#marcus pike fanfic

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[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.”

[musings-of-a-rose]

Marcus

Pairing: Marcus (Pike, Moreno, Acacius) x f!reader

Word Count: 6900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I saw a post from @pimosworld innocently asking for a Marcus bachlorette style fic and, while this isn't exactly right, this is what my brain came up with. Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to me ramble and helping me, as well as @vanemando15 for being a cheerleader!

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Main Masterlist

Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“Thanks for coming to Level Up Comics!” I smile at the customer as I hand them their bag, a quiet grunt all I get in return before they head out the door, the little bell jingling with their exit. I stretch, walking around from behind the counter and heading back towards the display case where several boxes sit in front, unopened figurines and collectibles pouring from them. My family and friends thought I was crazy for opening a physical media store in this age of digital products. They said no one would come in let alone want to actually buy “this crap.”

But here I am, a few years after opening, and I’m doing pretty good for myself. There are still collectors out there who want their favorites in case something happens to their files. They want the figurines from the original manufacturers, rather than printing them themselves. I can’t blame them. There’s something different, something magical about reading the printed word, having a figure of your favorite character that was made decades ago by something other than a 3D printer in someone’s basement.

The bell jingles and I yell out a greeting, shoving a few more figures in the back of the case before standing and turning, a pair of dark brown eyes meeting mine. I can already feel the smile on my face. 

“Hi, Marcus!” Shit, was that too enthusiastic? If it is, he doesn’t let on, his own smile shyly spreading across his face. “How…how are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his large hand, his eyes darting away from mine. “I’m..I’m good. You?”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I’m good. Good. It’s all…good.” What the fuck?

He chuckles lightly, looking anywhere but at me. “Good.”

We’re both silent for several moments. He’s so hot. Way out of my league hot. And the weird thing is, I don’t even think he realizes just how attractive he is. 

“Did my back issue of X-Men come in?”

“Oh!” I slap my forehead. “I almost forgot! Yes. Let me get that for you.” Trying desperately to hide the heat in my cheeks, I quickly walk around the counter, kneeling to sift through the special order pile. 

“You got more figures in?”

“Yeah,” I yell from my crouched position. “There’s a few bins in the back I haven’t emptied yet. Feel free to have a look!” 

“Thanks.” I hear him shuffle off towards the back of the shop just as I locate his order. The door bell dings again and I stand, smoothing down my jeans. A man stands at the counter, his bright blue eyes roaming up and down my body before her plasters on the most ingenuine smile I’ve ever seen. 

“Hi. How can I help you?” I ask him as I place Marcus’s order on the counter.

 “Hi beautiful. I’m looking for a comic.”

I internally sigh. I already know where this is going. It happens several times a week.

“Well you’ve come to the right shop. What are you looking for?”

He chuckles, intending to be endearing. It isn’t. “I’m looking for a very specific issue of Hawkeye. You know who that is?”

Seriously? “I am very familiar with Hawkeye. Are you?”

He scoffs. “Haha. You’re a funny, pretty thing. Anyway, I’m looking for a specific run of his. Do you know what that means?”

Anger surges through me and I grip the desk to ground myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Marcus at the back of the store, standing and turning towards us but not moving. He’s even hot in my peripheral. 

“Which run are you looking for? Or are you wanting a recommendation?”

He laughs, the vile sound of it echoing off the walls. “A recommendation? From you? What would you know? You’re just a pretty little girl.”

A clunk from the back of the store and I see Marcus trip over one of the boxes. He doesn’t go down, but turns to fix the boxes that he’s kicked over. The man in front of me is unphased, his eyes still on me, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Well?” He spits out. 

I look at him, giving him a smile. “Well, if you’re asking me personally, my favorite run is the Matt Fraction run. Not only because of his artistic style and great story, but the fact that they weaved in Clint’s deafness, drawing him wearing his hearing aids, and even doing an entire issue completely in American Sign Language. A great story and representation of a marginalized community from, in my opinion, one of the best and most relatable Avengers. Now, would you like the individual issues, an omnibus, or the digital version?”

The smug smile slowly fades from his face, his eyes hardening. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“I do when customers act like a bitch.” 

He grabs the fliers on the counter and throws them at me, turning towards the door. “Fuck you and this place!” He tries to slam the door behind him but he fumbles with the handle, flipping me off one final time before disappearing around the corner. 

I sigh, bending down to pick up the fliers. A hand reaches out, large and inviting, carefully helping me pick up the scattered papers. I look up at him, at Marcus, sweet Marcus. Who had heard all of that. 

“I’m sorry Marcus. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”

He hands me the small stack he’s collected, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for standing up to a sexist asshole. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

I combine our stacks, both of us standing as I tap them on the counter to even them out. “Why should you apologize?”

“I should’ve come to help,” he rubs the back of his neck, his ear turning slightly pink. 

I shake my head. “No, Marcus don’t worry about it. I get assholes like that all the time. Really, it’s ok.”

He shakes his head. “It’s really not-”

To my own surprise, I reach out and squeeze his arm. “Really, I’m ok. Thank you, Marcus.”

He smiles at me, opening his mouth to say something, but his phone rings from inside his pocket. “Sorry. Sorry.” He pulls it out, tapping on the clear screen only he can see. “Shit. I have to take this. Work. You sure you’re ok?”

I smile, trying not to show my sadness at his leaving. “I am. Hope everything’s ok at work.”

“Thanks. I’ll uh…see you around.” His eyebrows pull together as his phone rings again, his eyes moving down to the screen before he turns around and heads out the door, pausing to give me a wave through the window before he disappears into the crowd. 

I’ll never meet a man owning this shop. They’re either assholes, taken, or hopelessly out of my league. My own phone beeps and I pull it out, scanning the clear screen with my reservation confirmation. I tap the confirm button, nerves flooding my system. 

I can’t believe I signed up for a virtual version of the bachelorette.

—----

I closed the shop early and rushed home to get ready for that night. I arrive promptly at 7pm as they requested, the giant VIRTUAL LIFE logo on the side of the building bathing the sidewalk in bright blue light. I take a deep breath and walk inside, the door disappearing momentarily to let me in before reappearing behind me. The front desk assistant guides me to a row of elevators and instructs me to head to floor 28. I’m the only one in the elevator, the lights illuminating each floor as we pass it. The elevator stops and the doors open to a small waiting room, black leather couches and chairs surround a coffee table with several tablets, each loaded with some form of entertainment. While it looks like there are windows, if you look closely, you can tell they’re simulated, trying to grant us as much privacy as possible. Although, I think it may be more about guarding their own technology secrets. 

“Ivy?” a woman calls my name from the only doorway in the room aside from the elevator. I nod, standing and smoothing down my dress. 

“That’s me.”

“Right this way.” She leads me into another small office, a simple desk with a single chair for me to sit in. She sits opposite me at the desk, tapping in mid air at what I’m assuming is the computer screen in front of her. 

“Ivy it says here you signed up for the bachelorette program to meet a compatible mate. Is that correct?”

Swallowing down my embarrassment, I nod. “Y-yeah.”

She taps a few more things. “Great. Do you know how this works?”

“You guys take a picture of my brain and show me a story?”

She chuckles, the first time her professional demeanor has broken. “Almost but not quite. After we’re done here, you will be taken to the simulation room. You’ve already done your physical-”

“Yeah. They had me put on this suit and they captured the way I moved. Motion capture, I think?”

She nods. “Yes that’s it exactly. This way, your avatar inside your world will move like you. It helps with immersion.” I nod. “They also completed your brain scan to find the most viable dates and look of mate that you are searching for. You indicated you’re looking for a male mate, is that correct?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yes.”

She nods. “Alright. If you’ll go through the door, someone in scanning will take you. Good luck!” She gestures to a door on the opposite wall from where we entered. I go through the door and another woman greats me, leading me to chair where she has me sit and get comfortable. It reminds me of what the dentist chairs used to look like except way more comfortable. She turns to me, holding a helmet with different little lights on it. 

“Any questions?”

“Yeah. So what will he..I mean, how will I know who he is?”

“You will just know. Sort of like in a regular video game, where you can tell who is important to talk to.”

“Ok..but…will he look like him or?”

That’s reassuring. But then she interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t forget, he will be there too also looking for you.”

She shakes her head. “Your algorithm took in your scan and will give him the appearance of someone you find appealing or comforting. We’ve found it’s easier to accept someone if they have an outward appearance you’re already familiar with.”

“So you base connections on personality as opposed to looks?”

She nods. “Those relationships have the highest success rate, so yes.”

“And after, will you show me who he is?”

She nods. “In the simulation, you’ll go on 3 dates. They may be something as simple as communicating in an office to being a superhero or even traveling back in time. The algorithm takes both of your likes, dislikes, and desires and places you in situations. The more you play along and immerse yourself, or yourselves, into the simulation, the better the outcome, meaning a closer connection. And don’t worry - you cannot be physically harmed. And if it’s too much or you want to stop, you only need to say “End simulation”. Please be aware that time may pass differently in the simulation, but you will only be in for an hour. After, you will both meet here, in reality, and can determine whether you’d like to continue with a relationship or not. Any more questions?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not at the moment, anyway.”

She places the helmet on my head, the nodes all changing different colors as it comes in contact with me. She squeezes my shoulder and I look up at her. “Just relax and try to go with the theme. It’s more fun that way, ok?”

I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Good luck!” She taps a button on her clear screen and my vision fades to black so just a couple of seconds. But then I’m blinking awake, the tips of my fingers tingling and my toes feeling like they just woke up. My vision starts to clear and the room comes into focus. I’m sitting at a bar, a fancier bar, which explains the nice dress. As my hearing levels out, I realize that the blonde man to my right is talking to me, his body shifted in my direction. His grey eyes are slightly unsettling. This can’t be my mate, can it? 

“...and so I had them fired! Can you imagine? I asked for my steak to be medium and they brought it out medium well. That will teach that guy to listen to the customer at his next job.” Grey Eyes chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He nods towards the glass in front of me. “Do you want another?”

“What? Oh, uh sure.” 

He flags the bartender down and orders a rum and coke before making a show of leaning on his beefy arm against the bar. “I’m glad you finally saw reason and agreed to come out with me tonight.”

I give him a small smile. “Yeah. Same here.” This doesn’t feel right. Maybe they got it wrong? Someone bumps into me from behind and grey eyes catches me, glaring at the person who bumped me, who had moved on. 

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. It’ll take more than a drunk asshole to bring me down.” Grey Eyes laughs, picking up his glass and holding it up towards me. “I’ll drink to that.” I glance down to grab my drink, only to find it wasn’t there. I look back at Grey Eyes and see him frozen in place, the smirk on his face completely gone, his glass shaking as he continues to hold it in mid air. My glass appears next to his, lightly clicking against his glass. 

“Now that’s not very nice.” That voice. I would know his voice anywhere. My entire body relaxes as I turn to look into the dark brown eyes that I love so much.

“Marcus!” I exclaim, ignoring the vein in grey eye’s neck that’s threatening to pop. Marcus on the other hand, looks good. I mean, he always looks good to me but he’s dressed in nice black pants and a light blue button up shirt with matching black jacket. I’m not sure how a blue shirt makes his brown eyes pop, but it does. Marcus pushes his black frames up his nose.

“Hey, Ivy. Sorry to interrupt your date, but this not so kind gentlemen put a little something in your drink.”

“He what?” I blink rapidly a few times, trying to pry my eyes away from him. Grey Eyes vein relaxes somewhat and he sputters out.

“Fuck you man! We’re on a date! What….what are you doing to me?”

Marcus shrugs. “Well, you wanted to make it so she can’t move. Only fair if I return the favor.” 

Grey Eyes goes to say something else, but then seems to recognize the man standing next to me, his eyes going wide.

“Aren’t you the guy that can move metal?”

My eyes snap to Marcus, who is smiling. “I see I have a fan.”

Grey Eyes tries to backtrack. “Listen, man. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get her to loosen up a bit. Have some fun.”

Marcus looks at me, his brown eyes wide and smiling. “Ivy, do you wish to continue your date with this man?”

“Nope.” I pop the “p” sound at the end of the word. “Little hard to have fun when my date is trying to render me unconscious.”

Marcus waves the bartender over. “Call the police. This man is in possession of Freeze Me.”

 A handful of what felt like seconds later, several officers show up and arrest Grey Eyes, who barely puts up a struggle. I turn towards Marcus, my smile stretching my face as I grab his arm. “My hero.”

His eyes dart around the room, his arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was nothing.”

Gosh he’s so cute when he does that neck rub thing. Wait. Gotta play along. 

“Is Marcus the Metal Bender actually acting shy around me?”

He chuckles nervously and I think how perfect they coded him. Like he was picked out of my brain. Which I guess he was. 

“Just trying to be respectful.”

I wish he wouldn’t. Wait, are we even allowed to have sex in here? Wow, getting ahead of yourself there, Ivy.

“Youwannagetoutofhere?” He speaks so fast it all comes out in a jumble and I cock my head to the side. 

“What?”

He swallows hard and I can’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Hell yeah I do.” 

—-

It’s a few weeks later, or at least it feels like some time has passed. That lady did say time passes differently here. Now I’m in an office building, a stack of files in my arms, walking down the hall. A quick glance around tells me I’m in the Heroics head quarters. Marcus appears from around the corner and looks up at me, smiling and walking towards me. But then a man in a much too tight blue suit with a glowing M on it joins him, Marcus’s shoulders sagging slightly as he gives me a sad little wave.

“When are you two going to go on a date already?” A woman with bright pink hair appears next to me. 

“I uh, me?”

She slaps my shoulder. “Yes, you Ivy.” She leans in closer to my ear. “Aren’t you the one who confessed to having a crush on our heroic leader?”

I will the heat rising in my face to not show. “Oh, I uh..I-”

“You know he likes you too.” Her jaw drops when she sees the confused look on my face. “Oh don’t tell me you can’t tell! That man can hardly look at you and he’s taken down alien forces by just staring at them.”

She feels like a close friend so I go with it. “Yeah, ok I like him. Keep your voice down, will you?” She continues walking with me to the end of the hall where I deposit the stack of files into several slots, each one making a small whoosh sound as they’re whisked away to their destinations.

When I’m done, Pink Hair gently grabs my face and turns me to her. “I love you, Ivy. You know you’re like the sister I never had. So please listen to me when I say ask that man out before something happens and you regret not ever trying.”

Well fuck. That is…really spot on to reality isn’t it? 

I never get a chance to answer her as the entire building suddenly shakes, alarms and lights screeching and illuminating the halls. One of the tall filing cabinets starts to topple in my direction and I can only look on in horror, frozen in place by the rumbling building. I throw my hands up, as if that’s going to stop it, but nothing happens. The cabinet is laid gently on its side, floating to the ground. 

“Come on!” I look up into those dark eyes, Marcus extending his hand to me and helping me to my feet. “We have to get out of here!” He tightens his grip and somehow leads us out of the chaotic building out into the streets. Which is also nuts. People are running everywhere and…wait. Is that an alien spaceship coming towards us??

Marcus pulls me behind a wall, glancing around it and waving hand signals to a small group of heroes across the street behind another wall, Pink Hair amongst them. He turns back to me, his face full of worry as he starts to take his shirt off, exposing…not skin but a uniform? No. His hero costume, which is a black shirt,and arm bands. He sees me staring down and he shrugs. “I normally have a tach vest but we’re out of time.” 

“Should you not go out there without one?”

Marcus shakes his head. “I have to support my team. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I mean, people safe.”

“You could just stay here with me? The others can handle-” my words are cut off by a giant laser beam cutting through the street, coming directly from the ship. 

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Get yourself to safety. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I need you to be safe.” Another laser beam, the sound of some smaller buildings crumbling to the ground. “Go! Get to safety!” He releases my hand. 

I get a glimpse of the deep craters that lasers had left in their wake through the cement of the street, the piles of rubble and dust, and this spurs me on.

“Marcus?” He leans against the wall, readying himself, but he looks at me. 

“Yeah?”

Mustering up my courage, I lean towards his hunched body, softly planting a kiss on his lips. When I pull back, I see his chest heaving, his eyes moving between mine.

“Please make it back, Marcus.”

Before he can answer, the ship comes into view and his team moves out, following behind Miracle Guy, who had flown right up the ship and started punching it. Marcus’s head whips around, assessing the situation and I squeeze his arm once more before quickly moving out of the immediate area. I know I should move more, but I can’t get hurt so… 

The fight that ensues between the ship, the aliens inside, and the Heroics team is nothing short of brilliant. They may argue in the halls, but in the field, they all take direction from Marcus, who is a brilliant leader, playing all of their strengths. Marcus bends metal like it’s made of playdough, a beautiful dance of destruction and strength. Then the ship comes crashing down, everyone moving out of the way except-

“Marcus!” I emerge from my hiding place at a full run as the smoke around the alien ship that’s currently scraping along the road as it crashes and envelops Marcus. The ship stops, groaning as it falls back and lays still, no other life forms moving or detected on board. For a few moments, no one moves. Then Marcus emerges from the smoke, his face soot stained and a small gash in his shirt and along his cheek, but otherwise unharmed. 

“Marcus!” I run to him, his eyes finding mine, his entire body relaxing as he realizes I’m safe, just before I launch myself into his arms, our lips crashing together as my right hand fists in his shirt, my left tugging on his hair. Miracle Guy wolf whistles but I couldn’t care less. I feel his tongue gently lick out and I part my lips, letting him take whatever he wants. But before it can go any further, my vision starts to blacken, the last thing I see is Marcus’s eyes going out of focus as he succumbs to his own transition to the next simulation.

—----

I find myself blinking awake for the second time in what feels like weeks, but I know in reality it’s only been maybe 20 minutes that I was in there. The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling, my vision and hearing clearing and I find myself in…a breakroom. Am I back at the Heroics? The slight weight in my hand takes my focus and I realize I’m holding a cup of tea. I must be on my break. I walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking outside. I’m not back at Heroics - the cityscape is all wrong. I hear the door open behind me and I turn, the smile on my face widening as Marcus enters the room. His hair is shorter than the last simulation. And his face is clean shaven, which is a look I’ve never seen on him before. Not that it matters - he’s beautiful no matter what. I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s a little older. Probably hot as-

“Hey, Ivy.” Marcus smiles down at me, grabbing his own mug and pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe. I notice the FBI logo on the mug and figure that must be where we are.

“Hey,  Marcus.” I take a sip of my tea as we both watch the other. But then the door opens again, another agent walking into the room. He claps his hands together, looking at us.

“Hey! Congrats on finally cracking that art case, you two! 8 months is a long time to do an operation like that. Great work!” He shakes both of our hands as we thank him. Marcus catches my eye and, with a small movement, jerks his head towards the door. I nod, thanking the other agent again and follow Marcus out of the tiny breakroom and down the hall, stopping in front of an office door labeled MARCUS PIKE. I wonder if that's his name back In reality. He extends his arm towards his office and I head inside, smiling at him as I do, noting how his eyes dart around, that hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he closes the door behind him.

“I uh…great work, Ivy.” 

“You too.” 

He puts his hands in his pockets and finally looks me in my eyes and he nods once. 

“Listen. Do you..uh..I mean, would you like to…this is coming out all weird.”

I squeeze his arm and he looks down at my hand, taking a deep breath. 

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

My stomach erupts in butterflies. “Like on a date?”

The redness in his eyes spreads down onto his cheeks as he stammers, gesturing around vaguely. “No! No, not uh. Not a date.”

I can feel my face falling. “Oh.”

“Uh, unless you…uh…unless you want to? Make it a…a date?” His eyes are wide and bright, like a damn puppy. 

I smile, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I would love to go on a date with you, Marcus.” 

His smile is bright, lighting up the room. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He let's out a sigh of relief. “Great! I found this great pancake place.”

Pancakes? I love this man already. “It's nearly dinner time!” I can't help the small giggle that I let out. 

“Yeah, well you said your favorite food is pancakes. And they're open 24 hours.”

He remembered my favorite food? I'm so screwed. Damn this program is good. “You're right! I'd love to get pancakes with you. On a date. For a date. When will this date be, by the way?”

“Oh. I uh, would it be too weird if we went tonight? Is that too soo-”

“No! I mean, yes! No it's not too soon. I'd love to go!” If my heart could stop beating through my chest, that would be great. It's not that I'm some young girl getting asked on her first date. I just really like Marcus. Or whomever this is. My heart sinks at the thought of it not being the Marcus I know in reality. 

“Great! I'll pick you up at 7? Unless you'd rather meet me there? I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Marcus, we just spent 8 months together on assignment. I think I'm comfortable around you.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.” His office phone rings and he apologizes to me, picking it up. I wave ro him and he mouths “See you at 7!”

—----

He picks me up with a flourish of flowers, all long legs and button up shirt that I'm really dying to unbutton. If that's even allowed here. 

But what's more than that is the conversation. I thought I had learned everything about him over the last 8 months. I was very wrong. 

“You were a bass player in a band?” I ask, choking on my drink.

He laughs, holding his hands up in front of him. “What can I say? I wanted to meet more people.”

“I bet you had all the girls hanging on you.”

Marcus shrugs. “Not really. They all want to date the drummer or the singer.”

“Really? Not the sexy bass player?”

Marcus takes too large of a sip of his drink and coughs, pounding his chest. “No, not the…you think I'm sexy?”

I set my fork down and meet his eyes. “If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here.”

We spend several moments, just looking at each other and then I remember that he's not a simulation but a real person on the other end of those eyes. My heart squeezes thinking about how it won't actually be Marcus. Despite that thought, we really get along well and the conversation flows freely between us. Sooner than I’d like, we’re leaving the small diner, heading back to my place. Marcus parks in my driveway and turns to me, his eyes bright and wide like a damn puppy. We had been talking about books, one of my favorite topics.

“..and I know everyone complains that Tolkien takes 20 pages to describe a flower, but I really love that attention to detail. It makes it more immersive for me. One of these days I’ll get you to read Lord of the Rings!” I tap my fingers on his bicep to emphasize my point.

Marcus rubs his neck. “I uh…I already have.”

My jaw drops. “What? When??”

“When you told me it was your favorite book. Or books, I should say.”

I think back. “Marcus, that was…months ago!”

His eyes meet mine, the light from the street lamp outside adding a sparkle to them. “You said they were your favorite so…I read them.”

My stomach does flips, my heart beating. “You read them all for me?”

He nods. “Even the Silmarillion.”

I can’t help it. This is so fucking hot. I reach out and grip his shirt, pulling him to me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the heat between us quickly rising. His large hand cradles the back of my head, holding me to him as his other hand settles on my hip, squeezing it lightly. We make out for several minutes, Marcus kissing and nipping a path down my neck. 

“Do you want to come in?” I ask breathlessly. 

He pulls back and looks at me. “I do but-” he whispers. “Are we allowed?”

“I…I’m not sure. We could try to-” 

But then my vision starts to blacken around the edges, and before I pass out, I hear Marcus say “See you in the next one!” before we both black out.

—----

Now familiar with the way I wake in these simulations, I wiggle my fingers and toes, giving myself a moment to figure out where I am. The room looks…ok, this isn’t from my time. Roman decor and pillars line the grand bedroom, some food laying on a small table for, I’m assuming, me. A quick glance down shows me in a beautiful white garb and I marvel for a moment at how clean it is. 

BOOM!

The ground shakes and I duck down, completely caught off guard. It’s only after the boom dies down that I hear it - the distant sound of clanking swords and men yelling. I walk to the small window set into the wall and look out, my brain taking a moment to process the scene in front of me. 

I’m several floors up in a sort of round building, a castle I realize as I see the lower tiers, more square in their shape. I’m sure the grounds would have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the massive amounts of soldiers fighting in the streets. I can make out their bodies, the blood, sweat, and dirt spreading almost like a disease. Spear and swords burst from chests or stomachs, limbs separating from their bodies to be lost to the throngs of soldiers. The seem to be moving closer to the castle, which I’m not sure if I want to happen or not. Turning on my sandaled heel, I walk to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to listen. Hearing nothing, I try to open it. Nothing. The door doesn’t open or move, the handle locked into place.

Well, fuck. 

Before I can try and figure out how far down the next ledge is out the window, or if I can even fit out the window, I hear a commotion outside my door. It’s not loud, but I hear a man gurgling and sputtering, a small bit of crimson blood pooling under the door. I grab an iron rod by the fire and hold it up, preparing to defend myself. I know they said I can’t be hurt but damn this feels real. The door opens and a man walks through, wide, muscular shoulders under his Roman armor, Medusa proudly engrained on the front. I lunge, the iron rod above my head but the man turns and grabs the rod and I  would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught me.

“Ivy! Here you are!” 

It’s him. Marcus. Only he’s older, probably closer to 50. Grey streaks in his curls and patchy facial hair only accentuate his beauty, a new scar forming across his nose, bleeding lightly down his face. He’s covered in dirt and blood and ash, but I throw my arms around him anyway.

“Marcus! Thank God, what’s going on?”

He cups my face, pushing my hair out of my face. “You are so beautiful, my love. I would bring every army from the entire world to rescue you from this horrid Emperor.” And then his lips are on mine, urgency behind them, but a desire to show me how l much I am loved. This man apparently started the battle outside, for me, and still wants to make sure that I know how important I am to him? 

“We have to flee. Come!” But before we can leave, the door flies open and 5 guards file in, grabbing Marcus and holding his arms out to his sides. I pick the iron rod up from the floor and run towards them, unsure of what I would do but I know I’ll beat the shit out of them until they let him go. But another hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it hard so I drop the rod. I look up into the eyes of a man that I’m assuming is the Emperor, his golden robes flowing around him. He looks vaguely familiar, like that one asshole from the comic shop.

“Now, now my dear. What were you planning on doing with that?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then he smacks me across the face and I slam down onto the floor. Ok, that hurt. Didn’t she say I wouldn’t get hurt? Maybe she meant I wouldn’t die. Marcus swears, cursing the Emperor for hitting me. 

“Are you alright, my love?” Marcus grunts as the men punch him in the stomach. 

“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. You’re kind are dying out. I told you to just accept your fate and take your banishment, but instead, you stayed behind and fell in love with a woman. How…stupid.” Marcus tries to speak but he’s punched again, his body hunching over. I try to stand, but then I’m drug up by my hair, the Emperor’s fingers digging at my scalp as he pulls me to his side. 

“This one?” His eyes rake over my body. “She is attractive, I’ll give you that. Even if she is attracted to a brute like you.” I jerk my body, trying to get out of his grip but it’s too tight, my hands gripping his arms to try and get some relief from the stinging at the back of my scalp.

“Let her go. You can kill me, I don’t care, but let her go.”

The Emperor looks from me to Marcus, a sick smile spreading on his face. “I didn’t go through the trouble of kidnapping her just to have you give up. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do instead. LOOK AT ME!” The Emperor bellows from beside me, Marcus’s eyes moving from mine to his. 

He steps closer to Marcus, dragging me a little beside him. “Such a wild man. How about this: you watch as I take her. Then, I’ll drive my sword through her belly so she can slowly bleed out on the floor. Only after the light has left her eyes will I either kill you or lock you up to suffer the rest of your days. How does that sound?”

The darkness that settles over Marcus is unforgiving, his eyes hardening in resolution. He growls and screams, throwing the soldiers off him as he grabs his sword from the ground, swinging it and taking out all of the soldiers in only a handful of moves. He spins, aiming his sword at the Emperor, who has now moved me in front of him as a human shield, a knife to my throat. 

“I’ll kill her, Marcus! You are too weak to save her!”

Marcus’s gaze moves briefly to mine and I release my weak grip on the Emperor’s arms, letting them fall to my side. Marcus shifts his body ever so slightly before he throws something from behind his back. The object whizzes past my cheek, scratching it slightly as the blade buries itself in the Emperor’s neck. He drops his knife and clutches at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. He crumbles to the floor and sputters for several moments before his body stops moving. I run to Marcus, throwing my arms around him again. He grunts and I remember the soldiers hitting him.

“Are you hurt?”

He clutches his side. “I’ve had worse.”

“You are so fucking hot right now,” I speak quietly to him and he smiles. “I’m covered in dirt and blood and sweat.”

“Stop trying to turn me on more I already said you’re hot.”

He laughs but then inhales sharply at the pain. “I’ll take it, I guess.”

“No, that’s my job.” I bring my lips to his, pushing him back towards the chaise lounge chair on the other side of the room. He sits, pulling me onto his lap as I straddle him, my dress getting dirty as I shift my hips. He groans, his large hands sliding up my bare thighs under my dress and fuck! My vision starts to blacken and I hear Marcus whine out some expletives as we both are brought out of the simulation. 

—---------------------------

Hopefully for the last time, I blink awake, wiggling my fingers and toes as I look around the room. The helmet is gently lifted from my head and the woman that had put it on me moves into my eyesight.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Wait just a moment for your body to fully catch up. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah why did you stop us having sex?”

She studies me for a moment. “It is not allowed in the programming.”

“I cross my arms. “Well your programming is stupid.”

She chuckles so quietly I thought I’d imagined it. “The algorithm wants you and your mate to match based on personality and emotions, not just physical.”

“I can guarantee you it wasn’t just physical.” 

She helps me stand and I shake my limbs out, full feeling returning to them. I smooth out my dress as she readjusts my hair. “Are you ready to meet him?”

Him. My reality man. “Y..yeah.” 

“Right through that door. He’s already waiting for you.” I move towards the door but she stops me. “I just have to say, I’ve been doing this for years and I’ve never seen a situation like yours and his.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

So smiles softly. “So…rooted in reality.”

Yeah that’s not confusing. But she doesn’t explain further, turning back to the chair and helmet, starting to clean them. I take a deep breath to steady myself and open the door, walking through and closing it behind me. The man on the other side of the room, my mate, turns towards me and we both gasp.

“Marcus?”

“Ivy?”

We meet in the middle of the room and I cup his face, Marcus tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is it really you?”

He nods. “Yeah. You? Real?”

“Real.”

He pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply, but then pulling back a moment later. 

“I’ve been dying to ask you out since forever. I never thought I’d be paired with you, here of all places.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“Have you seen yourself? You’re entirely out of my league.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s the other way around.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I put my finger on his lips. “I think we went through several first dates in there. Plus, we’re already friends. Can we…that is, can you take me back to your place first? Then we can eat?”

Marcus’s eyes darken, his hands finding a place on my hips as he pulls me against his body, letting me feel how into that idea he is. 

We’re married a year later.

—----

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[jolalibrary]

make me like the holidays

marcus pike x f!reader | marcus masterlist

written for 12 Days of Pedro

summary: you're not the biggest fan of the holidays, so marcus makes it his mission to change that with a christmas market and a gift you have to wear.

wordcount: 3.6k warnings: smutty-themes, a teeny bit of orgasm denial, you consent to wear a vibrator controlled by marcus, vibrator worn in public, outdoor orgasm, christmas themes, marcus being a tease, his dimples, his smile, him.

an: huge thank you to @hellishjoel for asking me to be a part of this, and to @thetriumphantpanda for holding my hand, answering questions about warnings, and reading this as i shoved it at her face.

“So, what? You just don’t like the holidays?”

Snorting, you slide your fork around your bowl, licking your lips.

Because you knew eventually this would come up.

"I didn't... say that," you reply, averting your eyes. Mouth opening, closing again, unsure where to begin.

How to start.

How to begin to explain the odd feeling you get around this festive time of year. How your eyes don’t light up at tall Christmas trees, and instead your heart sinks whenever you see one of those adverts where the family all meet excitedly for the holidays.

It doesn’t matter how you dress it up—whether you hang tinsel or baubles—it always seems like an odd time of year. And because of that, It makes people pity you, aww at you, feel compelled to leave candy canes on your desk and purposefully add you to their Christmas card list, as though it's going to fix the decades of memories.

Placing your fork down, and you sigh. “I guess. I-I just don’t get super excited for it.”

Marcus is already thinking—you can tell.

The faintest line begins to appear between his brows, deepening the more he stares, drowning you in a brown you’re forever grateful to get the chance to wake up to every, single, day.

Leaning across the breakfast bar, he smirks—all devil, no angel. “I think I could change that.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

Nodding, his breath dances over your skin—all tantalising—before he softly slants his lips over yours, biting carefully on the bottom of your lip.

“That how you’re going to convince me, Pike—using underhand tactics such as your mouth?”

Snorting, he leaves his fingers lingering under your chin. “That’s a last resort. I think I can convince you in other ways to see how magical it can be with me.”

“You sound very confident.”

He smiles, and it makes something twist inside of you—a worry growing there, planting itself, all ready to grow into something ugly that he’ll eventually see. Be the thing at the top of the list when he inevitably realises he can do better than you.

Stroking your skin, he sighs. Not heavy, nor soft. Something in the middle. “I’m still going to love you if you hate the holidays, baby.”

Smiling, you look down at the counter—the one the two of you eat at whenever you can now, taking what hours you can have together.

“I promise,” he whispers. “But, you think you can let me try and make it special for you? Show you that there’s nothing quite like a Pike Christmas?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a heavy sigh, meeting his eyes—somehow feeling yourself fall even deeper in love with him when you do.

“How can I say no to such an offer.”

Bundled up, wrapped in layers—including his scarf—your gloved hand slides into his, fingers awkwardly trying to find the home between his, almost wanting to pout at the fact you couldn’t feel his palm against yours.

“Comfortable?”

There’s a sparkle to his eye, made worse by the smirk that accompanies it. The one you imagine he’s been wearing since he’d handed you the bag stuffed with tissue, arms folding as he leans in the doorway.

It’s a little bit of fun, he had said.

Your fingers unfold it, unwrapping it free as your eyes immediately land on the box containing the little purple device and its remote.

“I know the season isn’t your favourite thing, but I thought this might make it more enjoyable.”

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at the box.

“Thought it could give you something to be excited about,” he adds, tone shifting—more silky than normal. “Now, whether you’re on the nice or naughty list today, is down to you.”

"Oh, Santa Pike. Please put me on the good girls list."

Grinning, his fingers slid over your jaw as he kissed you, "I think you'd prefer to be on my naughty list, baby."

Now, that same purple, unboxed gift is resting against you, flush. Stuffed and held in position by the underwear he helped you choose—the lace of it keeping it very much in place. And while it isn’t currently switched on, but you know he could change that at any moment—the remote buried in his pocket, all within his grasp.

A thought which makes heat lick up your spine and an ember of worry knot in your stomach—

At any point you change your mind, you tell me, baby. You hear me? Just say the word.

Clearing your throat, you curl into his arm, staring up at him—watching him take in the run of wooden huts, fairy lights and overt cheer.

“Let me guess, you have a to-do list for today?”

Smirking, his arm comes around you keeping you close, before he pinches your side. “No. We’re gonna see what we get up to.”

Squinting playfully, you brush the edge of his stubbly chin. “I’m not buying it. You have a plan.”

Shaking his head, his teeth tease his lip, nose almost flush with yours. “No plan—just want a lovely day with my girl…”

Hovering your lips over his. “But?”

His eyes slowly close, nose scrunching—lips spreading into the biggest, most foolish smile. “We have to start with a festive drink—”

“I fucking knew it, Pike. Fine, come on.”

But, he doesn’t let you budge, not even as you grumble, grasping your hips, yanking you close.

He gives you a look, a pointed one—all accompanied by a grin. It’s all shit-eating, spreading delightfully up into his cheeks. One you’d usually brush over with the pads of your index fingers.

"You don't sound like you're having a good time, baby."

"Marcus..."

You don’t move them this time—leave them on his waist. Feeling his hand slide into his pocket. And you brace.

It’s the only way you’re able to stifle the soft moan which attempts to slide through your teeth and burn the air as it buzzes. Light, but good. Your breath was suddenly a challenge to find, made worse by his watchful stare.

Lashes fluttering, gloved fingers gripping into the side of his jacket as you let your breath paint against his neck. It’s all building—layering itself on thickly atop the earlier ‘testing’ he had done earlier. When you had whined his name, been tempted to shed the many layers and keep warm in an entirely different way with him.

“That feel good?” he asks, low, breathy—only able to formulate a nod.

Then, it stops.

Blinking, your thoughts suddenly cleaner, more appropriate—things beginning to speckle back into your mind.

“Kiss?” he asks, the request falling from his tongue like silk.

“Depends how good the drink is.”

It turns out, it’s delicious.

Marcus had practically whispered the name of the drink he recommended into your ear—having likely noticed the overwhelmed expression slowly etching into your face.

Trust me his expression reads, as if you’d ever trust anyone else.

As soon as the taste of his recommendation met your tongue, your body almost welcomed the season with open arms. Your groan wasn't even buried as your eyes widened at the taste, at him for suggesting it—watching him smirk before he looped his arm around your waist.

“Thoughts?”

Smiling, you almost reply that you like being close to him, preferably forever choosing to be pressed close to him. You find it calming, suddenly no problems ever seem that big when he’s next to you.

Swallowing that, you glance at him, knowing it would be easy to fight the smirk. To act placid, add a shrug, sell it. But, his eyes have widened a fraction, pupils a mere dot in a sky of brown, with the reflection of the lights acting like stars.

The hope etched into his expression is what puts the final nail in your attempt at nonchalance.

“It’s good.”

Brows rising, he grins. “Yeah?”

Nodding, you take another sip. The flavours of the hot chocolate coating your mouth as you slide your arm around his waist. The feel of his lips against your forehead spreading an additional warmth through you, that the drink would never have available.

You’re almost sad when it ends.

Not that he lets you sit in that. Quickly, he takes your cup from you, placing both in a nearby trash can, before he’s pulling you back to him. For the briefest of moments, you just stare, admiring the way you see the outline of yourself in the pool of his eyes, the way you get to witness the way his adoration spreads across his face—all lit up by swinging fairy lights in the gentle, winter breeze.

“Got cream on your lip, baby,” he whispers, tongue swiping across your bottom lip—nowhere close to the site he pointed out.

And then you feel it again.

The thrum which spreads through you, is pressed against your bundle of nerves, making your thighs quake on fixed and solid ground. With the addition of his mouth on yours, the waves lap more feverishly, it all building, all desperate to crash.

Your fingers grasp onto him, teeth piercing into his bottom lip as he kisses you, letting you bury a moan into his mouth—and Marcus is happy to swallow it. Gleefully getting to feel and taste the way he makes you feel as your walls flutter, tightening—wishing for more. Needing more. Almost begging for it when you catch his gaze.

“You know how good you look right now?”

And then it stops. Your breath hitching. Skin prickling with warmth as you let a gasp escape—it weaving into the air, encased in vapour as you blink.

“W-what’s next?”

He grins, it rising up until his dimple appears. His palm flattening to the back of your coat, fingers sliding in pulses.

“Thought we could pick decorations for our tree.”

Brows raising, you turn your head, looking at him, finding him already watching you. Something is spreading in you, a symbolic bandage extending out from his touch to around the places warped and scarred from years of bad memories.

“Our?”

Kissing your head again, you hear him repeat that one word: our.

Just like he had done when he’d moved the last box of yours, you asking whether his place would get your favourite burgers delivered—ours, baby. Ours. It felt it, too. He’d made sure of that. Created space on shelves, and moved ornaments from their homes to allow yours to have a place.

So, it wasn’t out of reach he’d do the same with his holiday, his tradition.

“What if you hate my taste?”

Snorting, he brushes your cheek. “You know I love the way you taste.”

Rolling your eyes, he laughs.

“I could never hate your taste, baby. I love everything about you.” His hand drops, and he takes a sip of his drink as you do the same. “Plus, you chose me. Can’t be all bad.”

He’s kind to you when you’re handling the baubles, even more, when the two of you wander hand-in-hand through tightly packed huts.

Your hands point out things, not just for the two of you, but for others—his parents, a friend. It allows your guard to drop, and your brain to temporarily forget the device resting snugly against the swollen nerves desperate for him—even if you’re aware of how soaked your underwear is. How it clings, how it brushes nicely against you when the two of you walk from place to place.

Marcus becomes less kind when you’re in the queue for a sugary snack, your mouth busy explaining to him where you best think the tree can go in his place—a thing he corrects to ours at every chance he can.

“You almost sound like you’re getting into all of this.”

Smiling, you rest your head against his shoulder in the line. “Maybe it’s the company.”

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice low, the corner of your eye-catching his other hand sliding into his pocket. “Could be that.”

“Marcus.”

He just raises his brow, a sly smirk passing over him, before you feel him flick it on. “How else are you going to remember that it’s our place, baby?”

Every nerve, the ones previously all frayed, now lit up—just like the tree in the centre of the market. Your mind empties with a press of a button, fingers sliding inside his open coat, grasping for him—for grip.

“You excited about the holidays now?”

Fuck, you hate him, because yes—if it’s like this you’ll forever adore Pike holidays. You’ll wish for them, count down to them on your calendar. Ticking off in red pen, making a point to excitedly cross each one of them off.

Because the two of you haven’t even put the tree up yet.

There’s still so much prep, so much you suspect he wants to replace with good, better—more excitable—memories.

“Bet you’re wet,” he whispers.

And you glare at him, unsure if it’s with adoration or anger. Both merging, swirling—concocting into something you can’t stifle as your cheeks warm and your ears burn. Because there are people around—families, small children.

“Take me home,” you plead. “Please?”

Pressing your thighs together you find only makes it worse. The pulses are far more forceful, and better aimed directly at the already needy parts of you.

The ones which he’s usually so attentive with, barely keeping you like this, all wanting and not satisfied. Marcus barely lets the knot in your stomach tighten usually, but now, you think he’s having fun with it. Likely admiring the way your pupils are swallowing colour and a sheen is crossing over the skin on show. Because you’re warm, too hot— there are too many fucking layers and not enough of him pressed against you—

“Need you, Marcus.”

His fingers brush against your chin, aiding you to take a step forward as the queue moves. “I know, but be good for me.” His mouth close to your ear, hand impossibly tight on your hip—keeping you pressed against him, able to lean, let him take your weight as your legs shake. “You deserve this—”

Your lips part, and all attempts at levelling your breathing fail, falling away from your grip. Feeling the focus on the surroundings fading, black spots appearing—this game of taunt and tease having made you so impossibly shaky on your legs.

And he turns it up.

Moves it to the next one up, an up-and-down kind of vibration. It feels good, but then it lessens—a momentary break, a chance to mumble his name less in a whine—before it returns like a second wave.

It pulsing. Something akin to a rollercoaster, a high and a low—it comes around in slow circles that makes it hard to know whether you’re close to coming or growing more frustrated.

“You want something with chocolate or prefer just sugar?”

You try to speak, mouth moving close to his ear, but only a moan escapes. Low, coming from somewhere deep in your soul as his grip tightens on your hip. The speed slowed for a moment, likely settling itself up to do another build-up.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

Your legs are unstable, more jelly than muscle and bone. It’s all too much, but not quite enough either—just needing that fraction more to stop teetering on the edge and fall over, filling with bliss, and pleasure.

Each time he slides his hand over your hip or back, you have to swallow a whimper of his name. Dangling against the edge, dangerously so—only one little push and you’d be falling, freely, willingly, likely moaning and making an embarrassment of yourself so close to Santa’s fucking grotto.

“If,” you begin, hand to his chest, fingers trying to find skin, something, anything, his still around your waist, practically bruisingly, clutching the many paper bags against you, “we go home now, we might have time to put the tree up.”

You watch him smirk, how it hits his eyes—making the twinkling lights pale under the brightness of his expression.

“Then,” you continue, lips sliding close to his ear, “you can—shit—do something no one has ever done.”

He swallows, loudly—not even swallowed by the choir. “What’s that?”

Smiling, licking your lips. “Fuck me under it.”

Pinching your side, you swear you hear him grunt.

You barely register that you’re being dragged, hip to his, being led—the little device working its magic against your drenched cunt as you pass by choir singers and a person dressed like an elf until it’s suddenly quieter.

Bags dropped to the side of you, back pressed against the side of a hut—the roof casts a shadow over his face, but his eyes still shine. They’re bright and alert. Drinking you in like you’re the only thing that he can see, ever wants to see.

"No one can see us, I promise."

You believe him. It's the only reason you allow yourself to release a pathetic moan before your fingers dig into his pocket. Searching through receipts and his phone, finding it. The thing which weighs more than gold to you, the remote that has the chance to make or break you right now.

It clicks with such ease.

Every muscle in your tightens, your eyes clench shut, all but vanishing winter wonderland from sight and painting a new picture on the back of your lids. Him—naked. Stood all soft muscles and his signature smirk. His room—ours, you hear it in your head, ours baby, ours—surrounding you.

You’re on fire.

Cracking an eye open, finding him watching—in awe, captivated like you’re a sight to behold. And maybe, clutching the remote in your hand, you were. Maybe you were illuminated in a heavenly glow and looking as though you could melt the fake snow around the two of you—you feel you could, anyway, just from the look he wears.

The fact the two of you are just focused, lost in only the other as he keeps you against the side of the empty hut—thankful, happy, that at least one of the stalls hadn’t opened so you couldn’t be heard being held against it, mind being lost to the buzzing in your underwear.

“Who knew you were so dirty?”

“You love it,” you moan, ghosting your lips over his.

Needing a little more, craving a little more.

Please, please, please you think over and over.

He takes it from your shaking fingers, sliding his knee between your thighs—pressing it more defiantly against you, flush, likely feeling the vibrations through his bones as you moan his name. Sketch it into the air, write it there, never wishing it would fade—

More, Marcus. Please, baby. Please.

You’re aching. Your ears flood with buzzing as liquid heat spreads through you when he clicks once, twice—thrice. Landing on a setting he must have seen in the instructions.

And it’s bliss.

It’s mind-melting, muscle surrendering. Your hand cupping the side of his neck, nails digging in, needing to feel him, know he’s there—wishing it was his fingers, wishing he was heavy against you. That weight you crave, that sensation of just him.

Close, so close—

You say it like he wouldn’t know. Like you can’t feel the way he’s looking for signs across your face, likely knowing more about how close you are than you even do. He spends enough time making you feel good. Too good to you, always has been, ever since the moment the two of you met, and you’re grateful, happy, content, fucking over the moon, sun and stars—

“What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you whine.

Just you, only you. Only ever you.

The coil in your stomach tightens, the knot having formed something which can shatter with far too much ease, and it does shatter.

You snap. Break. Fall apart.

He drags your face against his neck, letting you curse, and moan. His name crying out from your lips, until it falls in softer waves from your tongue, splaying across his skin, tattooing him. Squirming close to him, suddenly at ease, shoulders sliding from your ears.

“Marcus,” you whine, differently.

And you’re grateful it stops, him switching it off—a grin breaking out in its wake. Your breath slowly comes back to you, your chest unloosening from trying to bury all your pants.

That’s when you’re finally able to take him in and see the way he’s still staring, so lost in you. His mouth parted, the softest smile trying to stitch into his cheeks, eyes moving around the features of your face.

You just let him stare, and he lets you gaze. Only blinking, letting the rest of the world in when you hear a bunch of kids walk past the end of the hut, loudly laughing.

“I think I could like a Christmas with you.”

Grinning, he pockets the remote, his hand coming to your cheek. “Yeah? I told you I’d make it special for you.”

Nodding, you kiss him. Soft at first, before it deepens, nipping at his bottom lip—finding yourself meeting the hut again, his palm beside your head, able to taste the sweetness of his drink from earlier, the cream, chocolate and ginger—

“I was serious…” you mumble, “earlier.”

Pausing, he lifts his head.

“About the tree, what we could do under it.” Sliding your hand down his front, you cup him, feeling how hard he is, fingers sliding either side of him. “Think you deserve a special day too.”

“Really?”

Biting your lip, you nod, slowly at first—then more purposefully.

“Fuck, I love you, baby.”

an: merry pike christmas ;)

[pedroscurls]

second chances | pt. 1

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: After a stressful past couple of days at work, Marcus is ready to spend his day off relaxing. Until he gets a new neighbor asking for his help. Word count: 1.3k  A/N: I've become a Marcus Pike girlie and I can't go back now. Don't even get me started on Lisbon... So, I decided that Marcus Pike deserves a happy ending. Stay tuned and enjoy! Warning: None.  SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

Since moving to Washington DC – alone – Marcus has busied himself with work. Long hours in the office. Late nights. Barely any sleep. It was his way of distracting himself from the fact that Lisbon had chosen Jane over him. Marcus wasn’t a jealous man, but he was filled with frustration at himself for seeing a future with someone who was so obviously in love with someone else. 

Marcus was never going to be the one Lisbon chose. 

And he should have known better. 

Now, after six months of being in DC, Marcus’s colleagues finally convinced him to take the next couple of days off. Each day was getting better and better, but the pain still lingered. 

He wakes that morning to the sound of a knock at his door. Marcus looks at the time; he’s usually awake and out of the door by six, but with today being his first day off, he had decided to sleep in a little bit. It’s only eight in the morning and Marcus wonders if he just stays in bed that maybe the person knocking on his door would just leave and after a few minutes, the knocking stops. 

With a relieved sigh, Marcus sits up from bed and decides to get ready for the day. He isn’t yet sure what he has planned, but he does know that he wants to keep to himself, to minimize the amount of people he would need to talk to as much as possible. He stands from his bed and stretches his arms above his head, dressed in a white v-neck and plaid boxers. 

“Coffee,” he mumbles to himself. “First thing’s first, need coffee.” Marcus runs a hand over his hair and walks out of his bedroom to the kitchen, beginning to make a pot of coffee for himself. 

He looks around and lets out a sigh. He had imagined that his life in DC would be different, that he’d be with Lisbon, that she’d give more life into this home, but instead, he’s standing alone in a very bland and basic apartment. It has a nice view, but how nice could it be if you can’t share it with anyone else?

He walks to his patio and opens the sliding door. Marcus can hear the sounds of cars – honking and speeding – as it passes below him. He glances over to his right and Marcus can hear the chatter from his neighbor. He doesn’t remember someone living next to him, so he just assumes that it’s someone new moving in. Marcus just hopes that this new neighbor of his won’t keep him up at night. 

His mind drifts to Lisbon and Marcus wonders what she’s doing. Her green eyes and smile had captured his attention from the moment he laid eyes on her. Marcus was sure that what he had with her was real, that it would be his second chance at love after his failed marriage, and for a while, Marcus believed that his life would be different when Lisbon agreed to move in with him to DC, then agreed to marry him. 

Marcus never wanted to let her go. 

His thoughts are interrupted when the coffee pot goes off and the knocking on his door begins again. Marcus figures that the person wouldn’t leave until he answers, so he walks towards his door and opens it. His eyes soften instantly at the sight of you and he’s now become so aware of what he’s wearing. 

“Um–”

“Hi, I’m so sorry. I know it’s early and you’re probably getting ready for work, but I’m having trouble with moving my bed through the door and I just–” you take a deep breath, realizing that you must be rambling and that you’re asking a complete stranger to help you move. 

“Let me start over,” you say. “Hi. Good morning. I’m your new next door neighbor,” you laugh nervously and then tell him your name. 

The corner of Marcus’s lips lifts upwards and he nods, looking over your shoulder at the large bed that’s leaning against the wall. “Nice to meet you. I’m Marcus.” Then, he points to your bed. “You sure that’s gonna fit?” 

“A bit too late for that, I think.” You blush. “I should have just hired movers, but I thought I could do this myself.”

“You’re in luck,” he chuckles. “It’s my day off and I have no plans whatsoever, so I’m happy to give you a hand. Let me just get dressed and I’ll be right out.” 

Then, you look down at his frame and realize what he’s wearing. Your eyes slightly widen and the blush on your cheeks redden even further. “Oh right! I’m so sorry. I’ll just–” you clear your throat and point over your shoulder, turning on your heel and tripping over your feet. “See you in a bit.”

Marcus quietly chuckles to himself. He finds your clumsiness cute and he gives you one more glance before he shuts his door. He walks back into his bedroom and slips into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Marcus walks back into his kitchen and grabs two mugs, pouring the coffee he made into each cup before he walks out of his apartment. When he looks up at you, he smiles when he sees you trying to make the bed fit into the door all by yourself. 

Eager, he thinks to himself. And independent. 

“Hey,” Marcus calls out softly. “Here, take a break.” He hands you a mug of coffee. 

You look up at him and smile, taking the mug from his hand and leaning against the wall with a sigh. “You’re amazing, thank you.” 

“So, it’s just you moving in?” Marcus asks, sipping his cup of coffee.

“Yeah. I got a new job teaching kindergarten at a nearby private school, so…” You take a careful sip of the coffee and look down at your feet. 

“Well, welcome to the club. I just moved here about six months ago.” 

“From where?” 

“Texas, you?” 

“California.” Then, you raise your mug and gently tap it with his, smiling up at him. “Cheers to us newbies here in DC.” 

Marcus chuckles. “Cheers to that.” 

You drink about half of the coffee before you set it down. You then clasp your hands together and look up at him with a hopeful look in your eyes. “You ready?” 

He smiles to himself. “That was barely a break.”

“It was five minutes, that was enough.” 

Marcus chuckles. He finds that it’s easy to talk to you and he’s beginning to enjoy being around you, even if he just met you ten minutes ago. “Alright, you’re the boss.” 

It takes you and Marcus the next half hour to bring your king-sized bed into your apartment and then into your bedroom. Your apartment is a bit smaller than his, but it might also be because of the amount of boxes scattered around. Once you and Marcus set your bed the way you want it to in your bedroom, you lead him back outside to your living room and plops down onto the couch. 

“So, uh, I should get going and–” 

“Wanna grab breakfast?” you interrupt him. “Sorry. If you have something to do, that’s okay. I appreciate all your help, Marcus.” 

Marcus wants so badly to say yes, to get to know more about you, but he has to remind himself that this is what happened last time with Lisbon. He’s sure that love and being in a relationship is no longer something he’s interested in. 

“I actually have to go into the office,” Marcus lies. “But rain check?” 

You nod and stand from the couch to walk him out of your apartment. You smile up at him and then reach down to grab the two mugs that were left in the hallway. You hand it over to him and stare into his eyes. “Next time, I’ll bring coffee to you.” 

Marcus smiles and takes the two mugs. “Sounds like a plan.” 

“Thank you again, Marcus.”

Marcus nods and then begins walking towards his apartment before he turns around and faces you. He’s a few feet away from you and you’re about to walk into your apartment before he stops you and says, “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

—

next.

[creedslove]

Which one of Pedro's characters would cry out the hardest when their baby gets his/her vaccination ??

A/N: I think we all know that, right anon?! 😜

• Marcus Pike

Marcus would cry so much the moment he sees his precious little baby getting vaccinated; in fact, anything that goes on is enough to make him weep. He's been emotional ever since he found out he would be a dad, and every single milestone would be enough to make him cry. So imagine him seeing it's vaccination day, on one hand he would be happy and excited because he knows it's important for his baby to get the shots and be healthy, on the other hand, he gets all emotional because A) times flying too fast and his baby is already growing up - yeah, he is that dramatic. And B) the baby is gonna cry

And let me tell you besties, the baby will cry and Marcus will cry along. He won't be embarrassed about it at all, if he hears his baby wailing, he will feel like his own heart has been pierced through his chest.

But in the end, he will hold his sweet little baby Pike in his arms and soothe her until she's deeply asleep

• Joel Miller

Okay, so Joel is an experienced father, he's had his little Sarah and he is going to get his shit together when you two vaccinate your baby, right?

Wrong.

Joel is very sensitive when it comes to babies, because it's just an innocent little baby getting a shot, even if it's necessary, it hurts Joel's big old heart. He doesn't like hearing his baby cry in pain, just as he hated when the same happened to Sarah and he will definitely hate it when it happens to his grandbabies and so on... But, he's a good husband and father and he knows he must take his baby to get his vax and be there to support you (but you know deep inside you're the one supporting him)

Joel is strong, and he's going to talk the baby through:

"come on baby girl, be strong for dada..."

OR

"let's go Sammy, you can do it, you're daddy's big boy!"

And of course that once it's done, Joel will tell his baby how proud he is, and you're also gonna tell Joel how proud you are of him and you'll pretend you don't see how teary eyed he is ❤️

____

[absurdthirst]

The Wolf in the Woods {Werewolf!Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.4k

Warnings: Oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, wildlife, secrets, werewolves, monster fucking, werewolf tongue, werewolf cock, rough sex, harsh sex, cream pie

Comments: You finally convince Marcus to take you up to his remote cabin in the mountains. Not realizing that there is something in the woods. Something that has Marcus chaining the cabin doors shut to keep out.

**Monster fucking! Don't like it, don't read**

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Come on baby, it’ll be perfect. Me, you, alone for the first time in forever.” You plead your case over the phone, slightly annoyed that your boyfriend had to cancel yet another date but you don’t try to take it out on him. He’s the in-charge agent, the department head of Art Crimes. You know his job is stressful. “We can relax, sleep in.” You hum suggestively. “Spend all day in bed if we want to. I know you’ve been so busy, a weekend at that cabin of yours would be wonderfully refreshing for us both. I’ll even do all the cooking.”

Marcus smiles against the other home at the thought of you and him curling up in bed all day. Something neither of you have the luxury of due to your demanding jobs and Marcus yearns for that kind of intimacy. He pulls up the lunar chart to see when the full moon is. Shit, it’s on Saturday. He will be in transition all weekend. It’s only once a month but he has to be careful with his more feral nature around you. He bites his lip, wondering if he can lock himself out while he transitions. You are getting frustrated with him and he doesn’t want to make you walk away because he keeps flaking on you. You don’t know about his true nature and he wants to keep it that way. “Or not.” You say due to his silence and he can hear the disappointment in your voice and he knows he can’t say no. 

“Okay baby. This weekend. You wanna come to mine on Friday after work and then we can head over there? Get groceries on the way? It’s not stocked up.”

You smile, relieved that he’s not blowing you off, afraid that he has been losing interest and is too much of a gentleman to break things off. “That sounds great, we can have a nice, quiet weekend getaway.” You are happy that there’s no chance of starting your period, it’s at least two weeks away so there can be a lot of sex. Having every intention of waking Marcus up with a blow job one morning. “I’ll see you on Friday, baby. Don’t worry about tonight,” you tell him, letting him hang up after a quick goodbye so he could get back to work. 

**** 

Knocking on his door, you bite your lip. The bag slung across your shoulder is filled with lingerie and things to entice your boyfriend and you hope he enjoys the surprise. “Hey baby.” You smile when he opens the door almost as soon as you pull your hand back, like he had been waiting for you.

Marcus is nervous but he’s determined to give you a good time. He does love you. He hasn’t told you yet. He’s too afraid that if he gets too close, you will find out what he truly is. He smiles at you, hoping you don’t realize he’s been standing by the door. He takes your bag, leaning in to softly kiss you. 

“Hey sweetheart. I’ve missed you.” He murmurs, “how was the drive over?”

“It was good.” You feel like Marcus’s scent has changed. It’s muskier, bolder than the normal scent he wears from body wash and cologne. Very primal and you like it. “I was daydreaming about this handsome hunk I’m going away with for the weekend.” You tease, giving him a playful wink.

Marcus inhales your scent and he swallows down the growl that threatens to work its way up his throat. He clears his throat and guides you inside. “You ready to hit the road or do you wanna use the bathroom first?”

“Oh, I probably should.” You lean in and press your lips to his. “I’ll be really quick.” You promise and rush off to the guest bathroom Marcus had down the hall. He’s perfect and you know that you want to tell him that you love him this weekend.

Marcus curls his fingers into fists, trying to stop himself from wanting to give in to the animalistic urges inside of him. The ones that want to claim you as his. He inhales deeply and carries your bag into the garage so he can place it in the trunk of his car. He has the padlocks and chains in the other bag along with his own overnight bag.

Washing your hands quickly, you come out of the bathroom just as Marcus comes in from the garage. “I’m ready whenever you are, baby.” You promise with a smile. “And I have packed a few surprises for you.”

Marcus bites his lip, smirking at you. “Yeah? I can’t wait to see ‘em. Come on. Let’s hit the road. It’s a few hours to get there and I don’t wanna get caught in Friday night traffic.” He opens the passenger door for you, helping you in and as he rounds the car, he exhales shakily, begging himself to be good this weekend. Once the car is out of the garage and he’s certain everything is locked, he hits the gas to get out of D.C.

“So I am hoping you have a grill.” You tell him once he’s off the Highway. “Maybe a couple of steaks tonight or tomorrow?” You ask. 

“Rare.” Marcus nearly growls the request and your eyes widen slightly. 

“Got it. You like your steak rare.” You laugh.

Marcus grips the steering wheel a little too hard and he cracks his neck. “I have a grill. Tonight maybe?” He suggests, his inner wolf growling at the thought of a rare steak. He pushes him down and turns on the radio to distract himself.

“Tonight is good.” Marcus seems a little distracted and you feel bad. Poor man has been overworked for months now. “Some red meat, Some wine, a little sex and then some sleep.” You reach over and lay your hand on his thigh. “Come back from the cabin a new man.”

Marcus chuckles nervously, “I hope.” He reaches for your hand to squeeze it and he brings it up his lips to kiss the back of it. “You’re too good to me.” He murmurs and he sighs when he lowers your hand to squeeze the gear shift with your hand in his.

Your heart melts. “I love you.” You blurt out. It’s not the romantic, sexy way you imagined telling him, but you don’t want him to doubt this for a second. You are completely head over heels for him. “I know it’s odd to say in a car, but I love you Marcus.”

Marcus is taken back by your confession and his heart melts, “I love you too.” He says, turning his head to look at you. “It’s - I wanted to tell you this weekend. Properly. Romantic. But I love you baby.” He smiles at you, kissing your hand again.

“I’m sorry.” You grin, not really sorry for it but you’ll pretend. “I just couldn’t wait. And I don’t know what it is, but you just seem….more dominate today. It’s really sexy and…” you break off, feeling slightly embarrassed by your confession.

Marcus swallows down the growl that threatens to make its way up his throat and he clears it, turning slightly to smirk at you. “Yeah? You like a bit of dominance?” He asks. Your love making so far has been just that. Soft and sensual since Marcus has been trying to conceal his true nature, even biting into the pillow when he has the urge to bite.

“Don’t get me wrong.” You hastily try to reassure him. “I love our sex life. I’m always satisfied with you.” The last thing you want is for Marcus to think you are unhappy. “I just know that exploration is always healthy in a relationship.”

Marcus flusters, knowing you want more from him. He wants to give you more but he’s afraid he’s gonna go too far, lose control. “I know. Maybe this weekend we can experiment a bit.” He compromises, knowing it might be good to let his more animalistic urges come out a little.

You don’t say anything, just lean over in your seat to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to make you the biggest, rarest steak I can find.” You promise happily. “We can split a bottle of wine. Get a little tipsy and then…” you bite your lip. “I want to suck your cock. Let you relax.”

Marcus groans, “you are too fucking good to me, baby. I- shit. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.” He says, flexing his fingers on the wheel as the urge to just pull over and claim you hits him again. The drive isn’t too long to get out of the city and soon enough Marcus is pulling up outside of his cabin in Virginia.

“I’m glad that little grocery store had everything we needed.” You had been impressed by the little country store. It seemed quaint, but inside was a good selection of food, obviously catering to people who weekend up in the mountains. “Oh this is so cute, Marcus.” You coo, taking in the rustic little one bedroom cabin. “No wonder you like to get away up here.”

Marcus smiles, trying not to frown because there’s a reason why he comes here. “Yeah it’s a nice place to escape from the hustle and bustle. I enjoy it.” He hums and kills the engine after parking the car. He gets out and scoots around the car to open your door, still a gentleman despite his biology. “Let me open up and then I’ll grab the bags.” He says and walks over to the door to open up the front door.

He seems distracted and you wonder if he was regretting bringing you. Perhaps his escape from the hustle and bustle also included you. You feel a little guilty for pushing him but you didn’t want to spend another weekend apart. “If you don’t mind, I’ll get started on dinner right away.” You offer.

“Of course babe.” Marcus smiles as he lets you in after unlocking the alarm and he prays you don’t see the scratch marks adorning the door. He should fix those but there’s been no point until now. No one else has ever come out here. He lets you in and rushes out to grab the groceries so you can start dinner right away.

It’s far more simplistic than you imagined and yet, it fits your boyfriend. “It’s rustic.” You remind yourself, knowing that it could be even more so. It could not have electricity or running water. The minimal furniture looks comfortable and you wonder if Marcus just reads or sleeps when he comes up here.

“Yeah it’s uh pretty basic.” Marcus says as he sets the bags down. He got sick of replacing furniture so it’s bare bones but it gets the job done. There’s no TV because he ripped that off the wall the first weekend he stayed in the cabin. “I’ll get our bags.” He says and kisses your forehead before he heads back out to the car.

You hum as you start to organize the groceries, pulling them out of the bags and you frown when you open the refrigerator door. The appliance was completely empty. No old jelly or even a left behind beer. “You weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t stocked.” You shake your head, wondering if he just didn’t keep anything here or if he went out to a local restaurant while he was here. “At least we gave the pans and plates.” You tell him as he comes in. “I don’t mind basic at all. Better for snuggling up to you.”

Marcus leans in to kiss your hair, “exactly. I want this to be a good weekend.” He hopes that down to his core, and he murmurs your name as he takes the milk from your hand to put it away. He wants you to be comfortable here and he’s terrified he’s going to do something wrong. You soon get to work on making dinner and Marcus turns on the radio. “You want some help baby?”

“Would you fire up the grill?” You ask with a grin as you look up from the cutting board. Marcus had grumbled about the vegetables, although he normally is the one to want a salad. It’s cute though. “The steaks are ready to grill.”

Marcus nods, happy to do whatever you want. He wants to make sure you’re happy during your weekend, especially since he doesn’t want you to get suspicious. He playfully smacks your ass as he passes, driven by his instincts as he heads outside to get the grill ready.

“This is going to be good for us.” You smirk as you toss the salad together and take the steaks outside. “Thank you, baby.” You hum as he closes the lid on the grill, all fired up.

Marcus is a good cook, able to grill up some steaks and he makes his extra rare, the rumble in his stomach from both hunger and being restrained. He sets the steaks down on the table when they are done, thanking you for the wine you let breathe. “To us.” He toasts, wanting to make this a good weekend together.

“To us.” You had been surprised when he had taken over grilling, but you don’t complain. It makes it better, fixing a meal together. Cutting into your steak, you groan at the taste. “This is so good, baby.” You praise. “How is yours?”

“Perfect.” He practically growls, almost picking up the steak to tear into it with his teeth but he controls himself. The steak is barely cooked - a minute on each side at most. He tries to swallow down some salad but he’s so starved for meat he ignores most of it.

“Do you want some of mine?” You are startled by how quickly Marcus wolfs down his steak, but maybe he’s really hungry. “I’m stuffed.”

Marcus should tell you no but the steak looks too good so he reaches out to grab it with his hand, barely managing to grab a knife and fork to cut it when he wants to just sink his teeth into it.

“Next time I’ll get another steak.” You promise, smiling indulgently as you watch him eat. There’s something almost animalistic about his hunger and you wonder if he will carry that through to the bedroom tonight.

Marcus groans when he finishes the steak, his stomach full but it’s still not enough. “Thanks for the, uh, salad, baby.” He blushes as he looks down at his uneaten salad on his plate. “Sorry. I just really wanted steak.” He murmurs, cutting his gaze across the room.

“That’s okay.” You shrug and reach across the table to take his plates. “I don’t mind.” Standing up, you smirk. “I’ll get these washed up and meet you in the bedroom?”

Marcus nods, knowing it’s late. You left after work so it’s getting dark and he knows you want him. He can smell it on you. He wants you too, more than you could ever imagine. He growls softly under his breath when you walk into the kitchen and he stands up, not bothering to lock the doors. He will lock them later. He makes his way to the bedroom and works on stripping out of his clothes, leaving him in his boxers.

You bite your lip after you finish washing the dishes. You had let him take the bag into the bedroom, so you can’t surprise him with lingerie, so you just decide to strip down. Knowing that he would never think that was a bad thing. Quickly peeling off your clothes, you saunter towards the bedroom, eager to see his reaction to your need for him.

Marcus sees you as you enter the bedroom and his jaw drops. Fuck, you look delicious. He groans and his cock hardens in his boxers, shifting as he sits on the foot of the bed. “Fuck baby.” He murmurs, his dark eyes drinking you in and he swallows down the urge to grab you and make you his, mark you, claim you.

“I should have thought about getting out the lingerie before you came in here.” You admit, shrugging as you appreciate the possessive look in his eyes. He looks positively feral, like he just wants to eat you up and that makes your pussy throb. “Take off your boxers, baby. I want to suck your cock.”

Marcus groans, working fast to push his boxers down his legs and when you kneel in front of him, his heart pounds in his chest and he struggles to restrain himself. “Baby. You look so pretty like this.” He murmurs as you rub his thighs, looking up at him. He groans when you take his cock into your hand and he growls softly.

You aren’t sure why he’s so growly lately, but don’t mind it at all. The sounds shoot straight to your pussy and you feel yourself growing wetter. Smirking up at him, you keep eye contact as you lean in and press your tongue to the head of his cock.

“Fuckkk.” Marcus hisses, his fingers digging into the sheets and he tries to keep his eyes open as your hot tongue presses against the underside of his cock. “Fuck baby. You- shit.” He hisses, closing his eyes to keep control.

“I want you to relax.” You tell him when you pull your tongue away. Starting to slowly stroke his cock up and down before you take the head back into your mouth.

Marcus is tense, unable to help himself as he tries to control the beast within him. He doesn’t want to hurt you. It’s the last thing he wants. He struggles to not rip the sheets as you take him deeper into your hot mouth, your tongue pressed against him, and his eyes roll back when you hollow your cheeks. “Fuck baby. Jesus.” He hisses as he tries to keep his hips on the bed.

You moan around him and eagerly start to bob up and down on his cock. Wanting to feel the way his thighs tense against your breasts and he growls your name. Wanting to make him cum and fill your mouth.

“Fuck. Oh Christ. It’s so good, baby. Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He groans, his neck tensing as his cock twitches inside of your mouth. He moans your name, rocking up to push his cock deeper down your throat.

Marcus isn't overly thick, but he is long. The thrust up makes you choke slightly but you don't pull away. Making it your mission to take everything he wants to give you this weekend and beg for more. You want to make sure that this cabin and what happens in it is burned in his memory and tied to you. Letting go of his cock, you grip his thighs and let him fuck your mouth as you push down.

Marcus can’t resist, thrusting up into your mouth. He groans your name as you stay still, just letting him fuck your throat. “Fuck baby. I- I’m gonna - shit. Shit. Shit.” He hisses and his ass cheeks clench as his cock twitching, his cum hitting your tongue as you pull your head up.

Your whine is cut off by the cum flooding your mouth. It feels like he’s not cum in a year. Feeling him grab the back of your neck and hold you while his hips rock up. Your cunt is dripping at the rougher treatment. One hand slipping down and rubbing your clit as you swallow him down in big gulps.

“Fuck baby. So good to me.” Marcus hisses as you swallow every drop and his eyes open to find you rubbing your clit. Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. The sheet rips beneath his grip as he shakes through his orgasm. “Get - need to taste you.” Marcus growls as he shifts to lay down on the bed, his cock flopping from your mouth. “Sit on my face.”

You are never one who is shy about taking your own pleasure but this time it’s almost an order that you don’t want to take. To see if he would just grab you. Slowly straddling his chest, you don’t move any closer, looking down and caressing his cheek.

Marcus growls, unhappy with you not sitting on his face. He grabs your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he drags you up his chest and over his face, his tongue diving in to slide through your folds. His growl is muffled as he samples your cunt and he sucks on your clit, ravenous for you.

Squealing in surprise, you grab onto the solid headboard to hang on as Marcus seemingly devours you. “Oh fuck, Marcus.” You moan, head dropping back and body rocking forward as he pulls you closer.

He is like a man starved, his tongue pushing into you as his nose presses against your clit. He groans your name even though you can’t understand it. He wants you. In every damn way he can have you. His fingers dig deeper, certain to leave bruises but he doesn’t care as he wants you to rock on top, take your pleasure.

You start to follow his silent command. Rolling your hips and grinding down onto his face like you are giving his face a lap job. In a way, you are, but you’re too busy massaging your tits while you moan his name again. “Marcus, oh fuck baby, your tongue is so deep.”

Your cry has him smirking against your pussy. His tongue is extra long when he’s close to the full moon and he’s glad he can use what he is for something positive. He groans into you, his nose pressed against your clit. He wants to hear you cry for him. He yearns to hear you scream.

Your eyes slip close and you whimper again and again as you rock your hips over his face. “Oh fuck baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” Panting as you get closer to the orgasm that is building up, your tongue gets looser. “I love you, oh baby, I want you, this forever.”

Marcus’s heart pounds in his chest at your words, loving how passionate you sound as you chase your orgasm. He groans as you rock faster, little whines escaping your lips and he curls his tongue, his fingers shifting to caressing your puckered hole between your cheeks after he spreads them.

“Oh shit.” Your eyes spring open in surprise. Marcus has never even ventured close to your other hole but you don’t mind, “please.” You whimper.

He understands what you need and he pushes his finger inside of you a little, desperately needing you to cum for him. He loves how you taste and how you sound when you cum.

When he slides his tongue deeper, you wail his name. Body convulsing and seizing up as you come apart. Your walls clench down around his tongue and you soak him with your juices.

Marcus laps you up, his cock now hardening at your orgasm. One of the perks of his composition is his ability to recover even as he gets older. "I fucking love you." He groans when you lift up off of him and he kisses your soaked thighs.

“I love you too.” You moan softly, giggling quietly at the post orgasm rush and wiggle down his body to press your lips to his. “Are you ready to fuck me, Agent Pike?”

Marcus nods, feeling loved and yet he’s still feral. Wanting to claim you but he channels his softer side to give you what you need tonight. “Lay down baby.” He says, lifting you off of him and you shift to lay down. He wastes no time kneeling between your legs, his hands sliding along your body until he’s cupping your tits.

Your legs drape onto his hips, eagerly wrapping around him and there’s something different about Marcus. He seems harder, sharper almost in the light of the cabin. Squeezing your tits until you gasp and arch up under his touch. “Take me, baby.” You moan.

Marcus pinches your nipples, getting a little rougher than normal. He shuffles closer on his knees and he grips his cock, pumping himself a few times. "My girl needs me to fuck her?" He coos, asking you as he jerks his cock.

“Yesssss, oh fuck yes.” You whimper, finding it incredibly sexy to watch this man stroke himself so confidently. Whatever is happening, you love it and it is making you desperate for him. “Please baby, fuck me. I need you inside me.”

He doesn’t torture you anymore, knowing he needs to be inside of you. He shuffles even closer to notch the head of his cock at your entrance after swiping it through your folds and he hisses as he pushes into you. You’re so wet. So hot. So tight. He is hesitant to be too rough but his instincts are telling him to just push deep and set a frantic pace until he cums.

The first thrust tells you that this time is going to be different. Marcus is a very careful and thorough lover. Always making sure that you are completely satisfied when you are done, but he’s very restrained. You can tell there are times that he wants to go harder or deeper and even though you assure him you can take it, he doesn’t give in.

He is feral, his chest heaving as he looks down at you. His eyes dark as he twitches deep inside of you. Usually he’d take his time letting you adjust to him but he doesn’t give you that luxury. He starts to move inside of you, harsh thrusts that makes your body jiggle.

Your eyes widen and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he starts to fuck you ruthlessly. Stealing your breath at the brutal pace that makes your entire body lurch up on the bed. “Fuck!” You scream, eyes rolling back from pleasure.

Your scream spurs him on, thrusting harder, his hands grabbing your thighs to lift them higher until he decides to push them back into your stomach. His weight pressing you into the mattress as he fucks you hard and fast. “Fuck baby. Fuck. Need you. Need this.” He growls, leaning down to lick along your neck.

​​You don’t know what possessed Marcus, but all you can do is cum for him. His cock hits something magical inside you and with a squeal, your walls clench down around him and soak him in a torrent of your juices.

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus hisses as you soak his stomach and pelvis with your cum, hot and wet and so fucking sexy. He hisses your name, thrusting a few times, hard and deep until his cock twitches as he cums inside of you. Painting your walls as he practically roars, unable to believe how good you feel.

It’s beastly and you are utterly captivated by the sight of Marcus, straining and grunting over you as he fills you up. The heat of his cum flooding your womb and making you moan.

Marcus kisses along your neck, refraining the urge to bite your neck. “So good.” He murmurs, “You’re so good to me.” He coos and you caress his back, “so good.”

“Baby.” You moan quietly, turning your head and kissing along his jaw. “I love you so much. That was- incredible.”

Marcus murmurs, “I love you too.” He nudges his nose against yours, trying to be affectionate and he stays inside of you but shifts to lay on his back, you on his chest. He strokes your back, knowing that once you’re asleep, he’s going to need to get the duffel bag from his car so he can prepare for midnight.

His heart is galloping in his chest and you hum, stroking his shoulder affectionately. “That was amazing.” You murmur before you yawn. “Wore me out.”

Marcus chuckles, “wore me out too, baby.” He murmurs, caressing your back as you relax on top of him. He can smell himself all over you and that makes him hum. He loves it. He loves you. “Baby, you want a snack or some water?”

“I’m good.” You purr quietly. “I’m going to go to sleep and wake up early to make sure that you get the best blow job you’ve ever had.”

Marcus snorts, “you already did that.” He kisses your hair, “but you can try to beat it baby.” He murmurs, “just go to sleep. I’ll clean you up.”

One of the best things about Marcus is his aftercare. You smile as you settle down against his chest and close your eyes. You have the best boyfriend in the entire world, one that you love.

Marcus lets you drift off to sleep before he rolls you onto your back. He pulls out of you and shuffles into the bathroom to grab a rag to clean you up. He works fast to clean you and covers you with the comforter. He kisses your forehead and makes his way into the bathroom to clean himself up. Exhaling heavily as he looks into the mirror, his fingers curl into the sink as he feels the moon is high in the sky. He needs to prepare and keep you safe inside.

**** 

You wake up to Marcus curled around you, his nose pressed against your neck and he is snoring like he's not slept in ten years. Your plans for waking him up to a blow job are temporarily on hold. He needs sleep more than he needs sex and you slowly slip out of his arms. You'll make some coffee and take it out to the porch so he can sleep.

Marcus had a long night. After you fell asleep, he grabbed his bag from the car and locked up the house, making sure you were secure before he chained himself to a tree a couple of miles away. He doesn’t really know what happened after midnight - he gets flashes during his sleep if it’s been a while since he’s transitioned - and last night was one of those times.

When you’re pouring a cup of the coffee, you hear Marcus whimper, making you frown as you look toward the bedroom. Deciding that he does need to rest more, you shut off your alarm before it can ring, a habit of your weekends to make sure you don’t sleep all day, and slip outside the door to the fresh morning air.

Marcus should wake up but he usually sleeps most of the day when he’s out here. Only coming here once a month when it’s needed. He curls into a ball, pulling your pillow close to breathe you in.

You sigh softly, smiling as you look out at the valley through the small clearing of trees. It really is a beautiful view, although you know you are quite isolated. There hadn’t been one light besides yours on the mountain last night. You turn back to check to make sure you closed the door and gasp loudly, almost a shriek. Deep gouges in the wood, resembling claw marks, decorate the door and frame. Many of them, as if some large creature was trying to get in. “Oh shit.” Your eyes start flickering around the woods surrounding the cabin as if you expect a creature to attack you right now.

Marcus doesn't stir until he hears your scream. He wakes with a fright and stumbles out of the cabin. "Baby. Baby. What's wrong?" He pants, still in his boxers and wondering if there's something else out there besides him.

You grab onto Marcus, turning him towards the door. “There’s something- it tried to get into the cabin!” You cry out. “Is it a bear? Did a bear try to break in?”

Marcus's eyes widen at the claw marks on the door. He tried to get in the door. He tried to get to you last night. That makes his heart pound as he steps out to look at the door frame. "Fuck baby. I- it was probably a bear. This has happened before. I - you're safe." he promises you, "I will keep you safe."

“Oh my god.” You shiver and reach out to touch the marks. “That’s a big fucking bear.” You tell him. Something seems odd, Marcus had nearly had a heart attack when he saw the marks. If it happened before, why does he look so upset? “Look!” You rush down the steps. “Tracks.”

Marcus is terrified that you’re going to find out his secret. He reaches for your shoulder. “It’s gone now. Probably smelled the food. Just - let’s go inside and have some breakfast. Probably a bear. It’s long gone, baby.” He says, trying to sound convincing.

Something about that sounds wrong but you don’t argue. Instead, you let him guide you into the cabin and close the door firmly behind the two of you. “Should we store the food differently?” You ask him, knowing he spends a lot of time up here. He would know.

Marcus shakes his head, “no. No. I don’t think that’s necessary. Why don’t we head inside and - God, I need a coffee, baby.” He tries to change the subject, his hand hovering on the small of your back to get you inside. He’s trying to keep cool but he is freaking out a little that the beast inside of him tried so desperately to get into the cabin…to get to you.

That does the trick, immediately distracting you from the animal marks on the door. “Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I woke you up.” You cup his face, feeling guilty about disturbing his sleep. “Let me go get you a coffee and I’ll start breakfast. You can lay down again if you want?”

Marcus softens and relaxes as you cup his cheek and he nods, reaching for your wrist and turning his head so he can press a soft kiss to your palm. "I'm up now sweetheart. Let's get a cup of coffee and we can work on breakfast together. I, uh, kinda just want bacon."

“Just bacon?” Your eyes widen dramatically. “Marcus Pike doesn’t want pancakes?” Teasingly, you touch the back of your hand to his forehead. “You don’t seem to be sick.”’

Marcus chuckles, "I just really want bacon." He confesses, knowing he usually loves pancakes but for some reason, he just doesn't want them today. He wants meat.

“Then bacon is what you will get.” You promise, leaning in and pressing your lips to his before you turn back to pour him a cup of coffee.

"You're too good to me." Marcus repeats for the hundredth time. He means it. You are too good for him. He's terrified of you finding out the truth. That's what sent his first wife running. He swallows harshly as you pour him a cup of coffee and he sits down at the kitchen table. "I thought maybe today we could go for a hike?" He suggests, knowing that the exercise might wear him out enough to not run too much at night.

“Sure.” You had expected to relax, but if Marcus wants to hike and show you some of the area, that’s fine with you. “I can make some sandwiches if you want? Or- no, we shouldn���t do that.” You decide. “We might attract that bear.”

Marcus doesn’t argue, wanting you to believe it’s a bear. He sips his coffee as he watches you cook. He offered to help but you told him to relax. Little do you know that it’s almost impossible since he is worried about the claw marks. He stands up when you set the bacon off to the side to drain and his hands find your waist, his lips on your neck.

“Hmmmmm.” Closing your eyes, you tilt your head to the side to give him better access to your skin. “I love when you kiss my neck. When you do anything to me, really.”

Marcus smiles against your skin, “me too. I mean, whatever you do to me…always so fucking good.” He murmurs and continues kissing along your neck, dragging the strap of your shirt down to kiss your shoulder. “Taste better than bacon.” He chuckles against your skin. “Delicious.” He says as he licks along your neck.

The hard length of his cock is starting to press against your back and you don’t mind it at all. Moaning softly as you grind back against him. He’s apparently in the mood and you aren’t going to discourage him. “Want a quickie while the food cools?” You pant out, wishing you could kiss him.

Marcus groans, grinding a little harder against you. He murmurs your name and spins you around, lifting you onto the kitchen table and he grabs the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head. “So fucking beautiful.” He hisses as he looks at your tits, wasting no time ducking down to take a nipple into his mouth.

“Fuck, Marc-“ your moan is strangled as he attacks your breasts with a ferocious hunger. His hands grabbing your ass and sliding you forward to press against your core. You aren’t wearing panties, he had put a shirt on you but no panties so his boxers are starting to rub against your clit. “Fuck. Baby.” Your eyes close as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. “Fuck me.”

He growls, low and deep in his chest as he squeezes your ass. Fuck, he needs you. His fingers trail down from your breast to your core, groaning when he finds you wet for him. He hisses your name and moves fast to shove his boxers down, his cock hard and aching for you already. It doesn't take much to get him going during the full moon. He grips his cock, pushing your thighs further apart with his free hand as he positions himself until he is pushing into you,

He pushes the air out of your lungs in a squeal. The full length of him pushing inside you until he is grinding deeper, as if he wants to burrow inside your cunt. Your legs wrap around his waist and your own kisses start to scatter over his skin. “Oh god, I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.” You whine, incredibly turned on by how rough he’s being.

His hands grab your ass, pulling you even closer, and he starts to move inside of you. Low groans escaping his lips as he rocks into you, hard and fast. His lips find yours, smothering both of your moans, and he hisses when you bite down on his lower lip.

There’s something unique about the way that Marcus is acting and you can’t sort it out. Not that you are trying very hard when your sweet and loving boyfriend is fucking you like his life depends on it. Making your entire body sing with pleasure.

He thrusts hard and fast, the kitchen table scrapping the floor below as he fucks you like aj animal. His hand comes up to grip the back of your neck, tilting it to expose the flesh to his gaze and he leans down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin above your pulse.

“Ohhhhhh fuck.” You gasp out, shivering in pleasure and submission as you let him take what he wants. “Please.” You whimper. “Use me. Take me.”

Marcus grunts as he thrusts into you, his other hand finding your clit to rub harsh circles every time his hips pull back. It’s too much and not enough all at once. “Fuck. You feel - like a goddamn vice.” He groans as your walls flutter around him.

His voice is lower, raspier and it makes you whimper. All those times you claimed you didn’t care about dominant men going out the window as this man claims you. “Yours.” You promise. “All yours.”

“Mine.” He growls, unable to stop himself and he hisses your name as you clamp down on his cock. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for me sweet girl.” He demands, rubbing your clit a little faster and he bites down on your shoulder.

Shuddering, you can’t help but give him exactly what he wants. Crying out his name again, everything but the feeling of your cunt spasming leaves your thoughts.

Marcus hisses when you clamp down on his cock and soak him, your nails dig into his back but he doesn’t feel a thing. “You’re so - Jesus Christ. Baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me. Oh fuck. Fuck!” He yelps as he cums, pushing deep to paint your walls again.

Panting, you kiss his sweaty skin as he rides out his high, lapping at his pulse tenderly and cuddling closer. “Fuck, I love you.” You whisper softly. “So much baby.”

Marcus pants as he comes to a stop, resting his forehead against yours. “Love you too. All of you.” He murmurs, wanting you to know that when he dreads you not feeling the same way about him. He’s terrified about you finding out his secret.

He clings to you for a moment and you smile as you pull away. “Me too, sweetheart. Now” you run your hand down his chest. “I need to get you fed.”

He sighs, pulling out of you, and he knows you’d never accept him, all of him. The darkest parts of him. He kisses your forehead as he steps away from you, bending down to pick up his boxers and pull them on. “I’ll get you something to clean up.”

“Handsome and helpful.” You tease, reaching out and slapping his ass as he turns around to get you a rag. “I’ll fix your plate of bacon.”

Marcus chuckles, making his way into the bathroom. He wets a rag and sees some tissues in the wastepaper basket. He frowns, bending down to pick them up and he gasps when he sees blood. “Shit.” He hisses, trying to figure out how to conceal them. He probably wiped himself off before he got back into bed with you after sunrise. He winces when you call him and he makes his way back into the kitchen.

“Breakfast is served.” You smile as you set the entire pack of bacon that you put on his plate in the spot where you moved his coffee. “Where were you thinking of hiking to?”

“I was thinking of going further up the mountain. There’s a really nice spot that looks out over the valley. I figured we could take a book or two and some drinks. Snacks should be okay. Bear likely won’t venture up that high.” He says, not wanting you to be concerned. “Thanks for the bacon baby.” He says as he hands you the rag.

“That sounds good.” You smile again, thinking that he’s the sweetest as you take the rag to clean up. “After breakfast, we’ll pack up and head off?” You ask, tossing the rag down after you clean up and sit opposite from him as he starts to wolf down the bacon with the same appetite that he had attacked the steaks last night.

Marcus is ravenous, chewing on the bacon like a rabid dog but he’s starving. He always tries to keep his meals to pure meat when he’s here but he suspects you might get suspicious of that if he doesn’t at least have some potatoes.

Watching him, you are slower to eat than he is, seeing a different facet of your normally mild mannered boyfriend. Pouring some syrup over your own pancakes, you cut into them and take a sip of your coffee.

Marcus groans as he finishes the entire plate. “Shit. Baby. I- I didn’t leave you - fuck. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, feeling guilty that he ate the entire plate without you getting even a strip.

“That’s okay.” You wave off his concern and fork up another bite of your pancakes. “I’m happy with the pancakes and my coffee.” You don’t have anymore bacon, but you look towards the fridge. “Are you still hungry? There’s some eggs in there.”

Marcus bites his lip, not wanting to eat all the food that was bought for breakfast this weekend. "I'm fine." He lies, not wanting to take more than he needs, even if the beast inside of him roars for more.

“Are you sure, baby?” You ask, concerned because he is biting his lip guiltily. “I don’t mind cooking some for you. Or, I can make sure that I make you really big roast beef sandwiches for the hike.”

Marcus smiles, “a beef sandwich sounds good. Lots of beef.” He adds, his stomach already rumbling at the thought. God, he needs more food but he doesn’t want to take from you. He’s certain he will eat when he’s outside tonight. “Finish your breakfast honey. I’ll clean up.” He says, kissing your hair as he carries his plate over to the sink.

Marcus is so damn good to you. Happily, you dig into the rest of your pancakes and by the time Marcus is ready to wash your plate, you’re finished. Kissing him as he takes it from you, you move over to the fridge. “I’ll make the sandwiches really quickly and then get dressed.”

“Sounds like a plan sweetheart.” Marcus winks at you as he finishes washing up. “I’ll go shower real quick so you can take your time.” He kisses you softly as he walks by and he makes his way into the bathroom. He glances at the trash can and looks down at his hands, seeing the small scratches that you haven’t noticed yet. He turns on the shower, waiting for the water to get hot before he steps in.

Humming to yourself, you make thick roast beef sandwiches for the both of you. Yours is thinner and you make Marcus three sandwiches to your one. Sure that the hunger that he’s been displaying is going to continue on. You had brought a backpack and you toss the bag of sandwiches in there along with a bag of beef jerky you had as well.

Marcus gets out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist and comes into the bedroom just as you approach him. “Hey babe. I left more than enough hot water. Take your time.” He insists, “I’ll get the gear ready.”

“Sandwiches are done.” You promise, smirking at the way his chest is covered in droplets of water. “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.” You just want to clean up and then throw on some hiking clothes.

Marcus nods, walking over to his case to grab the clothes he needs for hiking and he dresses while you shower. He knows these woods like the back of his hand and he knows you'll be safe with him. He is tying his boots when you come back into the bedroom.

“I’m so glad we got away this weekend.” You tell him, unwrapping your towel from around you so you can get dressed. “It’s beautiful here and I’m already in love with this place. I see why you try to spend time here every month.”

“Yeah. It’s gorgeous.” Marcus murmurs as he sits up, realizing he’s never really taken the opportunity to admire the area. He’s usually just been happy to have a secluded place to escape to. He picked this cabin because nothing is around it for miles. His eyes trail down your body as you grab your clothes and he bites his lip, cock twitching in his pants as he admires you.

Getting dressed, you lace up your own boots and turn towards him with a smile. “Ready whenever you are, handsome.” You admire the almost rugged look of him since he’s not shaved and turn to grab your backpack and water bottles.

Marcus nods, standing up as he makes his way into the kitchen to grab his backpack that you put the lunch into. “Come on baby.” He says, not bothering to lock the front door since the only dangerous thing out here is him.

Following him, Marcus leads you into the woods and you amble along behind him. Still a little nervous about the claw marks on the door, you don’t let him get more than a few steps in front of you. “Do you hike every time you come up here?” You ask. “Obviously not when it’s snowing, but ohhhh Marcus, I bet it’s gorgeous up here during the winter.”

“Not every time.” He answers your question as he follows a path he regularly takes when he does hike. “Sometimes I like to just relax and get away from the stress of work. If I’m at home, I’ll still check my phone and my emails. I’m totally at peace here. Like it’s where I’m supposed to be.”

“Maybe it is where you should be.” You could imagine it when he’s here. “Living like a mountain man. Chopping wood with your shirt off.” That thought makes you drool. “Too bad you can’t be an FBI agent from here.”

“Exactly.” Marcus sighs, stepping over a log and he turns back to hold his hand out towards you. “Careful.” He says as he helps you over it. He sniffs the air discreetly, checking for any danger. One perk of his composition and it definitely helps him in his job.

It's nice that even out here, he is such a gentleman. You squeeze his hand before letting go so he could continue to guide you deeper into the forest. "It's strange." You frown slightly. "I don't hear any bird or anything, do you?"

"No. It's - maybe there's a storm coming." He says as he looks up and ignores the fact that he knows exactly why the birds aren't singing. They always fly away when he is around, sensing his presence.

"Maybe that's it." You can accept that, although looking up doesn't do much beyond looking at the canopy. "Then we won't make it a long hike, just in case."

"Yeah." Marcus says, looking at the trees for another moment until he looks back at you. "Let's go. You gotta see this view." He offers you a grin and he makes his way through the trail he knows well until you are pushing through the bushes to a clearing.

"Oh Marcus." You gasp as you take in the view of the valley. Nothing but mountains and trees for as far as you can see. No roads that you can see. Really driving home how isolated you are. "This is- this is beautifully remote."

Marcus turns his head to look at you as you admire the view. He is in awe of how beautiful you look in the sunlight and he wishes he could take a picture. “I love you.” He blurts out, tempted to propose to you but he can’t. Not when you don’t know who he truly is. What he truly is.

Looking back at him, you smile. "I love you too, Marcus." He's sweet and his soft smile makes you fall even more in love with him. "Thank you for bringing me up here." You thank him again. "I know this is your fortress of solitude, but I feel like we are getting closer, you letting me in like this."

Marcus nods, stepping closer to you to wrap his arm around your waist. “I love you, baby.” He kisses your hair, “I’m glad I can share this place with you. It’s - it’s where I belong but life keeps bringing me back to D.C.”

“If you want….” You turn to look into his eyes. “I’ll come out here whenever you want to get away.”

Marcus nods, hesitant, but unable to say no as he looks at your beautiful face. He wants to tell you everything but he can’t. He can’t see those eyes that look at him with such love and affection turn into fear and disgust. “Wanna set up the blanket? Hiking has me starving.”

“Sure baby.” You agree quickly, sensing that something is bothering him. You pull out the blanket from your backpack and spread it on the ground. “You know…” you talk as you fuss with it. “Maybe this will become our little ritual.”

“Hopefully.” Marcus offers you a soft smile as he sits down after pulling off his backpack with your water bottles in it. “Maybe we can bring our kids here for family camping weekends.” You say and Marcus bites his lip. He doesn’t know if his condition is hereditary or not. His father passed away when he was a kid so he never knew if he had the same disposition. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.” Marcus clears his throat despite the idea of being a father making his heart swell with desire.

It’s not the response you were hoping for and you’re silent when Marcus pulls out the sandwiches and hands you the one you made for yourself. His are already in his hand. Instead of trying to keep talking, you concentrate on eating, looking out at the view.

Marcus almost feels too anxious to eat. Almost. The beast inside of him growls for more so he quickly demolishes the sandwich, moving onto the next one. “Damn. These are good, sweetheart.” He says, wanting to lighten the mood when he can sense you are upset.

“Thanks.” You don’t smile at him, finishing up your own sandwich and wiping your hands on your leggings. Maybe you were wrong about what Marcus wants and now you feel like you’re intruding on his space.

Marcus can sense that there’s something wrong. The change in the air is palpable and he hates that he can’t just tell you what he is, what he wants, how he feels. He sighs and crumbles up the bag after he finishes the last sandwich. “You wanna stay here or make our way back? I don’t wanna get caught in the storm.”

“That works for me.” You agree, biting your lip and wanting to ask Marcus if he feels like you’ve bulldozed your way into coming up here and butting into his personal time. “I think I’ll just read this afternoon if you want to nap. You didn’t sleep much last night, did you?”

Marcus is tempted to nap. That's usually what he does most of the day when he's here alone after a nonstop night. "It's so nice up here. We can come back up here another day." He says and stands up, brushing himself down and he holds his hand out towards you to help you up from the blanket.

There’s some comfort in his comment and you gladly take his hand. “Then it’s settled. I’ll read and get dinner ready, you nap.” You smile at the domesticity. “Any requests?” You had gotten a roast to put in the little oven but maybe he wasn’t feeling it.

“Anything meaty.” He chuckles as he packs up the blanket and the water bottles. “I’m lucky to have you, baby.” He says as you start to make your way back down the mountain.

“I’m glad you think so.” You admit quietly. “I was afraid I was being too pushy, asking to come up here. Intruding into your private time. I know we’re in a relationship, but I think you’re a man who likes to keep some secrets.”

Marcus tries to not react to how quickly you see right through him. He is terrified that you’ll find out the truth and run screaming away from him. “I’m a pretty open book mostly.” He chuckles, trying not to sound awkward, but failing as his stomach twists with anxiety.

“It’s okay to have secrets.” You promise him, shooting him a grin. “As long as it’s not a secret girlfriend or wife. Anything else, you tell me when you’re ready. I love you and accept you for who you are.”

Marcus closes his eyes and wishes that could be true. He knows you would never accept him if you knew he was a monster. “No secret, girlfriend, or wife.” He promises, with a chuckle. “Even I am not that good at keeping a secret like that. And you know how much of a commitment freak I am. Once I’m in, I’m all in. I don’t like cheaters.”

“I know.” You promise softly. “I don’t like cheaters either. That’s why we work so well together.” You wish you could reach out and take his hand, but that would be dangerous while on the trail. “I’m all in too. I hope you know that.”

Marcus offers you a soft smile and he walks ahead of you to help guide you through the trail. It doesn’t take long until you are in the cabin again, Marcus sitting down to take off his boots. “You want some coffee or water, babe?” He asks, wanting to look after you, reassure you that he wants to be there for you.

“Some coffee would be great.” You admit with a smile. “But don’t feel like you need to entertain me. I’ll get it.” You wave him away. “Go nap, you look tired, baby.”

Marcus is hesitant but he’s exhausted. He nods as he makes his way through to the bedroom, stripping off and groaning when he slides under the covers in the bed. He needs to rest before tonight. He’s learned that if he doesn’t nap, he’s especially ferocious when he turns. He falls asleep, unaware that you’ve headed out to the porch and he left the duffel bag on the porch.

You don’t want to move around too much, so you slip outside with your coffee and a book after getting the roast put in the oven. Sitting down and starting to read when you notice a bag off to the side. “Shit. I hope Marcus didn’t leave food in it.” You groan, hoping that it wouldn’t attract that bear. Setting your book down you move to pick it up, surprised when it’s really heavy. “What the hell?” You frown and unzip the bag, gasping when you see the heavy duty chains that are in the bag. Worried about why Marcus would have these.

Marcus is asleep, blissfully unaware of you finding the chains until he wakes up and comes into the kitchen. He sees your face and the bag on the floor and he tries to not react. “Sorry I slept so long.” He says, scratching the back of his neck as he prays you don’t ask about the chains.

You have a thousand different questions but can see that he’s not going to answer you. Or he will just lie to you. The fear in his eyes makes you wonder what the hell is going on. “That’s okay, babe.” You murmur softly, getting up and moving over to kiss him. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Marcus can tell that you’re suspicious but he’s relieved that you carried on without bringing attention to it. He sits down at the table, watching you as you work around the kitchen to finish dinner. “You’re too good to me, baby.”

"Well....I love you." You have to admit that you've wondered if Marcus has something horrible planned for you, but it doesn't even seem to be in his nature. That doesn't mean you aren't going to pretend to be asleep tonight to see what he does. Not wanting to make him suspicious, but not fully trusting that something isn't going on. Why would he have such heavy chains? Unless he locks the cabin up with them, but you doubt it. You hadn't seen them when you arrived.

Marcus looks at you, “I love you too.” He says softly, wanting you to know that he does really love you. Especially when you cast a blind eye to the bag. He watches you as you cook and he decides to open the bottle of wine he brought with him. “Want a glass?” He asks as he holds the bottle up after getting it from the cupboard.

“Sure.” You smile at him as he holds up the bottle and you have no intention of drinking any of it. Wanting to keep yourself clear headed, but you also don’t want to make him suspicious. “It will go wonderfully with the roast.”

Marcus nods, grabbing some glasses to pour out a decent amount after he uncorks the bottle and he sets the glass down. Marcus smiles at you, grabbing the plates as you pull the roast out of the oven that just barely works. He should’ve replaced it but when he’s alone, he hasn’t bothered.

Once the table is set, you slice the roast up, making sure that you just put meat on Marcus’s plate. He seems to be craving a carnivore diet and you sit down opposite his chair. “Sit down, let’s eat, baby.”

Marcus can’t help himself. He digs in before you manage to sit down with your own plate. He groans as he practically inhales the meat. “Jesus, this is amazing.” He groans as he takes a break.

You hum softly, having taken a lot less meat and filled your plate with veggies. “Want the rest of the meat babe? I made sure there’s plenty.”

Marcus finishes the plate in record time. Pushing it away once he’s done and he wipes his mouth. “Thank you babe. It was delicious.” He picks up the glass of wine, noticing that you haven’t touched yours. “You don’t like the wine?”

"No, it's -" you shake your head. "I'm sorry, my stomach is a little off kilter." You shoot him an apologetic look. "I don't think I should risk it, you know?" It's a plausible excuse for not drinking and it shouldn't make him suspicious.

Marcus nods, never one to force anyone to drink. He respects your decision so he stands up to grab you a bottle of water. “Here you go, baby.” He says and sets it down. You thank him and he sits back down while you finish eating. “I was thinking we could make some s’mores after this.”

"That would be good." You agree, knowing you would be happier if you had none of the suspicions, but it's alright. You'll build a fire and roast some marshmallows before claiming you need to sleep. To see what will happen when you are vulnerable.

**** 

You’ve been quiet. Marcus has noticed it and he is a little concerned. You had sat there and watched while he started the fire, only saying a few words while you cooked the marshmallows. “Are you okay, baby? You feel sick still?” Marcus asks once you’re back inside and getting ready for bed.

"I think I'm just going to pass out." You admit with a sheepish grin. One that you hope is believable. "I'm sorry that I'm putting a damper on the rest of night."

Marcus shakes his head as he sits down on the bed. “Don’t be silly, baby. It’s okay. I know you’ve not felt great. Best to get some rest.” He says as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s gonna get into bed with you and then he’ll sneak out.

You finish getting ready for bed, trying to downplay your nervousness and you sigh softly when Marcus curls around you. "Goodnight, sweetheart." You whisper softly, hoping that he will believe that you fall asleep quickly so you can figure out what he is doing with those chains.

Marcus kisses your neck, “goodnight.” He breathes you in, sensing when you fall asleep in his arms. He gently shifts away from you, getting out of bed. He doesn’t bother redressing as he makes his way out of the cabin after picking up the duffel bag.

When Marcus had slipped from the bed, you had barely managed to keep from reacting. Tensing when you hear the slight clanking of the chains in the bag but you don't get up. You don't even open your eyes. Hearing him open the door and only then do you sit up. Wondering why he is going outside when there is a large, dangerous creature out there.

Marcus works fast to lock you in the cabin. He doesn't want the beast to try and get in, to try and hurt you. He can feel how high the moon is in the sky. He doesn't have long. He exhales shakily, locking the padlock in place just as he feels his spine start to dislocate. He howls, unable to stop himself as the transformation begins.

You shiver, hearing the howl so close to the house and fear trickles down your spine. Biting your lip and frowning. Marcus is out there and when you walk into the living room, you see the case with his gun locked inside still there. Moving to the door, you push the door open but it doesn't budge. "Marcus!"

Marcus is no longer outside. In his place is the beast he tries to contain. This cabin has been his sanctuary, the place he allows the beast to roam free to satisfy his primal urges. It helps him maintain control and right now, Marcus is not in control. He roars and arches his back as he fully transforms into the werewolf he was cursed to be from his father.

You hear monstrous sounds outside and your blood runs cold. Something is out there and your boyfriend can't protect himself. "Marcus!" You scream, shoving against the door again and again without it budging. Frantic, you turn to the shuttered windows beside the door and quickly unlatch one, opening it up and unlocking the window. You can't let him be out there alone. It's your fault. You were worried about the bear and he's locked you into the cabin, putting himself in danger.

Marcus growls, hearing a click and he doesn't have the recognition to know that you are calling his name. He wouldn't respond anyway. He's no longer the Marcus you know. He roars again, running into the clearing in front of the cabin.

Once you are on the porch, you realize exactly how bad of an idea this is. The howling of an animal makes you jump. Unable to move when a creature, a monstrous beast, breaks into the clearing. Seven feet tall when it stands on his hind legs. It looks like something out of a horror movie. A werewolf.

The wolf sniffs, turning his head towards you, and he moves fast to come over to you. Your scream echoes in the clearing and the beast slows down, slowly approaching you. You’re frozen in place, wheezing as you try to breathe but can’t. He comes closer until you can see the eyes.

You would have said that werewolves didn't exist. They were myth and legend. Designed to scare. However, you can't deny the large wolf-like creature in front of you. Larger than any wolf you've ever seen in real life and oddly humanoid in the way it can walk on its back legs. When you see the eyes, you gasp. You know those eyes. You've looked into them. Suddenly, the isolated cabin in the mountains and trips by himself make sense. "M-Marcus?"

He sniffs, innately recognizing you, and he leans closer to sniff you. His eyes widen and he whimpers, lowering his head towards you. Deep inside, Marcus is still there and he’s begging himself to keep you safe, to not scare you. He’s terrified you’re going to get in the car and run away. He wouldn’t blame you but he prays you don’t run.

"Holy shit." Your hand claps over your mouth as you stare at the creature that is apparently....your boyfriend. As if you are drawn to him, you take a step closer. The idea of diving back into the cabin disappearing as you try to rationalize this. "Oh my god.....you're a were-werewolf."

Marcus whimpers again. He loves you. He nudges his nose towards you as he bends over, the beast in him recognizing you as the woman he loves. You raise your hand, it’s shaking, and Marcus nudges his nose against your palm. “Oh my god.” You choke out, your fingers tangling into his fur and you shiver as you pet the wolf that your boyfriend had turned into. “How is this- oh my god.” You gasp in awe.

He can’t believe you’re accepting the beast inside of him. The moon is high in the sky and he whimpers softly once more, licking your hand as you turn your palm over.

“I have so many questions.” You murmur, laughing to yourself. “But you can’t answer them right now. No wonder you’ve been craving meat. I can’t believe this.”

Marcus knows he has a lot to answer but for now, he needs to let the beast roam free. He nudges your palm again before he steps back, standing at his full height, he roars out a warning for anything nearby before he steps back and runs off. He disappears through the trees, needing to run off his energy before sunrise.

“Oh my god.” You sink down onto the porch steps, nearly shaking with the knowledge that Marcus is a mythical creature. “I’ve been fucking a werewolf.” You huff out, surprised that the idea of that doesn’t horrify you like it should. You’ve seen the cheesy pornos that disguise themselves as werewolf movies. The beast taking the helpless woman under the moonlight. The thought of it is oddly erotic and you shake your head, even as you stand up to peel off your clothes.

Marcus runs for a minute until he circles back to the cabin. He enters the clearing to find you standing there, naked. His growls echoes through the forest and he approaches you slowly, confused about what you want.

You swallow nervously, wondering if this is such a good idea. Not sure how much of Marcus is conscious inside the werewolf. Or if it’s just pure animal instinct. “Hey baby.” You coo softly, calling him to you.

Marcus sniffs, smelling the arousal on your body and he is certain that you want him but he’s terrified he’s reading you wrong. He slowly approaches you until he’s close enough to touch you. His tongue comes out to lick along your neck as he bends over you.

“Oh fuck.” You gasp, unused to how rough his tongue is as it laps against your skin. Its warm and wet, making you shiver as the wind blows and cools your skin down. “I- if there’s something you want, I want it too.” You murmur quietly. “I don’t know- are you, do you - have you ever….” You trail off, embarrassed and unsure if he even understands you. “Have you ever fucked someone when you’re in this state?”

Marcus shakes his head, an intrigued whine escaping his mouth as he nuzzles your skin. He whimpers, licking you again but lower, his tongue flicking over your nipple.

“Ohhhhhh.” You moan at the contact and your fingers slide though his fur again, Rubbing his muzzle.affectionately. “I don’t know if you understand, but I love you.”

​​Marcus does understand, deep down, and he loves you more than anything. Especially when you are accepting him. He slides his tongue along your skin, tasting the salt and sweat and you are delicious but not in an edible way. He can’t get enough of you as he licks and licks at you, flicking his tongue over your nipple.

“Marcus.” You moan again, letting him lick at your skin, feeling yourself getting wetter by the moment. You will let him do whatever he wants, understanding that he’s the dominant one in this encounter. “I want all of you. Even when you are like this.”

Marcus knows he has to be gentle, he’s never been with anyone in this state. Isolating himself. He’s not even sure if he can but he wants to make you feel good. He shifts to kneel down, his tongue sliding along your leg until his muzzle is pressed between your thighs.

“Ohhhhh.” Human Marcus is a very generous lover, never hesitating to go down on you and make you cum. Actually enjoying it rather than just doing it because he feels like he has to like some of the men you had dated. You don’t know why you are surprised that wolf Marcus is nuzzling at your cunt to spread your legs wide for his tongue

When your tangy arousal hits his tongue, he groans deep in his throat and his tongue slides deeper. His werewolf tongue is longer so he pushes deep inside of you, curling deep until his muzzle is pressed against your folds. He is unable to believe you trust him enough to do this. That you love him enough to do this.

“Fuck!” You Yelp when his tongue pushes deep and your fingers grip his hair tight. “It’s so- fuck your tongue is so long like this.” You whine, rolling your hips down onto his muzzle even more, begging for him to continue. “You don’t have to.” You add, knowing that you don’t need to force him to do something he doesn’t want because you’re curious.

Marcus - the beast - wants you to cum. His clawed hands grab your hips, rocking you on top of his muzzle as his wet nose presses against your flesh, his tongue curling deep until he growls, wanting to feel you fall apart above him.

It doesn’t take long with that tongue curled up and reaching every inch inside your cunt. Your cry hoarse as you start to shake and tremble, holding onto the large creature while your legs nearly give out.

Marcus growls as you cum, lapping up every drop like the hungry beast he is. His claws dig into your flesh a little and he laps at you until you’re pushing on his muzzle. He doesn’t know what you want next but his cock is hard. Not like his human cock, this one is bigger, hanging hard between his hairy legs.

​​“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen slightly when you see his hard cock sticking up when the creature rocks back. “That’s….impressive.” You’re dripping wet from your orgasm and his tongue and you cunt clenches at the thought of taking this monster inside you. “On my hands and knees.” You mutter to yourself as you kneel down on the ground in front of him. “Unless you want my mouth on you?”

Marcus growls, shaking his head, and he snorts, not wanting you to put your mouth on him when he’s in this state. He kneels, his claws digging into the dirt as he shuffles behind you, his large cock pressing against the back of your thigh.

“Oh fuck.” You have a feeling you will be saying that a lot. Still, you push back against the wall of fur encouragingly. “Take me.” You whimper. “I’m yours.”

Marcus doesn’t hesitate, sensing how much you want him, he can smell it on you. He growls and leans close, his cock nudging your ass a few times until he’s able to notch it at your entrance. Animal instincts take over as he pushes deep without giving you a moment, his roar echoing through the trees.

Your choked cry is nearly silent, unable to breathe as the wolf fills you beyond anything you’ve ever had before. Feeling like he’s pushed up into your throat. It hurts and feels amazing all at the same time until you feel like you’re going to pass out.

Marcus hisses, the tight cunt around his cock is wet and hot and it drives him deeper into the animal inside of him. His claws dig into the ground as he braces himself so he can thrust even harder into you. He growls, teeth flashing under the light of the full moon when he sets a harsh pace.

You’re being fucked by a werewolf. At least the movies have the animalistic pace right, the wolf slamming his cock into you so harshly it’s pushing you up along the ground. Scrapping your hands and knees. Still, you don’t cry out for him to stop. Loving the roughness of the animal.

He is rough, unrelenting as he thrusts deep and hard. Marcus would’ve slowed down, sensing your discomfort but the wolf only wants to hear you cum, wants to cum himself. His fur presses against your ass with each thrust, growls escaping his muzzle as he leans down to press his nose to your back, inhaling your scent.

You feel the hot breath of the wolf on your neck. Making you gasp as you rock forward again. Your fingers digging into the dirt as he takes what he wants, filling your cunt again and again. At least his cock isn’t covered in hair, you don’t know if you would have done that. “Ma-Marcus!” You Yelp when he hits something deep inside you.

Hearing his name spurs him on. Hitting that spot again and again, it’s feral and beyond comprehension. Marcus has given way to the beast inside of him and he wants you to cum. His teeth scrap over your neck, his hot breath puffing over you as he thrusts again and again.

“Ohhh, oh fuuuuuuuuck.” Feeling his teeth in your neck sends you over the edge. The danger makes your entire body burst in pleasure as your pussy tries to clamp down on the beast’s cock. Feeling him drill into you as you gush around him and soak him in your cum.

Marcus growls into your skin, almost a roar that echoes into the forest as he keeps fucking into you. His cock twitching as he gets closer to his own orgasm. Grunts escape along with snarls until he finally pushes deep. His roar reverberates as his cock pulses while he fills you with his cum.

You almost black out with pleasure. Collapsing into the dirt and unable to move as his thick cum pushes out of you with every rock of the beast’s hips. “Fuck”

Marcus pumps himself through his orgasm and he hisses when you slump down into the dirt and he licks along your neck, tasting your sweat. He whimpers, lost in the haze of pleasure as he laps at your skin.

“‘m good.” You slur out against the ground. “I-god.” You can’t help but start to breathlessly chuckle, unable to believe that this happened. You can feel it, you’ll feel him for days. “Love you.” You murmur, hoping Marcus can understand that in his current state.

Marcus whines softly, able to let you know the beast feels the same, and he slowly pulls out of you. The beast takes full control again as he sniffs you, a pleased whine escaping his lips as he smells you covered in his scent. He stands up on his hind legs, a howl echoing in the valley before he runs for the tree line, the beast taking over.

It takes you some time to be able to move again, literally crawling over to the steps before you can get off the ground and you wonder if it will be morning before Marcus changes back to his human form. You climb back in the window, sure that you will need a long soak in the bath after this.

Marcus runs around until he feels the sun starting to rise and his beast gives up control to allow him to transition back to his human form. He ends up unlocking the house and comes inside to find you asleep, no doubt worn out from the rough treatment. He showers and slides under the covers, curling around you.

You hum softly, stirring when you feel the warmth at your back. “Marcus?” You ask, hearing him hum. 

“Go to sleep, baby.” You know he’s tired after running around all night, so you snuggle back into his embrace and close your eyes again.

Marcus is snoring as he lays on his back, your head on his chest as you sleep until his snort wakes you up. You kiss his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he rests after an active night.

He doesn’t look any different than he normally does, just as handsome as you’ve always found him but you feel like you are closer. You know his secret and you lean forward and kiss his chest gently. “Man or wolf, I want to be with you.” You whisper.

He wakes up to you cooking. The smell makes his stomach grumble as he sniffs the air. Last night hits him, memories of you taking him as the wolf make his heart pound and he is desperate to talk to you but he also wants to run away in case you regret it. Deciding to face it, he gets out of bed and pees, brushing his teeth before he makes his way into the kitchen.

“Morning.” You smile as you look up to find Marcus creeping into the kitchen. “Breakfast is almost ready but the coffee is made.” He’s got a strange look on his face, so you don’t make a joke about moving a little slow because of last night. That seems like it might spook him. “I made steak and eggs. I don’t know if you still need a lot of meat.”

“I, uh, will probably have one more day. The moon cycle…I only need meat when it’s a full moon.” He reveals, “and I’m starving.” He chuckles softly, shifting to sit down as you watch him. “I- about last night….” He trails off, terrified that you’re going to hate him.

“I found out why you come up to the cabin alone.” You fill in, biting your lip and swallowing slightly. “I didn’t- you don’t think I’m crazy, do you? After- well, because of stripping down and basically begging a werewolf to fuck me?”

Marcus stares at you. “You think you’re crazy? After you- baby, I’m a fucking werewolf.” He chokes, “and you - you didn’t run or try to shoot me. You’re not crazy. I am. Because - because I cannot believe you trusted me. You didn’t run away. You accepted me.” His eyes sting with unshed tears, “you loved me when I was - I am a monster.”

“You aren’t a monster.” You frown, setting down the spatula and moving the pan off the stove so you can move over to Marcus. “You are an amazing man. I have questions, of course I do, but the fact that you are a werewolf doesn’t change who you are every time the moon isn’t full.”

Marcus sniffs, tears sliding down his cheeks and he shakes his head. “I- my father - he was the same. It’s only during the full moon. It’s why I come here to allow the beast to be free. If he’s free during this time, I get control the rest of the time.” He explains croakily.

Reaching out, you wipe the tears away and move so you can sit in his lap. Your pussy is sore but you ignore it to wrap your arms around his neck. “So….does that mean that our kids would be like you?” You ask curiously.

“I don’t know. That’s why- it’s why I’ve been so hesitant to take the next step with you. To be all in when you discuss kids. I- I don’t know if they’d be like me. If it’s just on the male side or if a daughter would be the same. I didn’t - I know you wouldn’t want to take that risk.” Marcus chokes, burying his face in your neck.

The man who turns into a beast, one that could kill you, kill anyone, is crying into your neck as you rub his back. “Baby….I love you. I know that you would protect our kids if they did turn.”

Marcus pulls back to look at you, his lower lip trembling. “You- you don’t want to run for the hills?” He asks and when you shake your head, he reaches up to cup your cheeks. “I love you. More than anything in the world. If you want to be mine. I’ll marry you next week. I want to have babies with you. I’m all in.” He promises, nudging his nose against yours.

“I’m all in too.” You promise softly. Marcus might be a werewolf, people may tell you that you’re crazy, but you’d rather howl at the moon with him than risk losing him. “Let’s eat breakfast and then we can spend the day in bed and you can tell me about all of this while my poor little pussy recovers so the wolf can have me again tonight.”

Marcus kisses your cheek softly, “you don’t have to. I can lock you in. He won’t get to you. I won’t get to you.” He promises, wanting to make sure that you’re safe. “You don’t have to do that again if you don’t want to.”

​​You squirm slightly, biting your lip. “I liked it.” You admit quietly, sure that he will think you’re crazy. “It was….feral. I loved how possessive you were last night.”

His cock twitches beneath you, unable to hide the fact that he likes that you liked it. “I was not in control. The beast…he wanted to claim you. He wanted to mark you as his.” Marcus confesses, “I wanted to make sure you were mine.” He admits the more feral side of him.

“I’m yours.” You promise, kissing his lips and grinning at him. “Whenever the beast wants me, he can have me. Whenever you want me with you when you change, I’ll be here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before we came out here. I just - I didn’t want to lose you. I love you baby. I love you. I want to be yours and be with you. If you’ll have me.” He says softly, kissing your hair.

“Of course I will.” You giggle quietly and turn his head to press your lips against his. “You, me and the moon make three.” You tease. “I love you and your alter ego.”

Marcus chuckles at your teasing and he nudges his nose against yours. “I love you, baby. So much. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. Have a family together. You’re everything to me…to us. I love you.” Marcus murmurs, kissing you softly again. He never imagined he’d find a woman who could ever love the monster inside of him but he found you. The woman he loves who accepts all of him, even the wolf. He couldn’t ask for more.

[bluestar22x]

The Shot Not Taken

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (Nickname "Sunny")

Summary: It was one last night in a cabin after a case; it wasn't supposed to end this way

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3,400(ish)

Warnings: Sexual tension, yearning, violence, fairly graphic mentions of blood, angst, tragedy - Might be AUish since I don't know what time of year Marcus actually moved to D.C.

Author's Note: I wrote this for @almostfoxglove 's Angst Challenge, and I almost made myself cry, so prepare yourselves. (Moodboard was made by them)

xxx

"You wanna quit while you're ahead, Pike?" you questioned, a smirk on your face. "Before I take what's left of your cash?"

"You're bluffing," he said warily, his dark eyes peering over his hand of cards to where you sat across the table. "There's no way you're that lucky. You've already won five rounds tonight."

"Don't get mad at me when you can't afford breakfast tomorrow."

He flashed you a wicked smile as he placed his hand on the table. "Somehow I doubt that'll be the case." He nodded at his cards. "Four of a kind."

You glanced down to see that he indeed had four aces. You chuckled, surprising him. "Weak."

You dropped your cards on the table revealing that you had the ultimate hand. "Royal flush."

He groaned. "What the hell, Sunny?"

"If it makes you feel better, I'll share my breakfast with you tomorrow," you promised. "Now hand over the money."

A thin smile broke through his look of disbelief. "You should've been nicknamed Lucky instead of Sunny. I'm never playing poker with you again."

"Aw, but you just paid my rent for the month," you teased.

"Exactly."

He reached for his bottle of beer and took a sip before throwing the cash he owed you onto the center of the kitchen table. "I'm bailing before I can't afford my rent."

You pretended to pout but couldn't keep up the act for long. You were nicknamed Sunny for a reason. You hardly ever were in a bad mood. There wasn't much that could keep your spirits down. Which was a good thing, considering your job as an FBI agent for the art crimes department in Washington D.C. involved some very long hours and carried plenty of risk when out in the field.

"Chicken," you declared as you pushed your chair away from the table. "Fine. I wanted to go for a walk before it got too dark outside anyway."

Pike nodded at you as you sprung to your feet. "I'll pick up the cabin while you're out."

"How chivalrous of you, Agent Pike," you sang out. "I'll be back by sunset the latest. Send the hounds if I'm not."

It was a joke, but unsurprisingly the lines over your partner's brows etched in a little deeper. Worried at just the idea of you not coming back. It was sweet, considering you'd only been partners for four months. He'd just moved to the capital on a promotion.

Maybe that meant you were friends.

When he'd first been paired up with you Marcus Pike had been reserved around you, almost like he was afraid to become friends with you.

You'd been secretly hurt by it because he was fine with almost everyone else. His cheerfulness almost rivaling your own at times. He was one of the most good-natured agents you'd ever met, but he was quiet around you. Not necessarily cold, but strictly professional.

You'd wondered if someone had hurt him and if you reminded him of them somehow. He seldom mentioned his final months in Texas to anyone.

You'd thought you were reaching before Marcus came around, because he seemed as married to his work as you were, but your superior had revealed to you at a work party that Marcus had requested for his ex fiancée to have a job at the capital too but she'd never shown up. Marcus had simply told him they'd broken up.

"I doubt you'll need to," you assured him. "Last I checked the case is closed so no stolen art dealers should be stalking these woods. We cuffed our guy last night. Only possible danger out there now is bigfoot."

Marcus huffed. "I have a feeling you're more likely to run into a black bear. Not as many bigfoot sightings in upper New York as there are in the northwest."

You grinned. "Good thing I'm good at intimating anything bigger than me." You patted the holster on your hip. "And my gun's right here for backup."

You fled the cabin you'd been stuck in for most of the past month while you were working on your latest case and headed out on the dirt trail alongside the lake that bordered the back of the property.

There were trees on either side of the path, but you were close enough to the lake's border to be able to see the water the whole time you strolled along it.

It didn't take you long to settle into the peace that nature often brought you. You loved the city life, all the things you could do instead of being bored, but every once in a while it was nice to get away.

You couldn't really count one evening before your flight back to D.C. as a "get away" but you'd take what you could get before your next assignment.

It was autumn, after all, your favorite season. The air was crisp but not quite yet cold enough for you to bother with a jacket, and most of the trees were at the height of flaunting their bright, colorful leaves. In less than a month most of them would fall away, their remains scattered by the wind, leaving the branches bare, exposed, until the trees resurrected in the spring.

Though it wasn't quite yet jacket weather, there was enough of a breeze to compel you to slip on the sweater that you'd tied around your waist on the way out along with the fingerless gloves that had been stuffed into its only pocket.

It's perfectly pleasant out with the extra layer on, and you enjoy every second of the rest of your time in the woods. The loss of light from the setting sun was the only real reason you eventually wanted to turn back. After a raven startled you with its call you decided it was time to return to the cabin before your paranoia got the better of you.

You'd never liked being in the woods at night.

You didn't immediately go back inside the cabin though. Instead you chose to plop yourself down on a massive rock by the edge of the lake and watch the sun as it set.

It was so calming to observe that you zoned out and didn't hear Marcus approaching until he was already sliding onto the rock with you.

He offered you a green mug that clearly contained coffee, its smell filling your nostrils almost as soon as you'd spotted it in his massive hands.

"Decafe, milk only?" you asked. You hated drinking caffeine after six o'clock. You always tossed and turned in bed after.

"Of course."

You accepted the mug from him and tested it. It wasn't bad for cheap home brewed coffee from the local gas station and Marcus had got the ratio of milk right.

He was good with details even outside work.

"It's quiet out here," he noted, pleased.

"A little too quiet at this time of day," you told him. "The day animals are going to sleep and the night ones are just starting to get up. We're in the between."

"Spending time out here has got me thinking," he confessed. "I think I'm going to search for a cabin in Virginia when I get back. It would give me a place to unwind, a place where I don't hear an engine roaring and tires screeching every minute of the day. Would be good for the kids too when I have some someday."

You glanced at him, stunned by his casual mention of wanting to start a family someday. He'd never mentioned it before, but there he was beside you, a wistful look in his eyes, probably imagining his hypothetical future children playing in a lake similar to the one in front of you, splashing each other relentlessly or something as he watched them from the shoreline.

You couldn't help but shake your head at that. It wasn't meant for his eyes, but he noticed anyway.

"What?"

"Nothing," you mumbled, adverting your gaze from his handsome face.

"Tell me."

You shook your head. "It's nothing you'll want to hear. I don't want to ruin your night. Besides, it's none of my business."

"Tell me anyway," he insisted.

You sighed, not wanting to give in but knowing you were going to anyway. "It's just...we're both on the border of forty and we're on the wrong end of a gun at least once a month. The picket fence with the spouse and the two-point-five kids? That's not for us. We're not normal. This isn't normal. This isn't the way normal people live, Marcus."

"Plenty of other agents have families," he pointed out.

"And their families wait with baited breath every day until they come home," you reminded him. "And sometimes there's no relief. Sometimes their spouse, their parent, never comes back home."

It was Marcus' turn to sigh. "This is about your dad."

Your father had been an FBI agent too, in the National Security branch. You'd been only eleven years old when he was shot to death with twelve rounds by the suspect he'd been chasing down in the middle of the city.

"It's not fair to do that to anyone Marcus," you told him. "That's why I'm still single. Why I refuse to get married. It was that or get a desk job, and that's not me. But maybe, if you really want a family, a desk job is what you need. If you have a family, you should commit to them fully."

You were sure he'd be upset with you for everything you'd just said, but instead of getting defensive he scratched the top of his left arm and nodded.

"I've actually been thinking about that lately. The promotion's already given me more of a taste of what it would be like being in the office more often than not, and it doesn't disagree with me. Honestly, I think I'm over my risk taking days."

"What's stopping you then?" you questioned.

"Lately, you," he answered without really thinking.

You startled and stared at him. You noticed he was looking at you in a completely new way, or maybe you were waking up to something in his expression that had always been there. "What?"

"I didn't want to make our partnership a problem, but I also don't want to transfer without you knowing," he continued.

"Knowing what?" You were in complete disbelief. You already knew what he was going to say.

"I care about you, Sunny." He said your nickname so softly. "I want you. Have since we met. Tell me you feel the same."

They were bold words but you found yourself drawn towards him anyway, your lips crashing into his.

You had been yearning for him too. He was your friend, the best partner you'd had in a long time, and he was pretty to boot. You may have already had several dreams about kissing him like this...and more.

Despite all that, you pushed him away when he tried to deepen the kiss, as he cupped your jaw. "The picket fence isn't my ending, Marcus. I don't ever want a desk job. I don't want kids. You deserve someone who shares your dreams. I'm one night stand material, nothing more."

"That's alright," he said so surely the words made your stomach flutter.

You knew him better than that though. "No, it's not," you refuted. "You're not one night stand material, Pike, or else you'd be a lot more relaxed than you are lately. Have you ever slept with a woman you didn't love before? No matter how briefly you'd known each other?"

He stayed silent, answering your question.

You hopped off the rock for his sake, not wanting to be another of his relationships that ended in disappointment, and headed for the cabin to get in some extra hours of sleep.

There was nothing left to say. You couldn't be who Marcus needed you to be and you'd both get hurt if you gave into your lustful desires.

You dreamed of him in vivid detail that night.

x

The next morning Marcus stirred to the sound of slamming doors through the kitchen window, which he guessed you must've cracked open while going through your morning routine as you usually did during warmer weather.

You were the one making the ruckus, already packing your belongings into the black government issued SUV you'd been assigned while on the case.

After a bathroom break Marcus smoothed down his sleep mussed hair and headed for the kitchen where you'd left out a cup of caffeinated coffee you'd brewed for him after pouring yourself one. His lips quirked upward as he thought about your kindness and he snatched the cup up so he could take a sip. The coffee was on the cooler side of hot, but that was exactly how he preferred it.

You had gotten to know each other quite well during the few months you'd known each other, much more than just your coffee preferences. But he'd caught feelings for you early on, before that, despite not wanting to. Realizing he liked you had been a painful revelation. The last thing he'd wanted was another workplace romance, not even a month after his last had ended poorly.

He had tried to keep you at an arm's length at first, but that hadn't worked out. You'd seemed hurt by it, and that had eventually broken his resolve.

He'd tried to be satisfied with your friendship, but as soon as he could call you a friend, he'd started dreaming at night about you being more than that.

He'd thought maybe, just maybe sleeping with you would've been enough, but you were also right. He wasn't one night stand material. He'd never had casual sex in his life. There were always feelings attached to it.

And you wanted different lives. Like his last girlfriend, you were simply just not meant to be his.

That hadn't stopped him from restlessly tossing and turning in his bed the night before. Thinking about that kiss. How needy your response to his confession had been. How soft your lips had felt against his.

The memory began to make him aroused and he had to shift in his spot by the kitchen sink to get more comfortable.

Think of anything else, Pike.

He focused on the view through the window, a fog carpeting the rocky shores of the lake that cool, sunny morning. He was a city guy at heart, but he'd meant what he'd said the night before. It would be nice to get a cabin and spend some time in nature once in a while. It would be therapeutic.

He'd lost himself in the sight before him when two overlapping gunshots broke the peaceful morning.

Marcus jumped into action, scrambling for his work appointed glock and charging outside to the driveway with little thought for his own safety.

He froze when he turned the corner to the back of the cabin and his eyes found you slumped against the back end of the SUV, the trunk still raised, open.

You were wide-eyed, gasping for air, shaking, and you were holding your left hand over a dark patch of blood that was expanding alarmingly fast over your white tank top on the mid-left side of your chest. Your right hand still had a white-knuckled grip on your gun.

Marcus' heart nearly stopped at the sight. He barely noticed the body of the man laying only a few feet in front of you as he raced to your side to help you.

"Shit, Sunny," he hissed as he added pressure to your bullet wound with one of his own hands.

You coughed, and when you responded you sounded weak and pained. "It's bad." You looked scared.

Marcus brushed your cheek with the back of his hand comfortingly. "Shhh...save your strength."

He slipped his hand into the front right pocket of your jeans where he knew you always kept your cell phone and dialed 911. He later wouldn't be able to recall exactly what he'd told the emergency operator, only that he'd given them enough details to get the paramedics there fast.

"Hang on, Sunny," he murmured when he got off the phone. "They're on their way."

He was in complete denial of what was happening in front of him. If he hadn't been he'd have written you off as already dead. Because you basically were. You'd lost far too much blood. The bullet had most likely nicked a part of your heart. You were fading fast. Your eyes already falling.

"Marcus," you somehow managed to croak out. "Promise me you won't give up. You keep...looking for someone...to share that cabin with."

He shook his head at you, feeling desperate. "No."

"Please," you begged.

"Fine," he said, "But you're gonna have to be my wing woman. Keep me from moving too quick."

You almost managed a chuckle before the last of your strength slipped from you and you stopped breathing altogether. It was that abrupt.

Panic soared in Marcus. He carefully laid you out on your back in the dirt and pressed two fingers to your neck, searching for a pulse. Finding none he could palpate, he knelt over you and started to do chest compressions.

"Damn it, Sunny! Come on! Stay with me!"

Any civilian watching would've been horrified by the sight of your blood squirting out of your wound onto his hands and gray sleep shirt as he worked. It was a futile effort, keeping your heart going when there wasn't enough blood to pump anymore, but it wasn't until he heard the ambulance sirens that Marcus became aware of that.

The tears welled up then, his chest tightening as he went blind.

"Sunny, oh god," he sobbed out, taking in the gruesome sight before him. It seemed like the blood was everywhere.

He pulled your upper body off the ground and cradled it in his arms, pressing his forehead against your own, his lips grazing your closed right eye.

"Damn it, Sunny," he whimpered out before the full bulk of his grief hit him.

He nuzzled his face against your cooling one and finally wept.

x

Marcus wasn't sure how he'd managed to pull himself together enough to be the one to inform your sister of your passing, but he had.

He'd insisted on it. It was only right he be the one to tell her since he'd been your partner and had been there for your dying breath.

He'd promised your sister that it had been quick and that you hadn't died alone. And even though that made her cry harder, she'd promised him that it made a difference and thanked him for doing everything he could for you in the moment.

He hoped she had family to lean on the day of your funeral. He wasn't there when they put you in the hole. He'd been busy on another case, having buried himself in work to distract himself from his own pain, despite his superior begging him to take some time off to properly mourn you.

Witnessing the funeral would've made it too final. He hadn't been ready yet.

It wasn't until he finally met the one, someone who made him smile again, for real, who shared his dreams for the future, that his heart truly began to mend from your loss.

It wasn't until he had the wedding band, the cabin, and the kids that he completely stopped having the nightmares.

There were still nights though, usually around the anniversary of your death, when he'd lie awake wondering what would have happened if he had stopped you from leaving the rock by yourself that night.

Would you have woken up late, tangled in the sheets with him instead of being outside to face the secret partner of the illegal art dealer alone? Would he have harmlessly stolen back the painting hidden under the rear seat of the SUV instead of stealing your life?

Even though he was sure now that you were never meant to be his, he still couldn't help but wonder if he'd made a mistake letting you go back to the cabin without him. If you should've been his exception.

You would always be his biggest regret.

The shot not taken.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[trulybetty]

Cake | Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,961 Warnings: Fluff with a dash of spice, mature content, talk of food, family & trouble sleeping. As all the Pedro characters do, Marcus Pike comes with his own warnings. Summary: At the end of a long week of hosting duties, it's late at night and you're unable to sleep. AO3: Linked

A/N: As hard as I try, pun not intended - I can't seem to write smut for our man Marcus. But there's some illusion to spice here - which is progress. One day maybe we'll progress further, but until then - enjoy! xx

Also, thank you to @wildemaven, @marcus-is-my-muse & @lunapascal for the Marcus Pike visual inspo - quite a few I hadn't seen before and have tucked away for future writings...

Cake. 

The only sound in the kitchen was the scrape of the barstool as you pulled it out to sit atop. The oversized and overstretched cardigan you’d pulled on slipped down your one arm but you paid it no kind. Your attention was focused solely on the pink box in the centre of the kitchen island. Pulling it towards you, you traced the logo printed on the front. The small light from the oven hood provided a dim glow to the room, it being too late at night for anything brighter. 

The day had been long, longer than you’d anticipated. The pulse at the balls of your feet was a reminder of this as you absentmindedly lifted your left ankle atop your right knee. You rubbed at your foot to help alleviate some of the sting of wearing heels for most of the day. 

As you continued to dig your thumb into the ball of your foot you pulled the cake box to you, flipping it open with one hand. The combined smells of almond, raspberry and lemon filled the air, and with a deep breath in and exhale you felt the tension of the day easing away. There were wooden forks on the counter atop pink napkins that bore the same logo as the cake box, which made you happy to know you didn’t have to get back up after making yourself comfortable.

You picked a fork, letting it hover above the cake for a moment, savouring the moment before taking a bite. The delicate balance of flavours—the sweet almond sponge mingled with the tart raspberry filling and zesty lemon icing—flooded your mouth. It was culinary bliss, and you closed your eyes for a moment to cherish it. 

A perfect end to what had been an overwhelmingly emotional day.

Just as you were about to go for your second bite, you felt the sudden warmth of a body behind you, enveloping you in an unexpected but welcome embrace, Marcus's warm chest pressed against your back. He gently kissed the nape of your neck, causing a pleasurable shiver to run down your spine. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him as his face found its resting place against the crook of your neck. 

His hand moved slowly down your left arm until it found its target—your hand. His fingers intertwining with yours, he lifted your hand and tilted it side to side, watching how the dim light danced along the facets of the single diamond that adorned your engagement ring, making it twinkle even in the darkest hour of the night.

Together, you both admired the ring that had adorned your finger now for all of two weeks—beautiful but not ostentatious, a far cry from the ring Marcus of some years back would have picked out. But you still had admonished him for the size. To which he’d shrugged with a smile, some habits were still hard to break.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder and awe.

“Which one? The ring or the cake?” you asked with a grin, your gaze shifting from your sparkling diamond to the cake still in its box sitting in front of you.

“Both,” he chuckled, “But mostly you.” He kissed the underside of your jaw, still not letting go of you. You could feel his smile against your skin, and it made your heart swell with emotion. 

“You couldn't sleep either, huh?” his voice was a low rumble in your ear, imbued with a sleepy huskiness that you found incredibly endearing.

“No,” you admitted softly, leaning back into him. “I guess all the excitement finally caught up to me.”

Marcus chuckled, his breath warm against your neck as he left lazy kisses between words. “It's been a rollercoaster of a week, that’s for sure.”

“You know,” you began, your free hand spearheading another forkful of cake from the plate, “cake actually makes everything better.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?” he said as he loosened his hold on you, allowing you the freedom to turn your body towards him.

“Hm, there’s science and everything to back it,” you insisted, with a playful matter of fact. “Sugar and chocolate—endorphins, serotonin, all the feel-good stuff, you know?”

Marcus chuckled, clearly amused. “Well, who am I to argue with science?” He tilted his head back slightly, opening his mouth in anticipation as you turned to face him, fork poised in mid-air.

The cake was a simple yet opulent finish to a day filled with love, laughter, and a little chaos. What family event isn’t? Your engagement to Marcus had brought your closest friends and family to town, since neither of you were native to the city, turning the past week into a whirlwind of activity. 

This evening had marked the end of the week of celebrations, culminating in a dinner for both sides of the family. And while the affection and well-wishing from everyone had been heartwarming, it had also been overwhelming. 

You’d laid in bed, Marcus sound asleep next to you, but you’d tossed and turned. You had felt like you were still riding the adrenaline high of not only the engagement but the week of hosting duties. Unable to wind down despite the late hour, you headed for the kitchen. Your secret rendezvous with calm, disguised as a late-night cake tasting.

As he ate the cake from the offered fork, you watched his face light up. It was a simple thing, but you felt a warmth spread throughout. Here you were, in the middle of the night, eating cake in your kitchen with the man you were going to marry. There was a kind of magic in that simplicity, an affirmation that you were each other's comfort and joy, even in the most mundane of moments.

He swallowed, savouring the lingering taste before looking at you with gratitude. “Okay, I might be a believer.”

“Science doesn’t lie.” You replied, taking another forkful for yourself this time and relishing the taste that spread over your tongue.

“This cake is divine, but it's not quite the sweetest thing in this room,” Marcus responded, nudging your knees apart with his hips. 

His eyes dropped to your lips before he leaned in to kiss you. It was a gentle, lingering kiss—deeper than a peck but not rushed. It was a kiss that said 'I love you,' 'I appreciate you,' and 'I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you,' all rolled into one.

The combination of the cake, the quiet, and the deepening intimacy, in spite of the tiredness of the long day, meant it didn't take long for the kiss to pick up in fervour. Your hands moved to Marcus's neck pulling him closer. Exploring your lips with tenderness and gentleness his tongue teased yours, drawing out a low moan from you.

Marcus finally broke away, breathing heavily as his thumb swept across your lower lip. Taking a small step back he reached behind you for the cake box, pulling it towards the edge of the counter. You watched him smirk as he dipped his finger into the thick icing and brought it to his lips for a quick taste. 

But when he looked at you with those dark eyes filled with a mischievous glint, your heart thumped heavily in your chest and you felt your cheeks heat. A small smile crept across your face in suspicion of what was to come next.

“Have you tasted how good this stuff really is?” he asked with an impish grin, extending his finger out to you, still mostly covered in icing

Without hesitation and not breaking eye contact, you took the entirety of his finger into your mouth and slowly dragged your lips up, only to release it with a satisfying 'pop'.

He groaned as he watched you lick your lips, an exaggerated move by you knowing the effect it would have on him.

“While you were right,” he said, “cake does make things better.” he paused to place a gentle kiss on your lips, “But there’s still something missing, and I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his hand slid up your thigh.

You could feel his hot breath against your ear as his fingers brushed against the hem of your cardigan, gently grazing your bare thigh and barely skimming the edge of your panties. He leaned into you, murmuring into your ear: “And I think I just found it.”

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers start to tease at the sensitive skin. 

He began to unbutton your cardigan, his fingers masterful as he moved from one button to the next with one hand. As the fabric parted, he slid it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you felt, more than saw, his affirmation as his gaze travelled from your face down your body, and back again. A soft 'wow' escaped his lips, here you were, exposed in the most intimate of ways, and yet you’d never felt more cherished.

A feeling that you’d never been without since the first days of your relationship with Marcus. 

The room seemed to pulse around you, the delicious ache of longing mixed with the heady sweetness of the cake you’d just shared. His fingers lightly brushed against the side of your neck, moving down to trace the line of your collarbone, as if he were drawing invisible constellations on your skin.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “You’re incredibly beautiful, you know that?”

“You’re incredibly charming, you know that?” You rebutted playfully, earning a soft laugh from Marcus. 

He took a step back, taking the time to savour every moment of this intimate moment. His eyes seemingly drank in your form as if it were the first and last time he would ever see you. He reached out with one hand, tenderly cupping your face as he leaned in for another kiss.

You could feel desire radiating off him in waves as his hands explored your body. Your fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and slid under to run up and down the expanse of his back, pulling him back to you as you hooked your legs around his waist. There was no missing the effect this late-night make-out session was having on him.

His breathing grew uneven, mirroring your own laboured inhales and exhales. As he withdrew, his forehead met yours in a lingering touch. You both took a moment to regain your composure. His eyes met yours, reflecting the same want you felt coursing through you.

“As much as I'd like to continue this here,” Marcus bit at his lip as he thought about the idea of helping you up onto the island and taking things from there. However, the reality of the day was nipping at his stamina and he knew it would be over before it could even begin, “how about we head back to bed?”

“Back to bed,” you echoed with a smile as you disentangled your legs from around his waist. Already knowing that neither of you were going to be going back to sleep any time soon. Marcus helped you hop down from the stool, his hands lingering at your waist for a moment longer before finally letting go.

Leaving your cardigan in a pile on the stool, you took Marcus' hand in both of yours and led him back to your bedroom, tiptoeing the cool wooden floorboard in the dark and up the stairs. 

“So,” Marcus whispered, his lips tracing a path along your neck as he closed the bedroom door behind him, “where were we?”

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

The Plan [Marcus Pike x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Mentalist

Pairing: Marcus Pike x you/cishet f!reader. Reader is fat/overweight but this is never explicitly mentioned. Also, reader is a lawyer. (I know nothing about lawyering.)

Tags/Warnings: Sad Marcus, alcohol mention, one night stands, fellatio mention, neighbours with benefits, safe sex, squirting, cunnilingus, reader has a difficult relationship with her family, mad dash through the airport at Christmas, trauma dumping (Marcus coming clean about his disappointment after Lisbon dumped him).

Summary: A drunken one night stand with your cute new neighbour Marcus Pike eventually leads to more. Takes place after his story arc in the show.

Words: 7,895

A/N: My first Marcus Pike fic, and also I finished a goddamn fic! There is so much cause for celebration here, folks. Remember to comment and reblog: sharing is caring.

Shout-out to @missredherring and @pazizz who read drafts and helped me forward with this story <3

Marcus Pike does not have a bitter disposition. He does not sulk, or harbor resentment. It's just not in his nature.

Until now.

There is just something so unforgivable, incomprehensible, wrong about the way Teresa Lisbon left him. She called him to say she was coming to D.C., that she would marry him, and two hours later she called again to inform him that she wasn't. That she was in love with Patrick Jane. That asshole.

Marcus has been divorced, and not even that made him spiral as hard as the breakup from Teresa. It just hit harder, because he had fallen so hard for her, for the way she dipped her gaze and chin when a smile broke out on her lips, before looking back up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. He fell for her sense of humor, her intelligence, the way it was so easy to be with her. And he really thought that she fell for him in the same way. Maybe she did - but Jane was there, in the background, confusing her, wooing her with one last big, desperate gesture. If Marcus had known that all it took to keep Teresa was to get himself arrested, he would've done that instead of bringing her takeout at work, making her morning coffee just as she liked it, loaning her his jacket when she was cold during that date, all the thousands of little things that he did for her, that he loved doing for her because he loved her so much that doing those things weren't a chore, they weren't planned, they were an honest, spontaneous expression of his feelings for her.

And then, one big, desperate gesture that rendered Marcus's all small, everyday gestures moot. And it pisses him off.

Practicality kicked in as a form of survival. He quickly cancelled the purchase of the house he had Teresa had picked out, found a condo instead, moved in with his things, and threw himself into his work. Most of the boxes were left unpacked. His place didn't feel like a home because he couldn't let it. He was supposed to share one with Teresa, and now there was just him, surrounded by moving boxes that he had to deal with but couldn't, wouldn't. What should've been a house for the two of them - maybe more in the future? - with a little garden, walls impregnated with love and excitement for a life together, sunlight through the window during long weekend mornings of slow breakfasts, putting up Christmas decorations together, all those things that he was looking forward to. Now he has a bachelor pad, in a fancy apartment building with a doorman, but a sad bachelor pad all the same. The furniture is more or less where it should be, but he hasn't bothered to plan that much. The kitchen table is too big, but he's not in any condition to sell it off and buy a new one. The bookcases are half full, and his artwork is still unhung. He really tried there, but the first painting he got his hands on was one that he had seen before him in the spacious yet cozy living-room in That House, with the fireplace, and suddenly no wall in his apartment was good enough. So he put the painting away, and the rest were left packed down.

He even started going out after work, when he couldn't stay any longer but didn't want to go home. He found a watering hole to his liking, and became a regular, nursing one whiskey after another until he could go home and fall into bed for a deep, dreamless sleep.

It's after one of those nights that he finds you, his neighbor, trying to open his front door with your key. Your clumsy yet meticulous movements tell him that you're intoxicated, and there is something endearing about the way you're frowning, the tip of your tongue sticking out the side of your mouth as you focus on sticking in the key that doesn't fit.

When Marcus comes closer, you notice him, and look up. Quickly registering that it's the workaholic neighbor that you rarely see, you just nod, and go back to trying to open the door.

"That's my door," he says, and you look up again.

"What's that?"

"That's my door. You're trying to get into my apartment."

You frown, your hand holding the key falling to your side as you process his words. You then squint at the number of the door, taking a few seconds to realize that this is, indeed, not your front door.

"Oops," you mutter, then grimace apologetically at your neighbor. "Well, this isn't embarrassing at all."

"Don't worry about it," he shrugs, fishing his own key from his pocket. You step to the side to give him access to the door, and when he stands right next to you, you can smell his cologne, sophisticated and with a hint of bergamot.

He eyes you, just as drunk as you are.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Late night. You?"

"Same." He looks so tired when he says it, but you can tell that there is a dimple aching to appear in his cheek. His face, bleary though it is, is handsome, and looks like it was made for smiling.

"What is it you do again?" you ask. You've exchanged pleasantries with him when he first moved in, but you never had the time or mental capacity to actually remember who he is.

"FBI, I investigate art theft."

"Ah, right." Yeah, that's it, something so unusual and random that one couldn't make it up. Then again, D.C. is full of people who do stuff you only hear about in movies.

"Marcus," he offers his hand, and you take it, and give him your name.

"And what is it that you do?"

"Law. I work with government contracts and related investigations at a law firm here in D.C."

"Sounds complicated."

You shrug. "I'm smart enough."

"You look good, too."

You scoff. "Are you coming on to me?"

"I'm trying." Now the smile breaks through, lighting up his whole face. Gods, but he's cute.

"Okay." You make the decision quickly, nodding at his door. "Looks like I picked the right door, after all."

Marcus unlocks the door and opens it for you.

His head is pounding, and his mouth is dry when he wakes up. For a moment, he doesn't know what day it is, what he's supposed to do, or what happened last night, but then the flashbacks start to put things together. The flirty neighbor. Her naked skin. Her alcohol-fuming kisses.

He turns his head and sees you, still asleep next to him. Oh, okay.

Sitting up slowly, he gets his bearings before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Clothes are strewn over the floor. Right next to the bed is a used condom, tied up and looking sad and abandoned. Okay, good, at least he remembered to use protection. He picks it up and takes it to the bathroom, where he disposes of it before washing his hands and face.

He hears the rustle of bedsheets, and returns to the bedroom, realizing that he's naked. You might not want to be greeted by a naked stranger first thing. Looking around for his underwear, he's nevertheless too slow in finding them: you're already sitting up and rubbing your forehead.

He clears his throat. "Good morning."

Your smile is a little lopsided. "Morning."

"You want breakfast?" Marcus immediately offers, wanting to do the gentlemanly thing before he sends you off so that he can take about ten aspirins, and go to work. "And I'll put out a clean towel for you so that you can use the shower."

"Appreciate it, but I live right next door," you point out as you get out of bed. You're as naked as he is, and Marcus tries very hard not to ogle your body for what he suspects will be the last time.

"I don't mind."

"Thanks, but I have to get to work." You pick up and put on your panties, bra, skirt, shirt. Marcus spots his boxer briefs, and pulls them on.

"Okay, well... I had a good time."

"I did too."

Now you're standing right in front of him, buttoning up your silk shirt. Even with your makeup smudged out, and terrible morning breath, you look really nice.

"I gotta ask you something, though, because my memory is a little... hazy." Your cheekbones seem to glow, and he realizes that you're blushing.

"Yeah?"

"I sucked your dick, didn't I?"

Marcus feels the heat rise to his ears. "Um... well... yes, you did."

"Well?"

"What?"

"Did I do it well?"

"I think so."

You grin at him. "You don't remember much either, do you?"

"It was all consensual, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, I have no doubt about that." You surprise him by placing your hand on his naked chest. His heart skips a beat, and he hopes that you won't notice.

"I really have to go, but maybe I'll see you again soon?" you ask softly, and Marcus finds himself relaxing.

"I'd like that."

You even kiss him good-bye, a quick, closed-mouth peck to keep morning breaths from mixing, before you grab your shoes, your purse (muttering under your breath about several emails, and two missed calls), and head over next door.

Marcus, still only wearing his underwear, looks thoughtfully at the closed door for a long while before going into the kitchen with the too big table to make coffee.

Work occupies most of your waking hours, six days a week, often seven. You don't see Marcus again for weeks, don't hear any sounds from his apartment during the hours you're home and awake. Barely having time to think about him, your thoughts nevertheless stray to him when you're standing in the shower or going to bed at night. You haven't been able to fit a boyfriend into your life in a long time, and casual hook-ups have rarely left you satisfied, but even with your hazy memories of the night with Marcus, you left his apartment that morning with a feeling that it was good. So that's where your thoughts go when you touch yourself, the few times you have the energy to do so.

One Friday night, after a long but satisfying week that ended with a contract being accepted as it was, which meant you could have a weekend with only a couple of hours of work from home, you're hurrying home with Chinese takeout in a bag. Looking forward to a quiet night in front of the TV, with an early morning at the gym the following day, you run into Marcus on your way into your apartment building.

"Hi," you smile, immediately noticing how he seems to square his shoulders when he sees you. "Going out?"

"Yeah," he nods, moving his weight from one foot to the other as he takes in your food bag. "And you're staying in?"

"Finally, a Friday night without work," you acknowledge. Marcus's smile lets you know that he knows about that all too well.

"Enjoy."

"You too, you going somewhere nice?"

"No, I mean... I'm just going by myself."

There is something so despondent about the way he averts his eyes when confessing to going out alone. You're not in a position to start saving people, but you see an opening here.

"Join me for dinner instead, Marcus."

"I don't want to bother you."

"It's no bother," you shake your head, now moving towards the elevator while beckoning him to follow you. "Come on, before the food gets cold. There's enough here for two, I always buy extra."

He hesitates for only a split second, you can see it in how his body seems to pull him away, out to some sad bar with too much to drink. Instead, he nods, smiles softly, and follows you. He insists on bringing a bottle of wine from his place, and you accept.

You find out more about him that night, as you share your takeout with him, and he shares his wine. He tells you of heartache, only summarily, clearly not wanting you to feel sorry for him, but you can tell that he's been torn up about the "amicable" break-up. He also mentions that he's been married, and you wonder what's wrong with him. He seems perfectly nice and normal, why hasn't he been able to keep a woman? To his credit, he never complains about nice guys finishing last, only states that maybe he's meant to focus on his career.

"There's a lot to be said about having a good career," you agree. Marcus sips his wine with a small smile.

"Work doesn't break your heart."

"That, too."

"I take it you don't have a partner who'll suddenly come home to find me in his kitchen?" he jokes lightly, but you recognize the question for what it is: he wants to know if you're Seeing Anyone.

"Not one for relationships," you shrug.

"You don't long for anyone to snuggle up with in front of the TV on a Friday night?"

"I don't have time. And they never seem to understand that. Or they're working, too." You pick at the scraps in your takeout box with the chopsticks. "And I seem to attract douchebags. Dunno if it comes with the field in which I work. I always seem to go out with terrible lawyer guys."

Marcus chuckles. "Their loss."

"I miss having sex, though." You look him in the eye, and his tongue slides over his lower lip, catching some runaway sauce.

"Yeah?"

You nod, and feel your cheeks heat up. You're a no-nonsense person, but not always this forward with men. But it's easy with Marcus. He takes it all in stride, doesn't seem to think you're aggressive, or slutty, he just smiles and tells you that he misses sex too.

"But what we had was okay, though?" he adds. "Even if neither one of us seems to remember it that well."

"It was," you agree, raising the glass to your lips and draining the rest of the wine. After putting it back down, you tilt your head and bite your lower lip.

"You wanna do it again? Now that we're sober and all?"

"I'm a little tipsy," he warns you with a chuckle, "But I'm in."

Both of you get up at the same time, chairs scraping the floor simultaneously in the kitchen that mirrors his own but has a table that fits it. All of your apartment just fits in a way his half-assed dwelling doesn't. He realizes that it's because your apartment is a home, decorated and lived-in, warm colors and fabrics, Scandinavian wallpapers in bold but tasteful patterns that he himself would never consider but that feel right here.

You step up to him, snugly fitting yourself to his frame, and place your hands on his narrow hips as you kiss him. The two glasses of wine that you've had have laid a warm, cozy blanket over your busy mind, and now you're fully focused on Marcus, whose soft, plump lips are meeting yours as his arms go around your waist.

You make your way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes as you kiss and get undressed, get undressed and kiss. The bed in unmade, you just threw the covers to the side when you got up this morning. Wearing only your underwear, you lay down, pull Marcus over you, rake your fingers through his hair, moan when he palms your plump tits through the bra.

"Tell me what you like," he asks you hoarsely. You hum when he scatters kisses along the lace trim of your bra.

"That's a good start."

He hums back as he pops your tits out of your bra and lick around the nipples.

"Go on," he asks, and a shiver runs down your spine at the low barytone of his voice. You reach around to unhook your bra, and Marcus takes it off you and flings it to the side before burying his face between your breasts.

"You eat pussy?" you ask him breathlessly, and he looks up at you.

"Of course."

"Not everybody does," you wink, and he shakes his head.

"Their loss."

He's in a hurry, you note, but it's endearing in an unexpected way. When he pulls down your panties and gets settled, your legs over his shoulders, you remember to give him a warning.

"I, uh, I don't orgasm from oral, just so you know."

"Really?" His breath is hot against your folds, but he's looking up at you with attentive eyes.

"Yeah. It's not a comment on your skills, I just need you to know it," you shrug, accustomed to always having to tread carefully around the matter. Too many men get offended or take it as a challenge.

"Thanks for telling me," Marcus smiles in a way that's way too innocent and adorable for a man who's got his face inches away from your pussy. "But do you really want me to...?"

"Oh God, yes!" you reassure him. "I enjoy it a lot, and it gets me wet. I just can't cum, I need vaginal stimulation for that."

"You got it," he pats your thigh lightly before his tongue connects with your folds, and your eyes fall shut as you hand yourself over to the pleasure, to Marcus's deftly dancing tongue. He's good, he's attentive and eager, yet you don't get the feeling that he's trying to prove you wrong, to make you orgasm. Lord knows men have tries that in the past, and it's just stressful. No, he just seems to enjoy your moans, the way you writhe and grab his hands, the twitches of your pelvis when he does something extraordinary.

"Goddddd, Marcus, that's so fucking good..." you wail when he alternates between sucking your clit and licking it with a quick tongue. He's getting louder, sloppier, and you know you're dripping. Your clit is throbbing, and you know this is the perfect time to speed things up. You push him away, your thighs closing around his head, and Marcus retreats, chin glistening as he licks his lips.

"You okay?" he wants to know. You nod, breathless and with a pounding heart.

"Need to fuck you."

He scrambles up for a deep kiss, wet and lewd, before you push him over to get a condom from your nightstand. He drapes himself over you as you stretch across the bed, and peppers your back with kisses, like he's unable to stay away from you. You roll around, finding yourself caged between his strong arms, and you pull him down for more kissing with lips swollen and dry but still wanting more.

"How do you want me?" he gasps between the kisses as you pull down his underwear and paw at his small butt.

"Can I be on top?"

He rolls over onto his back immediately, watching you with open-mouth excitement when you remove his shorts and put on the rubber. When you finally sink down on his length, his fingers dig into your thighs as his breath hitches.

"Oh, that feels good..."

"Uh-huh," you sigh, staying still for a moment to adjust to his cock inside of you. You smile inwardly as you find yourself thinking about just how perfectly sized it is: thick but not too long.

"What?"

Your eyes open to find Marcus grinning at you.

"What what?" you grin back. He caresses your hips slowly.

"You looked like you had something to say."

"I was just thinking about what a perfect, gorgeous dick you have."

His cheeks turn pink. "Thank you. It came with the body."

You chuckle and start a slow grind, hips moving lazily back and forth as you seek out the right spots, the right rhythm. Finding it, you plant your hands on Marcus's chest and let out a low moan as you go slightly faster.

"That right for you?" he huffs, sitting up to catch a nipple in his mouth.

"Mmmfuckyes..."

You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, fingers seeking out your clit. Pleasure zaps through your body when you rub it, and you clench tightly around Marcus, causing him to dig his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, both of you groaning.

"So good," he gripes, soothing the sting of his fingertips by rubbing his palms over the affected areas before he moves his fingers to your front. "Need a hand?"

"'m good," you gasp, your free arm slinging around his neck. You clench around him again, and Marcus's hips jut upwards, slamming into you with a force that makes you choke.

"Fuck! God, Marcus, that was..."

"Can we try something?" he pants, pulling you in for a kiss. "Please?"

"Okay?" you frown, a little frustrated at being interrupted, but Marcus gestures for you to rise, so you do as he asks, and let him pull you down with him.

"Get on top of me again, but lie down," he instructs you. You must look doubtful because he immediately adds:

"Just try it, if you don't like it, we can go back to what you were doing."

"I'll try anything once," you shrug, and get on top of him again, this time with your back turned to him. Marcus pulls you down, positioning you on top of him, legs spread, his own legs on the outside of yours. You hesitate for a second, the reality of your weight sometimes haunting your mind, but Marcus insists.

"Just come here, baby," he tells you softly, so you let him take your weight. One of his arms sneaks up the side of your ribcage to cup a breast. With the other, he guides himself into you, pushing himself in with an upward thrust of his hips. You choke on your breath and let your head hang back on his shoulder, one arm seeking a position to support you, the other coming around Marcus's neck when he presses a toothy kiss to your neck. He thrusts into you again, fingers playing with your nipple, and then his other hand comes to rub your clit.

You keen at the sudden intensity, back arching on top of him, and he plants his feet more firmly on the mattress.

"Fuck," you gasp, "that's good, Marcus, this is good..."

He sucks a kiss to your neck, his teeth stinging just a little, and your legs kick in search of a hold so that you can stay just above him. He slips out, and you whimper.

"Relax," he soothes you, thumb abandoning your clit to instead guide himself back into you. "Put your weight on me, I can take it."

You follow his instructions, back sinking down onto his chest and stomach, pelvis angling slightly to help him stay inside you. His fingers return to tease your clit, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he settles into a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

"That's it," he praises you, his breath hot against your ear. "Just like that, take it, just enjoy it, let me take care of you."

The slow drag of his cock against your slick walls is maddening in how it pushes at your spot but leaves you wanting more. You buck your hips down eagerly.

"Faster, please, Marcus."

He obeys immediately, moaning at how you immediately clench around him. Your fingers thread through his hair, the other hand fists into the sheets. The pressure on that one spot inside you is growing in intensity, insanely, perfectly, knocking your breath out with each jab of Marcus's cock against it. Your moans become whimpers, a moan too complex a sound for you at this point, when you are so close, so utterly close to the climax that you now need as much as you need air -

The release floods your body and your cunt, and for a split second you're horrified at the wet feeling on your thighs, the rippling sound, until you realize that you squirted. A half moan, half giggle escapes you as you press your thighs together as if to lock in the orgasm that pulsates through your cunt and lower belly. Marcus gasps an excited Fuck, yes before bucking up a couple of errant times, and then relaxing down. He kisses your temple, drags his soaked fingers up over your soft belly, making you squirm.

"Sorry," he murmurs throatily. You murmur something back and slide down next to him. Everything between your legs seems wet and now cold, but you're still prickling all over with excitement.

Marcus heaves a deep sigh before turning his face to you. "That was so hot."

"I didn't know I could do that with a man."

"You haven't before?"

You shake your head. Marcus smiles softly.

"I'm honored. Was it good?"

"Yeah. How about you?"

"So fucking good."

You smile back at him before turning your face back towards the ceiling, and taking a deep breath that you sigh out audibly. Your body relaxes quickly, a muscle in your lower back mutters about the position you just were in, but you feel extremely good, and wrung out in a fantastic way. In the corner of your eye, you catch Marcus taking the condom off, before getting up to take it to the trash. When he returns, he looks around, looking for his clothes. You roll over onto your side.

"You don't have to leave, you know," you tell him quietly. Marcus stops, boxers in hand.

"Yeah?"

"I mean... don't get me wrong, I'm not looking for a relationship," you hurry to assure him. "But I wouldn't mind you staying over. Unless you have plans?"

"I don't."

He drops the boxers, and slides back into bed, next to you. You smile a little wryly.

"The sheets are wet. I'll change them, feel free to grab a shower.

"Soon," Marcus tells you, low voice heavy with a calm confidence. "I suggest we wet them a little more first."

Your deal with Marcus is simple and beautiful: sex, with or without staying the night. The occasional take-out dinner. Quickies when you run into each other in the corridor outside your front doors, with ten minutes to spare. It's undemanding, friendly, mutually satisfying. Uncomplicated, with no romantic feelings involved, so nobody can get hurt.

Marcus is an active lover who smoothly takes charge. Not bossy, but firm and empathic, and not afraid of using aids of different kinds to raise your orgasms to the next level. He's not opposed to fucking you fully clothed in the morning and leaving you wanting as you go to work with his cold cum in your panties, shot there after he removed the rubber after fucking you.

It is, in short, the perfect set-up.

Fall passes by, and you see yourself forced to fly out to see your family over Thanksgiving. You spend as much time as you can working in your childhood room, however. Your parents do not understand your choice of profession, your mother does not see how a woman of your age has chosen to be childless. Your older brother knocked his girlfriend up at sixteen, your younger sister was married at eighteen and divorced at twenty-eight. You love them, but you don't have a lot in common with them, and even if your siblings at least pretend to understand your life choices, their contempt steeped in jealousy of your life shines through at times. Your parents choose to simply ignore the life you have built for yourself in D.C., talking instead about Mrs. McCall next door, Annie down the street, Cybil in town, Kearney at the gas station, as if you knew any of them or cared about what they said about Kayleigh's twins.

You endure for two nights, and text Marcus from the airport, before boarding: I'll be home after nine tonight. You free?

He replies almost immediately: I'll pick you up at the airport.

You text him the flight number before turning off your phone, settling for a three-hour nap in lieu of working.

When you finally land, puffy-faced but breathing freely now that you're back in the city you call home, Marcus is waiting for you in arrivals. The way his smile lights up his eyes when he sees you makes your heart miss a beat. There is something there that's beyond what the two of you have, something much more sincere.

You shake it off and smile back as you walk up to him. He leans forward, like he's about to kiss you, but ends up giving you an awkward half-hug.

"Welcome home."

"Thanks. And thank you for picking me up."

"My pleasure."

The two of you turn and start walking towards the exit. Marcus offers to take your carry-on wheelie bag, but you decline, accustomed as you are to carrying your own luggage yourself.

In the car, he asks you how your Thanksgiving was.

"As holidays at my parents' usually are. One night would've been enough."

"That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. It's just..." You rub your forehead. "Whenever I visit, I feel trapped. Everything back home is... small. People are kind, yes, but they're small-minded. The town is small. The spaces in which to move, physically and mentally, are small. And I feel like some kind of big city snob who comes to visit twice a year, scoffs at their very ordinary and, as far as I know, happy lives, and then flies back to my vegan frappuccinos and twenty-four-hour sushi restaurants."

Marcus chuckles low. "I think I know what you mean. But it's hard for me to imagine that you'd be a snob about anything."

"I probably am. But I... I don't know, I outgrew that town when I was fifteen. Couldn't get out fast enough. And I don't like going back."

"Does your family support your choices?"

You shrug. "Yes and no. Mom and dad are proud, I guess, but at the same time they don't have any idea what it is that I do. 'If you wanted to be a lawyer, couldn't you be one here? Where it's not as stressful and you could start a family, and work normal hours?' As if I could practice the law I'm interested in over there."

"What's the most common type of lawyer in your hometown?"

"General practitioners who do a little bit of everything, wills mostly. And there are three, I think."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

The conversation turns to other subjects as Marcus drives the two of you to your apartment building. As he parks in his spot in the underground garage, you place your hand onto his thigh. He turns off the engine and looks at you.

"Thanks for picking me up," you tell him quietly. His hand comes to rest on top of yours.

"No problem."

"You have any plans for tonight?"

He shakes his head, then leans forward over the middle console as you reach across the same for a kiss. His fingers thread into your hair before closing around the back of your head to bring you in, and you sigh softly against his lips as you feel the rest of the pressure from your Thanksgiving visit melt away. If the town you grew up in felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable, D.C. and Marcus feel like home. And there's nothing you want to do more now than be with Marcus in this city.

You break the kiss and lower your gaze to his fly, where your fingers are already working on unzipping him. Marcus exhales in an audible sigh.

"You missed me that much?"

"Don't get any ideas," you warn him before bowing down over his lap.

Later, when you are freshly showered, and lying awake in Marcus's bed with him deeply asleep next to you, you wonder when his presence at night became such a comfort for you.

Marcus visits his parents over Christmas. You manage to convince yours that you're way too busy and the holidays too short for you to fly out. Settling in for a couple of days off work, you plan to go to the gym, meet friends, and maybe finally get through that book you started three months ago. You plan for simple yet delicious meals and come home with bags full of groceries and bottles of wine that you balance in your arms as you're digging for the keys in your pocket.

"Lemme get that."

Marcus appears by your side, taking a grocery bag from you.

"Thanks."

You manage to let yourself in, and Marcus follows you to the kitchen, where he leaves the bag on the table.

"Hi," he smiles. There is something so endearing about this man, his smile lights up the whole room, you can't possibly keep from smiling back at him.

"Hi. I thought you already left for the airport?"

"Just on my way now. Glad I caught you."

"Oh?" You unbutton your coat, unwrap the scarf from around your neck. "What's up?"

"Just... I wanted to see you before I left. Wish you happy holidays."

"Right." You take off your coat and leave it over the back of a kitchen chair. "Well... happy holidays, Marcus. I hope you have a nice weekend with your parents."

"Thanks." He clears his throat, looks down and scratches the back of his head. "Do you have any plans for New Year’s Eve?"

"Not that I know of."

"Do you maybe... want to do something?"

"Sure," you nod, a warmth spreading in your belly. "Like, dinner?"

"I was thinking Hirschhorn? You said you were curious about their special exhibit. Then dinner, and maybe a movie, if you're not opposed to spending so much time with me at once?"

You feel your cheeks heat up a little. "I don't mind at all. That sounds lovely."

His smile widens, his warm eyes glitter. "Great. I'll get back to you as soon as I return."

He kisses your cheek before leaving, his hand resting momentarily on your arm. When he closes the door behind him, the apartment feels empty.

That emptiness stays with you over the holidays. You're enjoying the time off, yes, and downright cherish not having to spend time with your family. You were looking forward to Christmas eve drinks with a couple of friends but are disappointed when they only talk about holiday preparations, gift shopping, and visiting in-laws. The detachment makes you annoyed. It's not that you want that kind of life, you don't want kids and a house and Thanksgiving dinners and all of that. But there doesn't seem to be any alternatives. You get the feeling that they feel sorry for you, that they think you should look up from your laptop once in a while, go dating, settle down, maybe work less.

Always work less. You love your job so much, maybe you won’t forever, but right now you do, and it doesn’t feel taxing when it gives you the gratification it does.

You grab a cab home, earlier than you thought and morose for not getting the carefree night you had planned for. Maybe it's your own fault for thinking that people with families wouldn't have changed.

You weigh your phone in your hand for a couple of blocks before texting Marcus.

Hope you're having a better time than I am. Just getting home after drinks, and realized I have nothing in common with my friends anymore :/

You regret the text as soon as you've sent it. It sounds whiny, and you know that you're being unfair to your friends. But Marcus replies almost immediately:

Sorry to hear that. Wish I was there to make you feel better.

You smile, and your heart skips a beat. He always knows what to say.

It is what it is. Early night for me.

He replies with a Santa emoji that makes you chuckle.

Too old for Santa, you type back. Or too naughty. Either way, he's not coming.

Only man who should come in your apartment is me ;)

You stare at the message, cheeks heating as you lick your lips. Your brain scrambles for an answer to match his tone.

I'll be the judge of that, mister. If you're away for too long, I might get lonely.

The reply comes almost immediately.

I'll be back before you know it.

Your heart is fluttering like a butterfly inside your ribcage, and you react with a thumb up to the last message. For the rest of the cab ride, you're chewing on your lower lip while looking out the window, decorated windows racing past you as the cab driver navigates towards your apartment building.

You fall asleep in front of the TV and are awakened by a text.

You up?

You rub your eyes, realize that you're still wearing makeup, and curse low.

It's two am.

Marcus's name immediately lights up on the phone, and you answer the call.

"What's up?"

"Sorry to wake you."

"That's fine, I was on the couch. Gotta schlep my ass to bed," you yawn as you turn off the TV, and stand up, scratching your head.

"I'm outside."

"What?"

"I'm outside your door."

You frown, trying to understand what he's saying. "What are you doing there?"

"Just open?"

Call still active and phone held to your ear, you walk over to the front door, and unlock it. And there Marcus is, holding his phone but lowering his hand and ending the call while smiling wryly at you.

"Hi."

"What... why aren't you at your parents'?" you stutter, still holding the phone like you're talking to him through it.

"Because I can't do this at my parents'." He steps up to you, cups your cheek, and brings his lips to yours. His face is cold, so you understand that he has just arrived from the airport. Your sleep-riddled brain still doesn't understand, and Marcus breaks the kiss, breathing softly against your lips before drawing back.

"Did I... fuck this up now?"

You lick your lips and realize that you're feeling calm and steady in a way you no longer do when he's not around. You grab him by the jacket lapel and pull him in through the door.

"No," you reply, a shiver running through you when he puts his arms around you. "No, you did just the right thing."

You don't use your tub as often as you would like to, yet it was one of the main reasons why you bought your apartment. It's spacious, has gorgeous vintage style brass faucets, and is placed by the window, from which you can see the park, now wearing a white winter coat of snow, on the other side of the street. The shower booth is at the back wall of the bathroom and your busy lifestyle has you favoring quick showers instead of long, luxurious baths.

Now, however, you're stretched out languidly in Marcus's arms, the back of your head on his shoulder, his hairy thighs pressing up against you on either side. The water is hot and scented with oils, and if the orgasms you had before getting out of bed hadn't relaxed you, this would definitely take away the last vestiges of stress knotting your muscles.

"This is a really nice tub," Marcus mumbles into your ear, his hand running up the inside of your arm, resting on the edge of the tub. "Wish I had one."

"You're welcome to use mine," you smile, just as his hand disappears into the water, finding your breast and cupping it, thumb lazily stroking the nipple.

"I like your apartment better anyway," he admits. "Mine doesn't feel like a home."

"That's just because you haven't unpacked."

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. "Been busy."

"Doesn't help much that you're fucking me every time you're off work."

“One could even say it’s your fault I haven’t unpacked,” he muses, lips touching your temple. You shake your head, hand finding his and leading it away from your breast.

“Nuh-uh, you don’t get to pin this on me.” There is no vehemence in your voice, and even if Marcus can’t see your face, he can plainly hear the smile threatening to break out.

“I had to try.”

You bring your hand back to your chest, and sigh when his fingers brush over your nipple. It would be so easy to just let things slide, enjoy his hands, his mouth, his cock that’s resting softly against your lower back… But your interest is piqued.

“Why haven’t you unpacked, Marcus?” you ask quietly. “I’ve seen that you have painting just waiting to be hung on the walls and given how much you like to criticize my dentist’s office artwork from Ikea, I can’t imagine why you haven’t done more to decorate your apartment.”

His hand stills, and you feel him swallow. He clears his throat, sighs, clearly stalling, but you don’t show mercy. You want to know.

“I guess… I thought I’d be making a home with someone. And when that didn’t happen, I didn’t like the idea anymore.”

You braid your fingers with his, the water gently rippling with your movement.

“Your ex?”

“Yeah. Teresa.”

“What happened?” He’s mentioned some tragic breakup but never specified, and you’ve never asked. Now, however, you’re asking. You want this puzzle piece to fit right, want to know everything there is to know about Marcus Pike.

“I don’t want to burden you with that…”

“I want to know, Marcus.”

He hesitates, but eventually tells you how his ex, a smart, beautiful woman that he fell head over heels for and eventually proposed to, accepted his proposal over the phone but called again thirty minutes later to tell him that she was leaving him for a coworker. Marcus had been transferred to D.C., had asked Teresa to come with, had a plan for a life together, and she turned out to be in love with a coworker: a charming, unreliable man who worked out an elaborate scheme to make her choose him instead of Marcus.

You’re shocked to silence when he stops talking, an array of emotions simmering inside you. When Marcus speaks your name, the first one to burst is anger.

“What a cunt!”

Marcus sputters your name, but you don’t feel bad.

“You know I’m right!”

“No need for language like that,” he protests, but you can sense a change in him. It’s like something’s loosened in him. Even if you can’t see his face in this position, you can feel it in how his body feels against yours.

“I’m sorry, but that behavior is despicable. And from what you’ve told me about that asshole that she went with because of you, I’d say they deserve each other.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe I was too pushy. We didn’t date for long before I asked her to marry me. I should’ve given her more time.”

You turn around in his arms so that you can meet his flickering gaze. Raising your hand to his cheek, you caress the slightly scratchy surface that sorely needs a razor.

“If it feels right, it feels right,” you tell him softly. “There’s no shame in being open and honest about your feelings, Marcus.”

He blinks, and for a second you think his eyes look shiny. His lower jaw moves as he swallows.

“Thank you,” he eventually mumbles. “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses but… I did feel I was being straight with her. And she… really fucking hurt me.”

“Yeah, she did.”

His stare is suddenly relentless.

“Will you? Hurt me, I mean?”

You feel nothing but calm. “Marcus, I like you a lot. This is more than just sex now. But I won’t marry you in six months, and I don’t need you to have a plan for us. I like my job, I have a good career that I won’t give up. I don’t want kids, but I like being with you, and I want to keep being with you, not just have sex but do other stuff with you.”

He smiles at that and casts his eyes down. You lean forward to press a small kiss to his lips.

“And I will help you to unpack your shit, and I will come with you to get a new kitchen table tomorrow when the stores open. Because that huge monster you have jamming up your kitchen has got to go.”

“Not tomorrow,” he immediately tells you, and you quirk an eyebrow. “Because tomorrow I’m taking you to the museum, out for a meal, and then we’re watching Casablanca.”

You chuckle. “It’s a deal.”

He pulls you in for a deeper kiss, water splashing when his arms go around you.

“For the record,” he murmurs against your lips, “I like you too.”

“That’s a relief,” you smile, before a gasp escapes your lips; Marcus’s hand has slid down your soft stomach to the apex of your thighs, and one finger is slowly circling your clit.

“Open your legs,” he whispers, breath almost scorching your cheek that is already warm from the water and your rising desire. You move around, legs and hips repositioning themselves so that he can cup his big hand over your sex.

“Marcus,” you breathe in a low moan, “I already came twice this morning…”

“And you’ll come a third time,” he promises as he slides a finger inside your warm heat, rolling a nipple between two fingers of his other hand. You curl your arm back and around his neck, seek his lips for more kisses, push down against his hardening cock to make him gasp into your mouth. Thumb on your clit, he adds a second finger to your pussy, fucking you slowly as you exchange moans along with your kisses. Your hips jut upwards when he hits the right spot, and then he stays on it, water splashing over the edges of the tub when he goes increases speed. Your hand dives underneath the surface to find his cock, and a strangled moan travels from Marcus’s mouth to yours when your fingers close around the stiff length. When he slows down, so do you, when he fucks you faster, your hand works him faster.

The climax reaches both of you at the same time, your bodies tightening up, Marcus’s hips jerking up as your thighs clamp shut, cries bouncing off the tiles as you press your bodies together. As silence falls, the water stills and your hearts return to their normal rhythms, and Marcus’s lips are on your temple.

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

“So are you,” you hum, a ripple of lingering pleasure making your legs twitch. He kisses you again, a light smattering of kisses over your temple, brow, cheekbone, before reaching your mouth. That last kiss is deep and slow, loving, and intimate in a way you haven’t had with him before. It’s unnerving, almost scary, but there is something so comforting about Marcus’s broad-shouldered body underneath you, something that makes you embrace the unknown.

“Happy Christmas, baby.”

The underwhelming meeting with your friends, the flirty texting with Marcus, that feels like weeks ago. But it was only last night, and your world has been thoroughly rocked since then.

“Happy Christmas, Marcus.”

[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.”

[jolalibrary]

milk and cookies

marcus pike x f!reader

summary: milk and cookies go well together. just like you and marcus - as a halloween costume.

word count: 2.5k warnings: fluff, established relationship. marcus is in love with you, bcus of course he is, you're amazing. dedication: a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for being there for my insane thoughts, for reading this, and also agreeing this outfit is so marcus coded

As soon as Marcus scans eyes over the paperwork on his desk, he knows his evening has gone up in flames. It torched, practically set alight right in front of him.

The warmth from it licks at his skin as he slowly begins to pull out his phone, closing his office door—needing privacy, a semblance of being alone with you.

He hates this. The disappointment that he brings. That he has to explain, again, that he needs to rearrange, change things—uproot a plan he’d been excited to put into place.

“Hey, I was just about to reply to you—”

It almost falls from his tongue, cutting you off—the simple, short apology. When he does it, he’s purposeful with how he laces it with affection. Wanting—needing—you to know that he means it, that he’d rather be with you than anywhere else.

Even if he loves what he does.

Even if what he loves also means letting you down, it practically comes with the job title.

He swallows it, as best as he can. Allows it to crawl back down his throat, lets it remain there—in the pit of his stomach, swirling with all the other things he hates that he has to tell you. Like I’ll be back in a few days, I wish I could lie in bed with you.

Because, even if the two of you have said those three magical words, he still braces for them to be retracted. For his job to the thing that yanks the two of you apart, rips them both down the middle.

“—I just got caught up, and oh, I managed to find that syrup you liked—the one you told me about—so I’ll pop that in my cupboard for the next time you stay here.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he realises (quickly) that it isn’t going to be today.

“I may have to rain check tonight, baby.”

He waits for the disappointment, a sharp tone—a sigh, all littered with frustration and sharpened by annoyance. But as always, it doesn’t come.

Marcus did not hear anything close to that. If anything, words flow from your tongue, all calm, genuine—all full of understanding: It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t cancel if it weren’t important. Is it a new case?

“I’m really sorry.”

He’s sure he hears you smile.

Sighing, he runs his hand over his face, finger sliding down the bridge of his nose as he slumps himself into his desk chair. Not sure how he can articulate how much he had wanted to see you, had craved nothing more—the thought had been getting him through the day’s meetings and bullshit casework.

The thing—all key-shaped, wrapped in little pumpkins—has been burning a hole in his wallet for the past two weeks while he waited for a moment such as tonight.

Because, fuck you’re so nice. So kind. So understanding. To the point, a part of him worries. Just a little thrum. It there, being plucked like a string, in the moments where he can feel himself falling—all set to slide his foot over the ledge and tumble—what if he chose the wrong time to ask, and broke it—what the two of you have. What he thought he’d found with others, but now he realises had just not been you.

“Plus, I mean, you’d be really upset if someone stole your art,” you add, voice closer to the phone, likely halting whatever it is you were doing to talk to him.

A thought that pulls at the corner of his smile, a thing you do more and more as the weeks turn into months.

Shifting in his chair, he faces himself at the window—the car lights twinkling as they make their way wherever they fancy.

Smirking, he drops his hand to his lap. “There’d be another team involved if someone stole my art.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, still, you’d be needed, wouldn’t you?”

His lips twist further, teeth showing—a smile so large it almost fucking hurt. Because, shit, you’re adorable, funny, beautiful—

“There’d be another team because you’re my art. I don’t really deal with missing people, baby.”

“Oh.” It’s different than the one before—to the point he swears he can feel the heat from your cheeks through the phone. “Well, I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t… you don’t have to say anything. Just tell me when I can next see you—give me something to look forward to.”

He hears the phone move, likely from one ear to the other.

“It’ll be Friday—at the party.”

“Friday it is then. Can I still call you later?”

He hopes you’re mirroring his smile from where you’re standing. Marcus hopes he’s not alone in this feeling, the one which has come from nowhere, and makes him worry—more than he has before—because he’s not sure he has it in him to fall, crash and burn all over again.

“I’ll look forward to it, Pike. Especially seeing you in your outfit. Now, go and do good. In the meantime, I’ll count down till we’re reunited in the kitchen, which is everyone’s midnight fantasy. If you can make it, that is.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Don’t worry, if you can’t. Your job is important,” you say. “I’ll… find someone else to dunk myself into.”

Your laugh fills his ear, and he smirks in his chair as he sees the time. “Respectfully, baby. No.”

“Go be a hero, and call me when you land.”

“𝙳𝚘 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢?” 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠. “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?” “𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝙰𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙿𝚒𝚔𝚎.” 𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. “𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚍.” “𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢.” “𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸’𝚖 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.” 𝙻𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚠. “𝙾𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸’𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎?” “𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎,” 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍.

It had begun as a joke.

You mindlessly scrolling for costume ideas, nestled between his side and the sofa, showing him ones to gauge his reaction. And then you had landed on it.

A grin so big, it could rival the sun with how bright it was—a little kick of your feet that made his chest fill with warmth, happiness and unfiltered joy.

Marcus Pike, will you do me the honour of being the cracker to my cheese?

His finger, though, had scrolled, moved to the next pairing down, grinning—thinking of all the times you’ve found him getting crumbs over the counter.

Rather be the milk to your cookies, baby.

He hadn’t regretted it. Not even when his half arrived, when he had to slide it on in his car—almost getting stuck on the exit of his vehicle as he straightened up outside the address of your friend's home.

Because all he wanted to do was reunite with you.

The days had dragged, and the hours had slumped slowly by. Even the nightly phone calls and occasional texts did nothing to speed it up.

If anything, it just made the question—the one that’s been swirling in worrisome-bile in his chest—more important to ask. Even if the last few times he’d asked a bold question with someone he thought was the one had gone wrong, crumbled away, withered until nothing but weeds were left. h

But then, Marcus supposes, none of those people were you.

As he’d been previously told, he hadn’t needed to knock—the door was unlocked. Immediately greeted by music, by flashes of orange and purple lights as he pushed the door back into the frame behind him. A smile already desperate to cut into his face, the week fading from his shoulders, from his muscles and bones, quickly being replaced by giddiness—a usual symptom of knowing he was going to see you.

Where he’d find you, he wasn’t sure.

A part of him wondered if you really were cliché, and he’d find you in the kitchen, or if you’d be with friends—in the thick of the hustle and bustle, even if you’d told him you didn’t know half the people attending.

People always seemed to like you.

Your kindness shining, practically illuminating—glowing. It’s why he hadn’t really tried to fight falling for you, not at first and not after the first time he sat knee to knee with you at a restaurant table. Because, you were charm, brilliance and captivation, all wrapped up in a person with a stunning smile and a heart of gold.

His thought is cemented when he walks through the open door to his left, and his eyes land on you. You, who is standing nursing a red cup, eyes trained on the window—likely looking for him. Not sure which way he’d have walked up to the house, not realising he’d parked the entire other way—having overshot the house when he’d driven down it.

He’s grateful. Selfishly steals the seconds to just admire you, take you in. Because even if he’s seen you dressed to the nines, bare in his sheets and standing in one of his tees at his kitchen counter, the fact he gets to admire you standing in a costume that matches his, makes his heart skip.

Even more so when your eyes slide across the room, landing on him.

Fuck. He’s sure his heart stops, then.

It’s why he’s grateful time slows. Allows him the chance to restart it as he gets to bear witness to the realisation he’s here, flickers over your face. It absolves the worries and doubts which had been etched into your brows; it vanishes away any nibbling of your bottom lip, that he’s sure you’ve been doing. Instead, it replaces each part of your tinged frown with relief and gratitude.

He should hate it, but it feels like a movie. Not at all factual or sensible, but rather unexplainable and life-altering.

Something he’ll replay when you’re asleep against him, unsure how it is he got to find you in the sea of everything he’d already been lucky to experience.

“You made it,” you say, voice carrying just over the music—standing in front of him.

His lips somehow (between the edge of his milk carton and your inability to twist) manage to find yours, finding they taste a mix of salt and sweetness, spotting the mini-pretzels in your hand. “Of course. Couldn’t leave you here to fend without something to quench your thirst.”

“My hero.”

“You know it.”

Your body curls into him, trying to anyway. Eyes unable to tear themselves away, staring at him, as though he’s hung the stars for you. The two of you silent, admiring—lost entirely in the other until the song changes, snapping you back, reminding you that the two of you aren’t alone.

Even if he wishes you both were.

“C’mon, I need to introduce you to people.”

Before tonight, he’d met most—the ones who matter, you’d explained. But, there were others. Some hidden, disguised too well, behind makeup and SFX that he did wonder if he’d spot them so easily tomorrow when the evening was over.

What he hadn’t banked on, was that you were doing so, to try and carve a place for the two of you to be more secluded, more alone. Moving from room to room, stealing bits of food, cheers’ing your cup, until the two of you were on the back porch—mist blowing from your lips, your sigh heard, loud in the quiet compared to the party inside.

“You having fun, baby?”

Turning your head, you nod—sliding yourself closer to him. “Yeah.”

With minimal awkwardness, he manages to press a kiss on your forehead. Getting a glimpse of your perfume and shampoo, finding it unlocks something—an idea, a thought bubble. Having spent so long looking for perfection, he hadn’t known tonight had been blooming itself to be one.

“Just thinking,” you add.

Sliding his arm around you, he fans his finger out over your back, Humming, resting his head against the top of yours.

“Just that… maybe we can host one of these. You know, one day?”

He feels it hook into the edges of his mouth, a smile growing, sliding up into his cheeks. “Together?”

“Together.”

“Think we should enforce people to dress up as pairings.”

“Oh, for sure. I think we could do better thought—maybe be a piece of art and a paintbrush. Make everyone else be food or something—or their jobs. Otherwise, we’ll just get loads of cops and robbers.”

His laugh rumbles out, feeling you try to move closer next to him—the cookie edge and his carton edge making it difficult.

“Maybe we can do it next year.”

“The outfit? I mean, I think I can make a paintbrush outfit… would need to get on it soon—”

“The hosting,” he adds, cutting you off.

Smirking, you lift your head, tilting it up to see him as he lifts his head from yours, spotting your narrowed eyes. “Is this you asking me to live with you, Marcus Pike?”

Holding up a finger, he fights a laugh. Because if only you fucking knew. His hand slides, shifting under his costume, into his pocket—his wallet emerging, your eyes following his movement.

“So, I’ve been walking around for the past few weeks with this,” he says, undoing the pocket, pulling out a key—one wrapped in pumpkins and little ghouls. “Just... waiting.”

“Oh my…”

“So, baby, if you want to, I’d love you to move yourself and that syrup into my place. I’ll let you decorate my home—our home—from top to bottom and host the most cheesiest party ever.”

“Marcus...”

He licks his lips, turning the key in his finger and thumb. “I really want to keep a close eye on my art, baby.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, baby. More than anything…”

Misting up, he watches your eyes shimmer more under the flashing lights coming through the window, and the bright moon in the sky, before you’re nodding. Softly at first, then enthusiastically, little glitter tears sliding down your cheeks, accompanied by an I love you; I’d love to move in.

Your body tries to move, almost knocking over a plant pot as you try and throw your hands around him.

Clumsy, he thinks, steadying you, cupping your cheek and holding what he can of your side in your costume.

“Weeks, ay?”

Snorting, he swipes his thumb against your cheek. “Trying to find the perfect moment.”

“I think you achieved it.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you take the key from his fingers, turning it, before looking back up at him. “I’m so lucky to have you, Marcus.”

I’m lucky to have you, he says. Not with his words. But with his lips against yours, pressing your lower spine to the porch fence—because fuck he loves you.

an: ily all.

[pedroscurls]

second chances | pt. 3

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: You and Marcus continue to get to know each other, but the feelings you both have for each other are becoming increasingly difficult to keep it at bay. Word count: 2.1k A/N: All the fluff, y'all!!! The next chapter will get a bit more deeper between these two, so stay tuned! (and also I just want to say that gif of Marcus - Pedro literally stares straight at the camera for a very brief second🫣)   Warning: None.  SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

It’s been a month since you moved in and you and Marcus have developed a morning routine. It helps that you both like to be up early and there have been a few times where he’d come over early enough to eat breakfast with you. You realize that you haven’t yet been inside of his apartment. Whenever you spend time with him, it’s always at your place and while you don’t mind, there is a bit of mystery to him that piques your curiosity. 

He’s sweet. 

He’s kind. 

He’s thoughtful.

He’s handsome. 

But every time you’re with him, you can tell he’s holding a part of himself back, like he has this guard up that makes it so difficult for you to get through. He only shows you part of himself that he wants you to see, but you don’t push him. You don’t ask for more than what he’s willing to share because you’ve been in his position before. 

You’ve had your heart broken before. And it certainly isn’t the greatest feeling knowing that someone you loved didn’t choose you. Marcus doesn’t have to say the words for you to know that that’s why he’s holding himself back. There’s a longing in his deep brown eyes whenever he spaces out, but you never address it. Instead, you focus on just being there for him – with him – because while his guard is up, you’re open and vulnerable. You hope that it shows him just how comfortable and safe you feel around him. 

—

It’s Friday night and Marcus finally gets home at around midnight. He’s exhausted and feeling burnt out. His workdays always start out great because he gets to see you. The routine you both established gets him excited every time he wakes up and he’s always eager to see what kind of outfit you’d be wearing for your class. You’re colorful, expressive, and he can just imagine how fun and engaging you must be while at work. 

Marcus could hear you talk about how much you love your job and your kids for hours. Your passion for teaching is so clearly obvious when you talk about it because he always notices the way your eyes light up, how big your smile gets, and it’s infectious. He can’t help but always smile whenever he’s around you. 

You’re also very different from Lisbon. When he lies awake at night, finding it hard to fall asleep, he compares you to her. He knows he shouldn’t, knows that even thinking about Lisbon always leads to more negative feelings, but he can’t help himself. Marcus had thought that his relationship and his feelings for Lisbon were real and after being married and divorced, he thought she was it. 

He should have known better. 

But when he thinks about Lisbon, you follow soon after. Sometimes at work, he will catch himself thinking about you just because Lisbon crossed his mind. Marcus isn’t sure what to make of it, but he knows that nothing could happen. Getting hurt again is a serious possibility if he were to take a chance with you and he isn’t sure that’s something he wants to risk. 

Marcus gets off the elevator just in time to see you setting a foil-covered plate on his doorstep. You’re wearing a black and red plaid hoodie that’s so large it covers most of your frame. He smiles to himself and then clears his throat quietly, seeing you stand upright and turn around to face him. 

“You know what time it is?” Marcus asks.

“It’s not a school night,” you point out. “I was just dropping off some food in case you didn’t eat dinner.” 

He walks towards you and leans down to grab the plate. “What’d you make?” 

“Lasagna. You will need to warm it up though. I made it when I got home from work.” You reply, looking up at him. “I just remember you telling me this morning that you were going to be home late and since I know you don’t usually cook when you have late nights, I just figured–” you bite your lower lip and realize that you’re talking too much. Again. But when you look up at Marcus, he’s still smiling in your direction. 

“You wanna join me?” 

“It’s a little over midnight,” you say. 

Marcus chuckles. “Thought you said it wasn’t a school night.”

“It isn’t.” you blush. 

“Well then, if you don’t have any other neighbors to drop dinner off to, I’d really like some company.” he teases with a wink.

“Hey!” you say with a quiet laugh. “You’re the only one. I promise.” 

Marcus smiles at that and then unlocks his door. He steps inside and holds the door open for you, watching you step inside. He knows his apartment is clean, but he had been avoiding inviting you to his apartment because of how bleak it was. His apartment is just a place for him to get some rest and eat; it certainly wasn’t a home. At least not in the way your apartment feels whenever he’s there. 

He turns the lights on and leads you to the kitchen. You trail behind him, looking around his apartment and biting your lower lip. It’s like you’re getting a glimpse into his life, a glimpse into what he doesn’t really show you. His walls are bare except for the paintings that you assume came with the place because it doesn’t really seem like it’s his style. His place is much bigger than yours, you notice. The only thing that does seem like he decorated or put thought into it is the bookcase that’s against the wall of his living room. You don’t get much time to veer off and see the variety of books he has displayed because the sound of him opening up a wine bottle catches your attention. 

“How was your week?” Marcus asks, pouring two glasses of white wine and then unwrapping his plate of food to put into the microwave. 

“Fun like always,” you grin. “But I’m ready for the weekend.”

“You have any plans?” 

“Well, I am planning on going to Ikea or doing some shopping for the apartment.” You respond, lifting the glass of wine to your lips. “What about you? How was your week?”

“Busy. Tiring,” Marcus says. He doesn’t know what else there is to say about his job; it pays well, but he certainly doesn’t love it as much as you love teaching. “But I’ve got the weekend off, so it isn’t a school night for me either.” 

Before you could even think about what you’re saying, you quickly blurt out, “Do you wanna come with me to Ikea?” Shaking your head to yourself, you bite your lower lip. “Sorry. I’m sure you have plans–”

Marcus turns to face you, having removed his leather jacket and now in his light grey t-shirt and dark jeans. “I’d love to.” 

Your eyes light up with hope, with excitement and it makes Marcus smile. “Really?” 

Marcus nods and takes the plate of food out of the microwave once it beeps that it’s done. He sets it down on the counter and leans against it, waiting for his food to cool down. “Yes, really. Besides, maybe you can give me some pointers about how to decorate my place. As you can tell, it’s very… bare.” 

You can’t even hear what he’s saying because you’re staring so deep into his brown eyes that you feel like you could just lean in to kiss him, to wrap your arms around him, to just be in his arms. You want to be closer. You want to know what it’s like to have his lips on you, to feel his hands roam your body, to feel–

“You okay?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts. 

“Sorry, yeah. I’m just excited.” 

Marcus chuckles. “By the way, this needs to be addressed.” He then points to what you’re wearing. “What are you wearing? It literally covers all of you.” 

You grin. “It’s called a blanket hoodie and it’s very comfy.” 

Marcus looks at you from top to bottom, not bothering to hide the fact that he was obviously checking you out. When his eyes settle on your face, though, he notices the way your lower lip is between your lips and there’s a slight pink hue to your cheeks. You’re not looking into his eyes anymore and he gently reaches out and taps the back of your hand. 

“It’s cute,” he says softly. “It suits you.”

You blush even further and look down at his hand as he pulls away. It’s an innocent touch, but it lingers and you find that you want him to touch you even more. Your mind drifts to very inappropriate thoughts as Marcus continues to eat. 

“Yeah right,” you finally respond. 

Marcus chuckles. “It is. Makes me want to get one. You think it’d look cute on me?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood and alleviate the tension that fills the air. 

You smile to yourself and shrug a shoulder. “Hm, I don’t know. I think it takes a certain type of person to pull this off.” 

He lets out another quiet laugh and shakes his head, finishing the rest of the food you packed for him. He leans against the counter and tilts his head. He had a particularly rough day at work, but you’re making it better. Marcus knows it’s late, knows that you both should be heading to bed, but he doesn’t want you to leave just yet. 

“You might be right,” he sighs heavily. “You don’t want me to out-do you.” 

You feign a gasp and gently smack his arm, letting out a quiet giggle. It fills Marcus’s heart and he can’t stop staring at you. Your smile makes his heart flutter and the sound of your laughter filtering his home is something he wants to hear more of. It’s like you belong here. With him. 

And as he’s looking at you, Marcus finds that his resolve is slowly slipping. 

Because he wants so badly to reach out to you and pull you into his arms. 

He wants so badly to feel your lips. 

He wants so badly to just be wanted, to just be chosen, and you always look at him like no one else in the world matters. 

“Maybe we can match,” you tease. “See who truly looks better in it.” 

“It’s gonna be you,” Marcus blurts out. There’s a slight blush on his cheeks and his ears feel hot when you’re looking up at him. 

“Are you flirting with me, Special Agent Marcus Pike?” you tease. 

Marcus chuckles quietly and clears his throat. “You’re telling me that you don’t think you’re good looking?”

You shrug. “I think I’m okay.” 

Marcus scoffs. “You’re beautiful,” he says honestly. “And if I’m overstepping–”

“Thank you,” you interrupt him. His compliment makes the butterflies in your tummy flutter even more and you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare up at him. You’ve had compliments before, but coming from Marcus gives you a different sensation than what you’ve felt before. “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome,” you wink.

Marcus smirks to himself and downs the rest of his glass of wine. “So, is this what happens when it’s past midnight and we share a bottle of wine?” 

“What? We be honest with each other?” you laugh quietly. “We’re both just stating the obvious.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “We’re just two good looking people,” Marcus winks. 

“Exactly,” you laugh quietly. You finish your glass of wine and look at the time. You really should get to bed, especially if you both plan on spending the day together. 

“Call it a night?” Marcus asks. 

You nod. “I think so. We should both probably try and get some sleep before we head to the store later.”

“Good idea. Thank you for the dinner.” 

“Thank you for inviting me in,” you tell him. 

Marcus leads you towards the front door and before he can open it, he’s caught off guard when you wrap your arms around him in a loose embrace. He stiffens for a moment before allowing his arms to wrap around you and he realizes just how much he enjoys feeling your body against his. 

“Good night, Marcus,” you say softly. “I’ll see you later today.” 

Marcus nods and gently squeezes you before he pulls away. “Good night. Looking forward to later.” 

You step out of his apartment and walk towards your own. You look over at him and smile, seeing him lean against his doorframe. 

“Just making sure you get home safe,” Marcus calls out. 

Your stomach does flips at that and you want so badly to just run up to him, to be back in his arms. “What a gentleman,” you tease, opening your front door. 

Marcus chuckles and nods in your direction. “Good night, angel.” The pet name slips and he turns around to walk back into his apartment before you could say anything about it. 

You walk into your apartment and shut the door behind you. Letting out a contented sigh, you realize that your feelings for Marcus are only getting stronger.

—

prev. - next.

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taglist: @nabiiturner | @aquanatalie

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[creedslove]

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who was so hurt after his disastrous and very brief engagement he just simply went through a time where he shut himself down to anyone around

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who had to get used to a new town, a new work position and loneliness, after thinking he would finally get the family he had always dreamed about and it ended up turning into probably the worst rejection he'd ever suffered

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who fought so hard the feeling he saw growing for you; he definitely didn't want to go through all of it again, he didn't want to be filled with illusions nor jump into heartbreak like he usually did

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who could feel you were the one, this time his heart told him it was about you and not about the idea of marriage and kids, but rather you and him together and yet, he didn't want to act out on it

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who asked you out, although he was careful and worried, he couldn't help letting his warmth overflow towards you and towards your first date it simply clicked

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who started a relationship with you and promised himself he would take things slow, but each moment he spent next to you, felt more and more intense and he found himself addicted to it

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who looked at you with the most beautiful puppy love eyes and always made sure to compliment you, not out of politeness but because you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who always made sure to take you out on several dates, loving to introduce you to new restaurants, or art galleries and bars not to mention the late at night diners where you'd both have breakfast for dinner and the infinity of pancakes he loved

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who melts when you get all excited to learn he plays the bass and begs him to play some for you, and even more so when you can't wait to hit the pub he's gonna play with his old band just like old times

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who gets surprised you are willing to watch old movies with him even if they're not your favorite, but just the fact you actually will take some of your time to get to know something he likes is heartwarming enough for him

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who gets so happy when you accept traveling to Italy with him while he works on a case you can at least get to know the place a little and at night go to cozy restaurants

boyfriend!Marcus Pike whose heart flutters when you surprise him by bringing him lunch at the office and doesn't think it's too soon for him to have a framed picture of the two of you on his desk

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who loves seeing you staying at his apartment for the weekend and noticing you staying a couple of days more or when he opens his closet and sees some of your clothes already there

boyfriend!Marcus Pike who's not very happy with how cramped his apartment feels and decided to buy a new home, and got surprised when you got all excited and decided to help him with the task

boyfriend!Marcus Pike loving the feeling you are both looking for a home to expand your family even if words about it hadn't been said, this is how it feels

boyfriend!Marcus Pike realizing it's finally time to make a stand and propose, it feels right, you're both so in love with each other and he knows it's time to build up a family with you

boyfriend!Marcus Pike being the happiest man on earth after you said yes, realizing he's gonna be now...

husband!Marcus Pike ❤️

[chronically-ghosted]

the days i spend with you

rating: T

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: >1000

summary: a snow-storm keeps you from meeting Marcus's family over the holidays so you cheer him up by maintaining Pike family traditions.

warnings/tags: literally none, so much fluff, bad jokes, talking with your mouth full which is bad manners, references to air bud (do y'all even know who that is), minor praise in a barely kinky way, no y/n

a/n: i was feeling festive and my beautiful beautiful moots answered the call! @yoursoulsunbreakable requested: What about making apple scented candles with Marcus P on a rainy day? 🕯️🍎 🍁 this was healing to my soul to write so there will be more autumn/thanksgiving themed oneshots coming soon! (if you like these, please go look at @trulybetty 's october x 500 -- she did all of October with these yummy prompts, so please check them out and give her a follow!)

🤍Masterlist

“Stop it, you’re going to make me laugh.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re going to make me drop it!”

“What do you want me to do? Shut my eyes?”

“Yes!”

With a smile, your eyes flicker between the dribbling hot wax and Marcus, laughing as he stands up and goes to the other side of the kitchen. He pops half a Snickerdoodle in his mouth.

“Shee ‘m ev’n in a d’frnt room. ‘Appy now?” 

Your distraction taken care of, you return your attention to the culmination of about eight hours of work. Arms straining with the heavy pot, you continue to pour out the amber colored liquid into the small glass container that came with the kit and you bite your lip, focus entirely on maintaining a steady hand. A whole number of things could go wrong here: you could spill the wax and have hot wax splash all over Marcus’s grandmother’s Queen Anne table, which could have been present at the original Thanksgiving. You could pour too fast and the wax would yank down the wick and then you’d have to pluck it out with tweezers before it could harden – naturally clumsy, adding speed to the mix would only incentivize more chaos.

But you hold steady, wrists tight, and the wax slowly fills to the top, the tiny string staying firmly around the chopsticks. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing perfect.”

His voice makes your toes clench in your shoes and you bite your lip harder. Caught half-way between wanting his praise and finding even his voice a distraction, you block him out entirely and lean forward, just as the wax reaches the lip of the glass container. Like Marcus had shown you on the one he did just before, you flick your wrist up and the flow of the wax drip, drip, drips until the last bit is stopped by the edge of the pot. 

For a moment, you worry about what you forgot to do or if you’ve missed a step – because everything looks too perfect. The wax is settling properly, a cinnamon apple smell pungent throughout the house, and the string holds strong. 

Firm, warm hands slide over your waist as Marcus kisses your neck. His breath smells like sugar, the weight behind you a balm and a praise all its own.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asks quietly as he noses your ear. “You’re a natural.” 

You bite your lip and run your palms over his knuckles, up to his elbows, then settling firmly on his forearms.

“I know I’m not as good as your sister, or your mom, but at least I didn’t spill everywhere.” You smile gently when he stiffens slightly behind you. Twisting in his arms, you put a hand on that smooth face you love with all your heart. He returns your smile, but it's dampened. You know he’s disappointed that the weather grounded all planes to Maine where the Pikes’ have a winter home – he had been so looking forward to introducing you to his family. “I hope I haven’t shamed your ancestors with my shoddy candle making.”

Marcus laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug around your waist. “You haven’t shamed anyone. I give that candle a ten out of ten.” 

“And I burned the wax only once!” This time you laugh with him as he kisses your cheek. You forget how easy a happy Marcus shows affection, someone entirely different from the forlorn man you met all those months ago after he moved to Washington from Austin. “What’s next for the Pike family Thanksgiving Olympics?”

“Well, for a championship gold medal like that, I think all contestants deserve a hot chocolate and a repeat viewing of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” He pats your butt and walks into the kitchen. “Save me a seat, will ya?”

You smirk then flex in a pose as you head for the couch like you’re showing off your muscles on the Miami boardwalk. “You got it, champ. Put me in, cap, I’ll bring home the gold yet again! Airbud ain’t got nothing on me! Those Rooskies can’t defeat my hockey skills and–,” 

A hand catches your elbow halfway through a pretend hockey stick swing and you stumble back into his arms. You have a second to see his half-lidded eyes before he kisses you, your cheeks nestled between his palms. And you, predictable, go as weak-kneed as a dame on a tarmac. Your hands curl around his wrists, his cashmere sweater as soft as he is.

He nips at your bottom lip, almost a more affectionate squeeze than a real bite and you sigh, adjusting yourself to get closer to him. When he finally pulls away, you feel a little lightning-struck. You lift your heavy lids to his rich, dark brown eyes. The smile he gives you is a full on Pike smile, nothing dampened or dimmed about it.

“Thank you for being here,” he murmurs to your lips. You can’t wait to kiss chocolate off his later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.” 

There is no silence with Marcus, only quiet contentment. Outside, the snow patters softly against the windows, piling up in the eaves of the house and the bends of the trees and the curves of the cars, the miles of road – a truly snowed-in Thanksgiving.

“Marshmallows with whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows with whipped cream.” You nod seriously. He lets you go and you kiss him once more on the cheek before going to find a good blanket to snuggle under. His heart so full it truly might burst, he turns back to the kitchen to start heating up the milk. 

So the weather ruined his plans this time around, the small black box remaining hidden in the bottom of his suitcase. Well, there is always Christmas to do it in front of his family. And if the weather continued to thwart his perfect proposal, he’d do it in the damn driveway if he had to. 

He didn’t want to waste another second with his ring anywhere but your finger.

[agentmarcuspike]

“t h e l o n g e s t n i g h t”

– a secret santa holiday fic for erin @perotovar ✧

pairing: marcus pike + nonbinary!reader synopsis: left alone in the big city during the longest night of the year, a stranger in a club makes you wish it were even longer. word count: 1.9k a/n: i was so fucking excited when i got you as my giftee, erin. i love everything you make, gifs and stories, and i've been wanting to give something back to you, so i’m grateful for this excuse/opportunity. wanted to post it on the actual solstice, but when i saw you were my secret santa too, i couldn’t wait lol. (a lil shoutout to @scenaaario as well, for being my secret informant.) love u, proud of u!

It's the winter solstice; the shortest day of the year.

But then again, it’s also the longest night.

All of your friends have already gotten on their trains and planes to celebrate the holidays with their families, leaving you to create your own traditions. Usually you’d get out of town as well, hole up somewhere the sky is clearer, the air lighter. Celebrate the return of the sun, the light, the new year, with a bonfire and candles to drive the dark away. From without, so within.

This year is different. A last minute opportunity presenting itself for your best friend; spending the holidays and New Years in Thailand with her Man of the Month, had left you in charge of house sitting, looking after her apartment and moody old cat.

So this year, on the darkest of the nights, unable to escape the city, you’re hoping to make the many hours pass as quickly as possible, the promise of lighter days the only thing you look forward to.

You’ve been staring at yourself in the club’s dirty bathroom mirror for far too long, impatient fists knocking on the door, and you yell at them to give you a second. Face sweaty, eyeliner smudged, eyes empty, you barely recognize yourself. The sheer black shirt you’re wearing is unbuttoned as far as it can be. With a last look at the person in the mirror, you straighten your septum piercing, and make your way out of the bathroom.

The heavy scent of spilled beer and sweaty bodies hit you as soon as you open the door. Thumping music, more bass than tune, tickles your eardrums, and you can feel the sound as waves of prickles on your skin. The soles of your boots stick to the greasy floor where you’re making your way across the room, squeezing through the crowd of people, who are all moving as one; a massive creature with many heads, twice as many arms, and a sole purpose with existence: To dance the night away.

It’s not possible to avoid touching people as you push through to get to the bar, so you try your best to be respectful with your hands, but as you place them carefully on a slim waist to push past, a zap runs through your arm, as if your finger were a fork and this body were electric. Five thousand Volts of static travel between you, and the body your hands quickly withdraw from must have felt it too, because he quickly turns to face you.

Looking down at you, his brows are raised, mirroring yours, mouth slightly agape. A different type of electricity runs through you as your eyes meet. It travels from your face, burning your cheeks, through your throat, removing every trace of moisture on its way to your stomach, where it does a loop, and ends as a throbbing pressure between your legs.

In the short moments of flashing lights, you can make out his features. High cheekbones shadowing his clean shaven face. Slightly crooked nose and sharp jawline. Kind eyes, crinkling at the corners, softening it all out.

You can’t hear him, but his shoulders shake as he laughs, and you laugh too, looking away nervously. He brings your attention back to him when he leans down, mouth to your ear.

“I’d shake your hand, but I’m worried you’ll shock me again.”

His voice is surprisingly deep, but not booming. It has a comforting, gentle glee to it, and his breath tickles the sensitive skin around your ear.

“I’m Marcus,” he finishes before pulling away far enough to look at your face again.

Staring at each other, you can only giggle. You lick your lips before leaning in, lips brushing the shell of his ear as someone bumps into you, pushing you closer. With a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, you tell him your name.

“And you shocked me!” you accuse.

“Why would I do that?!” Marcus yells, hand on his chest in mock offense.

Something about him has you grinning, your mouth dry, upper lip sticking briefly to your exposed teeth as you close your mouth. He’s funny, he’s cute. You wanna buy him a drink.

Your platform shoes give you some extra height, but you still have to stand on your toes to reach his ear when he stands up tall.

“Thirsty?” you ask, supporting yourself with a hand on his bicep.

“Parched.”

“Drink?”

“Yeah.”

Your hand glides from his upper arm, across his warm skin, feeling the nerves in his forearm flex under your fingers. When your hand reaches his, you squeeze it once before taking the lead, creating a path and guiding you both through the crowd towards the bar.

The music is quieter there, muffled by a thin wall dividing the bar area from the dance floor. You can no longer feel the booming bass in your body, but the way your heart is beating it might as well have slipped inside of you, bruising the inside of your chest bone with insistent thumps, begging to be let back out again.

Marcus leans on the bar bench, and you do the same. Or, at least you try to. Your height makes you feel more like a child being allowed to order hot chocolate by themself for the first time, face peeking over the bar like a meerkat. He must see it too, because he shoves you playfully.

“Wanna sit on my shoulders so you can see?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.”

He turns towards you, looking down at your shoes.

“I mean, even with the platforms…”

“Okay, mister, we’re both well aware of how much I need a couple of inches.”

Your accidental innuendo catches him off guard, and he just stares at you for a second.

“No, wait–” you begin.

“Wow!”

“I didn’t– That wasn’t what I–”

But it’s too late, you’re already blushing, burying your face in your hands as you groan.

Marcus just laughs, patting your back with a soft, gentle hand.

“All good, don’t worry. How about we start with two fingers?”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Not sure whether to be impressed or offended by his abrasiveness, you look back up towards him, but he’s not looking at you. You follow his gaze to the bartender, who’s busy filling two glasses with… two fingers of whiskey.

Marcus accepts the glasses from the bartender, and hands you one with a satisfied smirk.

“It’s gonna be a long night if you keep this up,” you murmur, shaking your head playfully as you smile into the glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Marcus grins back, finishing his drink in one go.

He looks at you expectantly, and with a grimace you down your own, before you let him grab you by the hand and pull you back towards the dance floor.

Marcus’ hands softly grip your waist as you move to the music. He gracefully guards you, quickly and easily twirling you out of the way whenever someone grinds too close. Your own hands rest on his broad shoulders, one of them moving slowly to the back of his neck, your thumb drawing small circles over the soft skin behind his ear.

He closes his eyes, leaning to rest his forehead against yours, and you swear you can feel the vibrations of him purring through his chest.

You’re no longer following the music, your bodies swaying to the steady pulse of your own hearts, which are beating in unison, a tango for just the two of you.

Marcus’ dark eyes flutter open, so close you can barely focus. His nose brushes yours as he leans in all the way, connecting his lips with yours. Soft at first, mouths closed, firmly pressed against each other. With your hands on his neck, you pull him down towards you, closer, closer, closer, and his hands on your waist grip you tighter.

He breaks away, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he moves to your neck, where he presses open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, sucking lightly. A shiver runs through you, leaving goosebumps from your tailbone to the very top of your head. You turn towards him, seeking his mouth with your own.

This time you part your lips to invite him in, poking your tongue out ever so slightly. He accepts your invitation, feeding you his tongue back, the residue of whiskey coating it burning deliciously. It’s soft, your mouths working together instead of fighting for dominance, but it quickly grows more needy, two sets of hands grabbing and pulling, searching for something to hold onto.

Your hands settle on his lower back, finding the waistband of his pants, hooking your fingers in his belt hoops. With a quick tug, you pull his hips flush with yours, and he gasps into your mouth. He pulls away, just far enough to look into your eyes properly. A question between you, pulled tight like a rubberband. Requesting permission to move further. You nod at him once, giving him the green light, and the rubberband snaps as his lips once again connect with yours.

And he indulges. His hands travel to rest at your lower back, before sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing once. You catch yourself wishing, for the first time in your life, that you’d worn a skirt, so you could have felt his big hands against your skin. The cramped mass of people dancing around you are oblivious to your endeavor, only bumping into you every now and then, but Marcus doesn’t let you budge an inch, holding you tight, a hand on your ass and one arm sneaking around your back, holding onto your waist.

Your thumbs find the sliver of skin between his waistband and his shirt. With slow movements, in contrast to the quick blinking of lights seeping through your eyelids, you draw tiny circles on the soft skin of his narrow waist. One of his hands moves back to your face, thumb resting against your lower lip as he delicately pulls on it with his teeth, soothing the sting with his tongue immediately. You wish he’d have bitten harder, drawn blood. That he’d taste you, mix the fluid from your veins with the ones of his mouth. Swallow you.

He thrusts against you once, seeking friction, hard and impatient underneath his clothes. Had he shoved his hands down yours, he would have found you dripping as well; so slick and ready to take him. But all you can do with the crowd of people moving around you is hold on tight, and hope for an opening, however small, between atoms, letting your bodies move inside each other, the way his tongue does in your mouth, and your hand, secretly between your bodies, gently covering his protruding bulge.

You squeeze him gently, and you can feel his lashes flutter against your nose as he rests his forehead against yours, his mouth open in a silent moan.

The dance floor doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just the two of you now. Two hungry bodies, two lonely souls. You hear no more music, ears filled only with the sound of rushing blood. All you can taste is whiskey, and all you can see is him. You catch yourself wishing that this night, the longest one of the year, would last just a little while longer.

— happy holidays !!! x