best dad in the world, so losing him would be terrible for the children.

You sat down on a chair in the kitchen and started looking around. Your chin began to quiver as you remembered all the times Marcus had cooked for you.

When he made you breakfast. When he served you coffee with a smile and laughed at you when he saw how sleepy you were.

He often made dinner and sometimes you felt guilty about it. After all, you stayed at home all day, but he always said: "You have work... You work at home, but it's still work. Besides, I like cooking for you."

In fact, was there anything Marcus didn't like?

He loved to spoil you, make you laugh, comfort you, cuddle you...

You felt a tightness in your chest and you just fell to the floor, crying. Why was your heart still beating?

You finally pulled yourself together and started preparing the funeral.

Two days later, on the day of the funeral, you woke up at 7:44 a.m. Likewise the day before, and two days before that. It didn't matter that you didn't sleep all night, you still woke up at this particular time.

And of course, you couldn't sleep. Marcus always had a solution for your insomnia. He told you to curl up in a ball. He cuddled up to your back and hugged you tightly. One of his hands caressed your face. He brought his mouth to your ear and whispered sweet words. Sometimes they didn't make much sense, but they sounded like a spell. "My sweet wife... I love a moment like this so much... You are my peace... I would go through hell to find you... My treasure..."

It always helped you and before you knew it you were falling into a deep sleep.

You sighed heavily and got out of bed. The funeral wasn't supposed to start until 2 p.m., but what was the point of lying in an empty, cold bed?

You went to the bathroom and almost didn't recognize your own reflection. You were pale, your eyes were puffy, your lips were chapped, and your hair had lost its former shine and was now dull. But you didn't really care about your appearance anymore. You felt this terrible emptiness and rage. Rage at the world. Some women spend 20, 30, or even 40 years in unhappy marriages. And their abusive husbands die as old men. You had the perfect husband. Loving, patient, sweet... A husband who respected and adored you. And you lost him, after only 3 years of marriage.

And yet you wouldn't trade those three years for anything.

And you were going to hold on to that thought throughout the funeral. Some women will never be as lucky as you. They will never be filled with as much love throughout their lives as you felt during these few years with Marcus. And yet, some women were able to reject it.

When you saw HER in the cemetery, you felt furious. Yes, you promised yourself you would stay calm, but you couldn't. You knew how much Teresa hurt Marcus. The first time he told you about her, he was devastated and you wanted nothing more than to hug him. You promised yourself you would never hurt him like that. You will be his shield. You will protect him from breaking his heart. And it didn't matter that Marcus was dead. You were still going to defend your husband.

You quickly walked up to her and the man who, as you realized, must have been the one she had so cruelly abandoned Marcus for.

"Get out of here," you growled without thinking.

Teresa looked at you surprised.

"What? I'm sorry, but..."

"Get out of here!" you said louder, getting other people's attention. "I don't care why you came here. You never deserved even a shred of his affection. He was so wonderful... Too loving and tender and you rejected him! You broke my husband's heart!"

When you said the last sentence, Teresa realized who you were and gasped.

"I'm sorry."

She grabbed her partner's arm and started walking away. You felt so relieved. But you're not done yet.

"Teresa?"

The woman turned around, looking at you with something akin to hope.

"Thank you." She raised her eyebrows in surprise and before she could say anything you added, "Thank you for being stupid enough to leave someone as wonderful as Marcus."

Then you just turned around and walked towards the coffin. You felt a sense of relief that Teresa was gone. You weren't sure if there was an afterlife. But if it existed, then Marcus' spirit didn't deserve to look at the woman who had broken his heart.

After the funeral, you thought it would be easier. That's what they told you. One chapter closes and another opens. But nothing has changed for you. You spent the next few days the same way. You wandered around the house looking at things that belonged to Marcus. You even sprayed his perfume on the bed to give the illusion that he was still with you. And you kept waking up at 7:44 a.m. You were really starting to hate this hour. It was like some kind of curse.

A week had passed since the funeral when, as usual, you woke up at 7:44 a.m. And as always, for a split second, you felt a glimmer of hope in your heart. Maybe this is all just a bad dream? You sat up on the bed and rubbed your eyes. You were ready to shed more tears when you heard a very tenderly voice.

"Good morning, Sweetheart."

Your heart almost jumped out of your chest. With wide eyes, you looked at Marcus, who was standing on the doorstep of your bedroom, looking at you with those sad puppy dog eyes.

You didn't even know when you jumped off the bed and found yourself only two steps away from him. You reached out and touched his chest to make sure he was real. When you felt his strong and warm body, you whined.

"M... Ma... Marcus?" you uttered.

He placed his hand on yours.

"Yes, baby... I'm alive. I'm sorry, I..."

You couldn't contain your emotions anymore and started sobbing pitifully. Marcus immediately pulled you to his chest and hugged you tightly. He started kissing your head.

"I'm sorry, honey. I'll explain everything..."

You felt a surge of anger and started hitting his chest with your hands and screaming:

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate..."

You started to wail and clung tightly to his body. Marcus began to rock you gently and whispered:

"I know, baby. I deserve all this rage. I know it was terrible for you..." He took a deep breath. "I know it won't change anything, but... My heart broke when I thought about how you were hurting."

You finally lifted your head and touched his cheek tenderly.

"But how? Why? I... I saw your body... your face..."

Marcus gently wiped the tears from your cheeks and led you to the bed. He sat down next to you, still wrapping his arm around you.

"This has been planned for months. A body that best matches me was found and kept in the morgue, and the face... A perfect cast of my face and mask was made. And the right lighting..." Marcus sighed heavily. "Anything so everyone can see it's me."

You looked at him, confused. It made and didn't make sense at the same time. You were missing something very important in this puzzle.

"But why?"

Marcus leaned down and kissed your head gently.

"Do you remember the case of that serial killer who killed women in important positions? Those who were independent and... Acting against stereotypes."

You sniffed and nodded.

"That fucking chauvinist and misogynist? Yes. It's hard to forget."

A smile appeared on Marcus' face for a second at your words.

"He started obsessing over me. He was exchanging emails with me and it was driving him crazy that I didn't agree with him... And..." You saw Marcus starting to get flustered. "It wasn't just about me. He found out about you."

You felt an unpleasant shiver run down your spine and you instinctively snuggled closer to your husband's body. Marcus wrapped his arms around you protectively.

"I didn't tell you anything not to upset you, but... You were under special protection."

"Okay... So what next?"

"Half a year ago, he suddenly disappeared. He stopped sending messages. He disappeared when he realized that we were on his trail, but..." Marcus gently stroked your hair. "I couldn't just let it go. Mainly because of you. I had to catch that bastard... And then, with the help of psychologists who analyzed his messages, I realized that there was one thing that would bring him from hiding."

You looked at Marcus and whispered, "Your death."

Marcus nodded and you looked at him sadly. You were happy that he was alive, but at the same time, you also felt hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me anything? Why didn't you warn me?!"

You couldn't control your voice, but Marcus understood you perfectly. He started rubbing your back soothingly.

"It had to seem as natural as possible. We knew he would be watching you and if he felt even the slightest bit of doubt, he would... He would back off. Even I didn't know the exact day when that would happen." Marcus sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment. You saw that he felt a huge sense of guilt. "I know how cruel it sounds... I know I used you. I... I won't be surprised if you want a separation or..."

His voice was shaking and you immediately cupped his face and smiled softly. Yes, you were angry and hurt, but... It was Marcus. Your Marcus.

"Don't be silly. I'm happy it was all false. And... I won't hide how much you hurt me, but I see you had your reasons. Just... No more faking death."

Marcus chuckled, his eyes welling with tears.

"Oh God, you are the perfect woman. The most wonderful and I swear I will do anything to make up for the pain I made you feel."

"But it worked? Did you catch him?"

"Yes, my love. He will never threaten us again. He will not threaten you or any other independent and brave woman."

You kissed him tenderly and then said a little more sternly:

"You have to promise me something." Marcus nodded eagerly. At that moment, he was ready to promise you anything. "From now on, you will always be by my side at 7:44 a.m. At this time, you are always supposed to kiss me and hug me. I don't care if I'm asleep... Or if you're asleep. You have to do it. Do you understand?"

Your request seemed extremely strange to him, but he didn't dare to refuse you.

"Of course, honey, but if... If I really can't?"

"If you really need to be away from home, you are to call me at this time or send a text message."

Marcus hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead. "I promise that I will always kiss and hug you at 7:44, and if I really need to be away from home, I will call you or text you."

You sighed in relief and rested your head on his chest. Marcus was silent for a moment, and then in his gentle and tender voice he said:

"Let me take care of you. I know the last few days have been a nightmare for you. How about a hot bath? I bought your favorite scented bath salts and candles. And then I'll make you breakfast... I've been gone for a week and a half and you look like you haven't eaten for a month."

You didn't have the strength to argue with Marcus. Besides, you really missed his concern. So you nodded and he immediately ran to the bathroom to get everything ready. Then he picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bathroom. Throughout your bath, he knelt by the tub and looked at you with adoration. He kissed your hands and kept whispering, "I'm sorry."

Then he helped you dry and get dressed. It doesn't matter how many times you said you could do it yourself. He just wanted to take as much care of you as possible. He carried you to the kitchen and sat you down at the table. He prepared your favorite breakfast and coffee, then watched you eat with a wide smile on his face.

You felt all the stress and pain from the last few days slowly leaving you. And Marcus wasn't going to stop. After breakfast, he carried you to the living room, sat you on the couch, turned on your favorite series, and wrapped you in his arms.

The old smile slowly started to appear on your face. Marcus' warm and soft body made you feel blissful and you were even about to take a nap when you remembered something.

"Oh my God..."

Marcus looked at you worried.

"What happened, honey? Are you in pain?" he asked in a worried voice.

"No, I..." You felt embarrassed and said quietly, "I may have caused a bit of a scandal at your funeral."

Marcus's eyes lit up and he chuckled, "You mean how you snapped at Teresa and told her she never deserved me?"

Your eyes widened and you pulled away from him to slap his chest.

"Did you see that?!"

Marcus couldn't stop laughing. He cupped your face and kissed you passionately.

"It was beautiful, my love. Thank you. Believe me, the other agents had to hold me by force because I wanted to run to you and fall at your feet."

You rolled your eyes and another thought came to your mind: "Wait, did... Did she know you were alive?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes... I'm sorry. But, I thanked her too."

You raised your eyebrows and he kissed your cheek tenderly. "I thanked her for breaking my heart and breaking up with me because thanks to it I found the most wonderful woman in the world. A woman who made me realize that if I were her husband, I would never feel such a blessing."

You looked at him with love and could only whispered, "Marcus, I love you."

Marcus kissed you again and whispered into your mouth, "I love you, my perfect wife."

You smiled and hugged him again, closing your eyes.

Maybe not all husbands played dead to get a serial killer. And they didn't cause pain to their wife, but...

Marcus was still perfect for you and you didn't regret anything. You didn't regret any moment spent with him.

"You've got my heart and I've got your soul I cannot, I cannot Shut out your light or drown out your call I cannot let you go

You get lost in me, I get lost in you And there's a trace of me mapped out in you"

*WILDES - Let You Go

A/N: Okay, so Marcus' death was supposed to be real at first, but... I couldn't! 😭 I felt like I shot a puppy... 🥺 So maybe faking death is cheesy, but oh well. I love my FBI husband too much.

[punkette1026]

Chapter 1-The Hot Expresso

Summary:

The Hot Expresso coffee shop is a place that FBI agent Marcus Pike holds near to his heart. It's there that he meets new friends and gets introduced to the owners daughter Abigail Rose. Now after a text saying that they need to meet, Marcus now fears that the Hot Express is where he will experience heart ache. He sends up a silent prayer hoping that its not the case and ponders on how he and Abigail got to the point where they are at now.

Warnings: No major warnings yet. Will mark chapters that do contain smut

Series Masterlist

Pedro Masterlist

Hello everyone! I'm back with a short series. This is my first Marcus Pike fic and I am so happy to share it all with you.

It was another cold and rainy day in Washington DC. The streets were unusually quite as people chose to stay in their warm houses versus venturing out in the hectic wind and rain. Only those brave souls that bundled up the best that they could were out roaming the streets either running errands or going to work.

The icy cold weather also meant that the various coffee shops around the city were busier than usual. People were rushing in before work to get their much need coffee fix, some coming into get a break from the cold air, and for some others, they were there to get away from the cruel world. The sounds of the milk steamer and the smells of freshly brewed coffee provided a sense of comfort for those lost individuals.

“The Hot Expresso,” was one of those places for F.B.I. agent Marcus Pike. He visited this particular coffee shop quite frequently ever since he had moved there to head up an International Art Theft Task Force. He had stubbled in there one late afternoon looking for a hot cup of coffee to help wake his tired body. There, he met the owners Rafael and Rosemary who welcomed him and shared their history of how they came from Mexico to provide a better life for their growing family. They were amazing people and Marcus felt an instant connection to them. Soon they became great friends and he made sure that he visited the coffee shop every chance that he could get.

It became like a second home to Marcus. When work became too stressful or when he was tired of being bored at home, Marcus knew that he could come there to reset his mind and reenergize. He would order his usual black Americano, a chocolate donut, and head over to his booth in the corner of the shop, away from the rest of the other patrons.

That’s where he was now. Sitting there in his booth just sulking away. It seemed like for the past few weeks, the world appeared to be out to get him. First it was his job. For the last few weeks, Marcus had been working on a museum art heist that he couldn’t seem to figure out. Every time that he felt like he was getting close to solving it, there would be a new twist and he would have to start all over again. Not to mention that his higher ups were tired of the lack of progress and were threatening to pull his team from the case and give it to someone else. He had a meeting with them on Monday to defend himself and his team.

Things at home weren’t all that great either. After having to go out of the country for a few days to chase down a lead, Marcus had come home to hid that his upstairs neighbor had let their tub overflow which caused water to run down and flood his home office. He spent the last week trying to clean up the mess whenever he got off of work. Then this morning, he got word from his apartment manager that it was going to take weeks to repair all the water damage. However, between his work and his ruined apartment, those were the least of his worries. Right now, he was more concerned about what was going on between him and his beautiful girlfriend Abigail.

She was the reason why he visited the Hot Expresso as often as he did.

Flashback...

Marcus walked into the Hot Expresso feeling great. He and his team just solved a case that they had been working on for over a month. It wasn’t without its fair share of ups and downs. They had lost their suspect for a few weeks which delayed things and he almost lost the perp for good tonight if it wasn’t for him jumping out a window to tackle the perp to the ground. Now he was walking around sporting a new set of stitches across his cheek and his hand was wrapped up in a bandage. Not that any of that mattered though, because he got his guy and that’s all that mattered. All he wanted to do now was get his favorite chocolate donuts for the morning and head home to get some much needed sleep.

As he walked into the Hot Expresso, Marcus noticed that it was filled with more people than he was used to seeing. The tables and chairs that were near the window were now pushed off to the side. He also noticed that a guitar and microphone had been set in that now empty space. This was very odd for sure. The Hot Expresso never had live entertainment before.

“Ah Marcus, so glad that you could make it,” Rafael greeted him as he came around from behind the counter. “My, what happened to you? Are you alright?”

“Rafael, good to see you,” Marcus shook his hand. “I’m alright, thanks for asking. I just had a little accident at work. And speaking of work, this place is packed. What’s going on?”

“I know isn’t it great! All of our friends and family came to see my oldest Abigail. She came home from New York finally. She has been studying music up and flew in this morning. My wife and I asked her to have a little performance here and she agreed,” Rafael said proudly.

From getting to know Rafael, Marcus knew that he had three daughters. Two of whom Marcus had met before as they either worked or visited the shop while their parents worked. However, when it came to Abigail, she wanted to explore and get out of DC until she was ready to come back and work for the coffee shop. Apparently, she had fallen in love with New York and hadn’t been home for the past two years, until now.

“Look, here comes my baby girl now,” Rafael pointed her out to him as she walked out from the back with Rosemary.

When Marcus spotted her, he knew that he was done for. He felt his mouth almost hit the floor as he became entranced by her beauty. The way the lighting made her skin glow, the way the cool breeze from the window made her long brown hair flow, he loved it all. Marcus watched as she smiled at her mother, and he swore his heart stopped. Oh, how he wished that was him that was making her smile so big and bright. As she bent down to pick up her guitar, Marcus prayed that Rafael wasn’t watching him stare at the way her dress hugged her curves. ‘My god she’s gorgeous,’ he thought to himself.

Rafael then excused himself to go introduce his daughter, but Marcus was so hypnotized that he didn’t even hear him leave. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming out tonight on such short notice. Please help me welcome my beautiful, amazing, talented daughter Abigail Rose to the Hot Expresso.”

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Abigail smiled as the applause calmed down. “This is a little something that I wrote recently and its my first time performing it, so I hope you really it.”

As she opened her mouth and began to sing, Marcus felt like he died and went to heaven. Abigail had the voice of an angel. It was almost enough to bring a tear to his eye. ‘She’s perfect, absolutely perfect!’

Strumming away on her guitar, Abigail’s eyes began to wander over the crowd. She picked out a few people that she knew, mostly old friends, then out of nowhere, she spotted him. A stranger that she couldn’t take her eyes off of.

He looked so handsome standing there in a dark grey suit. He looked so delicious with the facial hair that he was sporting. Abigail just wanted to run her hand across his bearded cheeks. There was no doubt in your mind that he was certainly older than you, but the combination of the patchy beard and the way his shaggy hair fell just about his eyebrow, gave him a boyish charm. Abigail also couldn’t help but notice those big brown eyes of staring back at her. A blush came over the man’s cheeks as he knew that he had been caught. She didn’t mind though. She just had to know who that man was. ‘Maybe dad can introduce us. Seemed like he knew him too.’

As her song came to an end, a massive roar of cheers and applause filled the coffee shop. A sense of pride came over Abigail as she could tell that everyone enjoyed her performance. “Thank you all so much. I really appreciate all the love. If you just give me a few minutes, I’ll come back and do another one for you.”

Her father was quick to be by her side once she was done beaming with joy, “Oh sweetie, that was amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks dad. I’m not going to lie, that was pretty scary, but I’m glad that I did it,” she said giving him big hug. “Listen dad, that guy that you were talking to earlier, who was that? Is he still here?” She looked around for the stranger but didn’t see him anywhere.

A big smile came upon her dad’s face like he was waiting for her to ask, “Oh that is my favorite customer, Marcus Pike. He works for the F.B.I. you know. C’mon, I think he went to go sit in his usual booth.” Rafael than led her over to where Marcus was sitting nursing a hot cup of coffee. “Marcus, so glad you decided to stay. How’s the coffee?”

“Amazing as always Rafael,” Marcus smiled taking another sip. “The entertainment was really good too. You must be very proud.” Abigail was smiling behind her father so Marcus couldn’t see her.

“Yes, yes, I am very proud. Speaking of which, I want you to introduce you to her.” That’s when Abigail came out from behind Rafael. “Marcus Pike, this is my daughter Abigail Rose. Abigail, this is special agent Marcus Pike.”

Both of them immediately got nervous with butterflies in their stomachs. They were both torn between being nervous and shy. Abigail was the first one to speak up after she got her courage back, “Hello special agent, its’s very nice to meet you.”

Ever the gentleman that he was, Marcus quickly got up out of his seat and extended his uninjured hand out to her, “You can just call me Marcus. No need to get formal. It’s very nice to meet you, Abigail Rose. That was an amazing performance.”

“Thank you, Marcus, and it’s very nice to meet you too. And please call me Abby. My dad always feels the need to throw my full name around,” Abby rolled her eyes at her father.

“While I think Abigail Rose is a beautiful name,” Marcus complimented making her blush. “Please have a seat. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

“Marcus, she’s my daughter. She gets coffee on the house,” Rafael interjected.

Marcus’ cheeks grew red with embarrassment, “Oh umm...yeah, right sorry.” ‘Way to go dumbass,’ he yelled at himself.

“It’s alright not a big deal,” Abby smiled sympathetically while snapping a start at her father. “Dad, do you mind getting me a tea then. I need something hot to drink before I go play again.”

Not needing to be told twice, Rafael rushed back to the counter to get his daughter some tea. Abby didn’t fail to notice her father whisper something to her mother, who then gave them a thumbs up. They were both unbelievable.

“Sorry about my parents. They can be a bit much sometimes,” Abby sighed in shame.

“Eh don’t worry about it. They are harmless,” Marcus smiled. “You know, I would love to know about your singing. Your dad tells me that you have been in New York studying music?”

“Umm...yeah kind of. I’m actually studying business, but I’m minoring in music. As much as I would love to study music full time, it’s not very realistic. Besides, I don’t think that I am good enough to actually make a career out of it.”

Marcus just looked at her in shock, “What, excuse me, but you can’t be serious. You were incredible out there. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you have been performing for years. You’re a natural.”

At first she thought that he was only saying that to be nice, but when she looked over into those big chocolate eyes of his, she could see something in him that told that he was telling the truth. “You’re very sweet Marcus Pike, thank you. To be honest though, I have only performed three other times like this in public. I mostly just sing in my class or in the shower. If anything, I enjoy writing music more. It’s very therapeutic.”

“Well, I hope you continue to pursue it then. Just because something doesn’t seem practical doesn’t mean that it isn’t worth trying,” he told her.

“That’s some great advice there agent,” Abby smiled knowing that his advice was valid. “If the whole special agent thing doesn’t work out, you should think about having a career in motivational speaking. It’s probably safer too from the looks of it.” Now that she was closer to him, she was able to make out his injuries.

Marcus looked at the bandage on his hand and shrugged, “Oh this? It’s not that bad. Just a hazard of the job. Believe it or not, this is the first time I have ever gotten hurt on the job. The department that I work for isn’t as dangerous as some of the others. It’s mostly office work.”

“And what department would that be?”

“It’s much more exciting than it sounds, but I work in art crimes,” he winced. Normally this would be the time where his dates would tune him or find a way to change to change the subject. Everyone expected him to be like the FBI agents in the movies tracking down bad guys and getting into shootouts.

“Are you kidding that sounds amazing!” Abby said astonished. “Do you get to visit a lot of museums? I’m a bit of a nerd and I like to go to museums for fun and hang out.”

‘She’s perfect, absolutely perfect,’ Marcus beamed inside. “Hey, there is nothing wrong with that. I do too. I love all types of art and museums are a great place to see all of it. I try to go to every museum in every city that I visit. And it’s not just art, I love anything old like movies and music too.”

Abby couldn’t believe her luck. She liked all those things too. Marcus got better the more she spoke to him. She wanted to stay there longer and talk to him some more, but with all the people waiting for her to perform again, they were sort of on borrowed time. So, she decided to take a chance and put herself out there to see if they could continue whatever this was another time. “Listen Marcus, I know that this may be a little a little bit out of the blue, but there is an art and film festival on Saturday that I heard about. You wouldn’t wanna go, would you? “‘Please say yes, please say yes.’

“You know what, I think that sounds like really fine. I would love to go with you,” Marcus smiled brightly. He wished that it was him who asked her out, but he would let that slide. “What time should I pick you up?”

“Oh, you really don’t have too. I’m sure I can take the bus.”

“Yes, I do please. You already beat me to asking you out, so the least I can do is pick you up.”

With his big puppy dog eyes staring back at her, there was no way that she could say no. “Okay fine. I’ll be staying at my parents’ house till Tuesday when I fly back. Can I see your phone?” Without hesitating, Marcus handed his personal phone over to her. “Here’s my number. Feel free to text me whenever. I’ll give you my parents address on Saturday.”

Marcus quickly hit save when she handed it back to him. He was about to tell her how excited he was for Saturday, but Rafael came back with a hot cup of tea in his hand. “Here is your tea sweetheart. I also brough you some little fans too.”

He moved out of the way and two little girls who looked to be nine or ten approached. “Hello there, what are your names?” Abby asked kneeling down in front of the girls.

“I’m Sarah and this is my little sister Emma. She is too shy to ask, but do you know any Taylor Swift songs?”

“You know what Emma; I think I do. Which ones are your favorites?”

As Abby listened to the girls spout out a list, Marcus stared at her in awe. She was so soft and kind to them. She listened to every word they said and answered every question that they had. Sure, it could have been that she was the oldest of three girls and knew how to deal with younger kids, but Marcus could see that it was just the type of person that Abby was. He felt himself becoming more and more attracted to her the more he watched.

Once she was done talking to the girls, Abby stood up and gave Marcus a sympathetic smile. She wanted to sit back down and continue talking but she could see her mother impatiently waiting for her by her guitar. “Guess I better get going. I’m sorry Marcus, I really would have liked to continue talking to you.”

“Hey, it’s all right. I better head out too. The pain meds are starting to wear off a little,” Marcus winced. “If you want me to stay though, I can. I’m sure your mom has something that I can take.”

“No, no please go home and rest. I’m only gonna do a few more songs and then call it a night myself. I’m super tired and a little embarrassed to be completely honest. I don’t like being paraded around like this. If I want to perform, then I want to perform for myself, not because someone wants me to.” 

Marcus knew he was testing the waters, but he reached out and took her hand into his. “That’s perfectly understandable. Sometimes parents can be so proud and want to everyone your greatness. It can be a little overbearing at times. If you wanna sing, then you sing. Don’t let people make you do something that you don’t want to do. Only you know what is best for you.”

Abby’s eyes almost filled with tears. This man had such a way with words. “Are you sure you aren’t a motivational speaker?” she joked. “Thank you for that though Marcus. It means a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” Marcus winked at her. “You have a great rest of your night Abigail Rose. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

“You have a good night too Marcus Pike and please again, call me Abby,” she couldn’t help but blush as he said her full name.

“C’mon Abigail, everyone is waiting for you,” Rafael once again interjected.

As Rafael pulled her away, she gave Marcus one last wave before turning her attention to the crowd waiting for her. For Marcus, even though he knew that she wouldn’t get to see his text for a while, he pulled out his phone and sent her a quick text:

            It was very nice to meet you. I’m glad that I stopped by tonight. And for the record, I like

            Abigail Rose”

                        -MP

End of Flashback...

That night was one of the best nights of Marcus’ life. Even though they briefly talked and without even having to take her out on a date, Marcus truly felt like he had found his soulmate. Sure, he had his fair share of relationships where he thought he had found the one, but those turned out to be miserable failures. However, with Abby, he felt like things were different. He felt his heart become whole when he was with her. She made him belly laugh at the drop of a dime, she knew exactly what to say when he was feeling down or stressed, and she made him want to be a better person not only for himself, but for her too.

Lately though, Marcus felt that happiness and tranquility begin to disappear. It seemed that lately all they did was fight. Any little disagreement that normally would bother them would now turn into a huge fight. Marcus would end up staying late at work to avoid seeing her or talking to her and Abby just stopped coming by his apartment all together.

As Marcus sat there with a still full cup of coffee, he impatiently checked his phone for what felt like the hundredth time. Abby had texted him saying that they needed to talk. He immediately felt his heart drop. He knew Abby was on her way to break up with him, he just knew it. Even though he wasn’t sure if he believed it at all, Marcus closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer to anyone that was listening, ‘Please don’t let my bad feeling come true. I can’t lose her. I just can’t.’

Please let me know what you think! If you have any story ideas or suggestions, please feel free DM

[nerdieforpedro]

Tumblr Wrapped 2023

I finally figured out how to do it!

Were we surprised? Likely not. 🤣 I was surprised that I wrote more about Joel than Frankie, though the different was by one. Dieter and Marcus Pike are tied. My Javier Peña stuff is just okay. I gotta represent him better than that.

It doesn’t surprise me that my Din smut is a top hit. Glad everyone liked it. 😘

[secretly-dum]

can you guys pretty please give me pedro pascal characters requests I want to write more !!

(check tags for the characters I write for)