#marcus pike supremacy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ravensmadreads · 1 year ago

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Excuse me? Agent Pike?

sam and diane, eat your heart out

rating: 18+

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: 3374

summary: after spending six months with FBI Agent Marcus Pike on a case almost-kissing, almost-flirting - almost - almost - almost - you decide to do something about that Unresolved Sexual Tension.

tags/warnings: thigh riding, marcus being a menace during a makeout session, marcus being a good agent first and an idiot second, i love marcus pike with my whole being (not a warning, just thought you should know), light cursing, reader is a journalist but no y/n or physical descriptions

a/n: from @trulybetty 's request from my 100 followers celebration: "Going with psychography and this is hard… Let's see, I pick prompt no. 9 and Pedro boy of choice is Marcus Pike as he's one you don't have your master list yet! → “i’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit."I'll leave it to dealers' choice for smut vs. no smut on how it takes you!"

🤍Masterlist

“So, this is it? This proves the buyer knowingly purchased the artifacts illegally from the Belgian government.”

His mouth twitches. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know any court of law that wouldn’t uphold this as evidence.”

“And then used the money to bankroll the opposite party? These tapes, Marcus – I don’t know how you got them, but –,”

“Wouldn’t have gotten them without those bank statements,” he smiles at you, fingers pressing down those specific documents on his desk. “I don’t even wanna know how you got into that personal server, but –,”

“I’ll keep my secrets if you’re going to keep yours.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles and the sound sends a cascade of warmth down the back of your neck. You turn your head away to hide your cheeks like some schoolgirl with a crush. Well, about half of that is right. A crush on the FBI agent you’ve been working with on the side to not only bring an end to one man’s hunt for cultural artifacts that do not belong to him – how stupid could you be? This is not the way to getting your first Pulitzer!

Besides, this is only going to end badly – for you. Because whether or not you were convinced that Agent Marcus Pike may in fact be interested in you, depended on the day, the weather, and if you were susceptible to crying and eating chocolate bar by bar. Your combined case against this wanna-be museum pilferer was more airtight than your little book of tells: “Marcus noticed my perfume today”, “Marcus didn’t mention my haircut” , “Marcus complimented my outfit today.” You plucked off hopes and disappointments like petals from the most pathetic daisy and when you found yourself staring at an empty stalk, you were no closer to finding an answer you were happy with.

Because for every reason, every indication, every hint that no, Marcus annoyingly respected you only for your brains and journalistic integrity . . . he’d look at you like he’s looking at you right now and every semblance of dignity would go flying out the window faster than you can say defenestration.

Marcus drops your eyes, mouth parted as if surprised by his blatant staring, and he brushes the lynch pin to your case with his fingers.

“This is, um, this is really good work. Your editors are gonna love it.”

You lean your hip against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms, elbowing your way back into his attention. Your thigh teases the space between his. His head down, you watch his tongue wet his bottom lip the longer he stares at your hip.

“They’d love it more if the agent in charge went on record about the whole thing.”

Like you burned him, he retreats, stepping back towards the corkboard that’s been hanging in his office for six months. He tugs at his tie and clears his throat.

“Mhmm, yeah, maybe for a follow-up piece.” Swallowing, he pulls at the knot of his tie, and slips it over his head once the hole is big enough, quickly stuffing it in his pocket. He looks at the board like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

You can’t stop the irate scoff. The hurt, the embarrassment, it burns you. It’s such a stupid crush and he’s making you look like an idiot for it, desperate for scraps when you deserved a whole fucking meal. Your self-confidence had been hard won, built up under years of duress and shame, and a need for a change in your life. If you aren’t happy with something, fix it, your father used to say. So you did and you weren’t about to let Marcus goddamn Pike make you feel small again.

“You know what, fuck this.” In two strides, you move away from his desk and snatch up your shoulder bag. You know you’re making a scene, your cheeks red, nose flared, and this isn’t the best way to end the last six months, or even continue a potentially invaluable insider source that could benefit your career for years to come. But you can’t help it. You hate how Marcus makes you feel. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking you’d have the balls to reciprocate so, you know what, that one’s on me. Keep the tapes, Marcus, I have copies. I’m going home.”

He frantically sputters out your name as he intercepts you between the door to his office. All the blinds are shut, this case of the highest confidentiality, and at least there’s the small miracle that his coworkers can’t see you act like a jilted fourteen year old. Your hand squeezes the strap around your shoulder when Marcus reaches for you.

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?”

You grind your teeth together, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m talking about us, Marcus. This thing between us that’s been going on for months. The thing that you refuse to acknowledge. I’m so sick of this ‘will-they-won’t-they’ shit. I’m a grown woman, Marcus, and if you’re not interested then just come out and say it. Just stop . . . messing with me.”

The hand outstretched to you curls in, fingers, fist, retreating. His mouth twitches again, his eyes fundamentally unreadable. He glances over your shoulder at the board, and then when he looks back, his gaze is . . . different. Like he swapped his usual soft, friendly brown eyes with a pretense that carries a little more heat to it. The spilling of too black powder in a dangerous, unstable place, where careless matches are liable to fly.

Marcus shifts his weight, crosses his arms with the full strength of his back yanking on his blazer, and bites just below his lip on his left side, somehow making that bowed mouth even more pouty.

“No, I mean . . . why did you think I’d never act on it?”

Now it’s your turn to take a small step back, even though the low pitch to his voice is exactly what you’ve been all but begging for. The sound of it twists your insides, tugging arousal low in your belly. You swallow, suddenly blinding padding around for that righteous anger.

“It’s been six months, Marcus. Three since you almost kissed me during the stakeout. Two since I saw you staring at my bra after the rainstorm. A-and last month . . . last month, when you invited me over for dinner, I thought . . . I-I thought . . .”

You thought dinner was going to end in something sweeter than chocolate pie for dessert, when a woman called him, furious that he hadn’t been answering his calls. Her screaming was audible and the sheer look of panic on his face was enough to confirm every terrible thing you thought you were so terribly correct about.

“I told you about my ex-wife when we first met. I wasn’t hiding her. You weren’t the other woman.”

“Yeah, but people usually go their separate ways after a so-called nasty divorce.”

His eyebrow jumps at the unmasked condescension in your voice. You hold the strap across your chest like a lifeline.

Marcus’s eyes stray to the corkboard again as he works his jaw, split between being rather irritated and . . . something else.

That something else slams full force into your chest when he meets your gaze: heartbreak.

“Did you ever consider I tried to stop anything before it started, because I didn't want some asshole defense attorney to have any reason to blow holes in our case?” He shakes his head, this time overwhelming you entirely as he oversteps at least three professional boundaries by herding you back against a filing cabinet with just the sway of his body. The metal clangs as you crash against it, shoulders around your ears. “A reason like if the lead investigator and his CI were fucking?”

The messenger bag around your hips is the only thing keeping him from pressing up on you entirely. You are intimately aware of that when he tilts his head at you, eyes mournful and explorative as they draw a path over your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrows. Down the curve of your jaw and your neck.

You do the only thing you can think of and laugh at him: “A CI? Please, I think I was a little more integral than that.”

Marcus hums as he gently brushes the arch of your cheek with the pad of his finger.

“All the more reason to keep everything squeaky clean.”

You finally understand why he’s been looking at the board over and over, as if it’s going to suddenly catch flames. You suppose it's only fair that he’s worried – does a blasphemer not worry about his own state of grace on holy ground?

He’s knee-bucklingly close when you work up enough courage to look him in the eye and say what’s been looping around your mind like an unhitched railway car.

“But you said it yourself, the case is over, right?” There’s a corner of your mind that is keening with embarrassment at how breathless you sound, so you throw a shoe at her and drop your eyes to Marcus’s increasingly close lips. They’re wet when he runs his tongue over them.

“Yes, I did say that.” Fireworks explode in your brain when he tucks his middle finger under the strap of your messenger bag up by your collarbone, and then proceeds to slide his hand down the strap, knuckles very intentionally rubbing between the valley of your breasts. You wish you had worn a push-up bra or nothing at all. His hand shakes as it stops just above your belly button.

On a slow inhale, his palm changes directions, turning over to your stomach, heat blooming from where he touches you over your skin, to slide with a solid grip on your hip. A weight. The shifting of the scales.

“Marcus–,” it sounds like begging and he’s hardly even touched you so you have to follow it up with something. You drop your head back against the metal, trying to even your breathing. “Marcus, w-we got the evidence. The case is closed, we d-don’t work together any more. We - we can–,”

“I want to,” he murmurs and you swear the heat from his breath across your collarbone tightens your nipples in your shirt. “God, I fucking want to. But this case can’t be jeopardized. The bureau has been after this guy for years and if we fuck it up on a technicality –,”

“We don’t have to tell anyone,” you blurt out. The back of your head pinned to the metal locker behind you, you stare him down from the end of your nose, breathing hard and heavy. You squeeze your eyes shut before opening them to his gun-powder gaze. “We don’t even have to do this more than once, but . . . fuck, I’ve gotta get you out of my system, Marcus. I can’t think straight around you anymore.”

Making a noise like someone popped him across the chest with their elbow, he shuffles closer, the bag between you digging painfully into your lower stomach. Both hands find their way to your hips. He squeezes you through your jeans, your panties a truly forgone mess at this point. You had men tease you before about how wet you got, like it was something shameful or embarrassing – giving so much of yourself away so quickly – but nearly pinned beneath him, you are quite sure Marcus would never have that inclination. Your own hands have latched onto his shoulders of their own accord.

“We don’t have to tell,” you hiccup when his thumb barely brushes the bottom of your bra. “I won’t tell, Marcus.” He tilts his head, the rough hairs of his beard brushing against your temple and you shudder, so eager to be touched by him on your skin and not through your clothes. “Please. Please.”

He groans again, eyes fluttering, head shaking. “Fuck, baby, don’t beg me like that–,”

His body presses you flat against the locker when he eagerly collides his mouth with yours. His broad hands cup your cheeks, holding you exactly where he wants you, your fingers digging around his wrists to confirm to him there’s literally nowhere else you’d rather be.

Marcus Pike executed everything in his life with dogged determinism. From catching criminals, to shining his shoes, Marcus was meticulous and detail-oriented. It made him a great agent – and one hell of a kisser.

His tongue rides along the bottom of your lip, then the top, not seeking entrance, but cataloging if the places on your mouth taste differently. He nips your plush lip and finds the sound you make is not exactly how he wants it. So he licks your mouth open, as forcefully as he politely shows a warrant before kicking open a suspect’s door. He finds that you like it when he’s a bit rough with his tongue, biting more at your upper lip to make you keen at that frequency he’s been craving. He does it again and you moan louder, fingers tightening around the curls at the back of his neck. He’s not satisfied with that sound alone, so he pushes even closer to you, seeking your heat with his thigh as if he could feel you pulse for him with just his mouth on you.

But this goddamn bag –

“Get this–,” he scrambles over your hands as you both incorrectly fight with the strap and the weight of the bag, “what is even in this?”

You chuckle as he manages to yank it over your head without pulling out your hair. “My little pheromones to drive hot FBI agents berserk. Why? Is it working?”

His moan is set between his teeth, sucking on both his own desperation and frustration at your teasing. Barrier gone, he shoves his knee between your thighs and slides it until it nestles against your crotch. It pushes the seam of your jeans against your clit and you rip your mouth away from his, gasping at the overly hot pleasure that roars up your middle.

“Fuck, Marcus,” you keen and his mouth splits open, eyelids heavy, as he watches you writhe on this thigh.

“You’re so warm, but are you wet? I can’t feel you.” His nose and mouth tucking into your neck, his wide palms tug and push your hips in a steady rhythm that has you fisting his jacket. “Couldn’t have worn a skirt?”

“I didn’-t know – you’d want to – do this,” you breathe through this rapidly swelling pleasure, your clit throbbing. He presses up with his thigh just barely and you moan like a fucking pornstar, his cock rock solid and hot against your hip.

“Can-can you do this?” He asks breathlessly, his own hips rolling in time with yours. “Can you come just on my thigh?”

You bite your lip and nod, eyes shut and head back against the metal. “Y-yeah, I think I’m – God, yes, I am – I am so close.”

“What do you need – to get you there?” He dips his head back to that spot on your neck that made your skin break out in goosebumps and he nips at your pulse point before soothing it with his tongue. You jerk at the sensation, your own pleasure ratcheting up to a soaring new height, the damp stripe of your panties almost soothing to your aching clit. You’re so sticky everywhere. You gasp, your hands curling into his shirt, shoulder digging into his jaw, neck arched to the side, as if your body is concerned how hard this orgasm is going to hit when he sucks a distinctive bruise into the hollow of your throat.

“Oh, God, Marcus –,”

“Tell me, what do you need?” he slurs in your ear.

You feel so empty, so wet and hollow, you want him to strip your pants down now and fill you as fast as you can. But you tremble on the razors edge – his cock anywhere near you is going to ruin you for the rest of the night – you just need to break through this one and then you’ll –

“Your fingers, Mar-cus, just put – them –,”

He huffs, grunting as he understands, and one of the steadying hands on your hips lurches to the front of your jeans. His knuckles dig into the skin of your stomach as he flicks open the button of your jeans, a low-heavy-drag whine as he finally feels the heat of your pussy, ready to suck him up inside you. He yanks down the zipper, cups you and that’s almost enough. It’s nearly enough and you gasp, your core fluttering, nails tearing into his shirt.

“Yeah, you need more?” Marcus hums, his teeth scraping your jaw as he pins you to the wall with his full body weight. “Can’t let anything be easy, can you?”

All sense and shame dragged out of you with every swipe of your clit against his thigh, you shake your head and let out a loud whimper.

He grunts something low and fast, heated and possessive, his hand shifting, knuckle peeling back your sticky underwear, fingers rubbing up against your puffy lips, and finally –

You toss your head back, a hot freeze locking your body up from your toes to your forehead, when he slides two fingers right up your cunt and curls them forward. A second later, heat crackles from your cunt up to your chest and you inhale, stars in your eyes and toes barely scraping the ground.

As you sink back down into your own body, your brain plugging back in, you realize he’s whispering to you, muttering, his lips moving fast over your skin as he gently brushes your cheek with his own.

“So good, baby, everything I thought you were going to be, you let me touch you, you make such pretty sounds, so good,”

The high continues to drag you back down, down until you’re shaking in his arms, a lethargic weight pulling you into his chest. He cups your head into the curve of his neck, his own heart pounding into the vein of his neck.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re messing with me anymore,” you chuckle into his skin and you feel him smile above you. “Okay, a little messing. A messing when asked.”

“Good. I like messing when asked.” He kisses your cheek, lips lingering as he breathes out his nose. “But, uh, I know you said you weren’t going to tell anyone, but you weren’t exactly quiet about it.”

You flush again, but this time with a bashful grin.

“Yeah, sorry. I guess there are advantages to being a workaholic and staying in the office until ten at night.”

He shakes his head, gently easing his knee from between your legs, careful to hold you until you are steady on your own feet.

“Don’t need to apologize for that, pretty girl. In fact,” he picks up your infamous shoulder bag and loops it over his neck. The strap catches the fluff of his hair and it stands straight up. You didn’t think you had the energy, but your heart goes wild at the sight. “In fact, when I take you home, I’d like you to be even louder.”

Apparently you had a lot more stamina than you thought because your toes curl and you can practically hear your pussy throb. Your eyes flicker to his crotch.

“You don’t want . . . here?”

He pulls you into his arms, and kisses your forehead. “I do. I want very much. But the first time I’m inside you with anything but my fingers, it’s not going to be in my office. Won’t be able to concentrate.” He takes a look around what had been the epicenter of your investigation for months. “Actually, I might have to repaper the whole thing now.”

You chuckle, leaning up under his arm where he’s damp and warm. “I think that might tip off someone to our little technicality.”

He matches your smirk with an eyebrow raise. “Fair. Guess it’ll just have to linger here.”

You kiss his throat as he leads you out of the abandoned building, arm tight around you. Where he does take you home, where he does come inside you with something other than his fingers, and where you scream his name . . . yes, even louder.

#marcus pike x reader #let me just....#hold on a minute....#can i just say.....#FUCKING HELL #hwbdhehevdgdgd ok first of all???#you writing marcus??????#dreams do come true #second of all????#you writing marcus like THAT????#screaming crying rolling on the floor #that was so GOOD #when he said yea i did say that #THE NOISE I MADE WAS NOT HUMAN #HE'S SO HOT HE'S SO HOT WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM SO HOT #i will NEVER RECOVER #couldnt have worn a skirt NO JEANS SUPREMACY FUCK U YESSSSSSS #AHHHHHHHHHH #IM NOT OKAY #THAT WAS SO HOT #miss ma'am you're just dropping jaw clenching smut like that with no warning (hush i ignore your authors note)#cant let anything be easy can you- IM SQUIRMING SO BAD #marcus was made to be a soft dom fhehdhrh freaking fight me #cant believe everytime you write smut i discover like 5 new kinks like wtf #I WANT TO READ MORE MARCUS #<sorry that was rude #excuse me ma'am may i please have more railing and with agent pike please and thank you with a cherry on top #(screaming continues in the background)#i am LOSING it #the only thing this was missing was a top tier marcus gif but i would've actually passed out so thank you for smol mercies

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sirowsky · 3 years ago

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FINALLY got around to this, been looking forward to it all day! And you did not disappoint, honey 🥰🥰

This is perfect! You're balancing that need for closeness with the fear of their experiences, so damn well. And that ending was *chef's kiss*

Artistic Instinct Chapter 10

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, grief, loss and some second base action.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who reads, re-reads, points out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

May the flowers remind us why the rain was so necessary - Xan Oku

Chapter 10

Your eyes fly open - heart pounding, mouth dry- as the nighttime movie that played behind your eyelids finishes abruptly. Hugging your arms around yourself, you try to steady the impact of that injection of adrenaline into your veins, drawing deep breaths into your lungs as you gaze into the oil slick of darkness surrounding you. The sounds of day are yet to kick into being as your phone screen illuminates 03:02 - the trains not yet pulling out of their sidings, sirens still silenced for the most part. The night air is just punctuated by the rhythmic pitter patter of rain upon the roof and the sweetest little snores still rising steadily from your…

Your boss.

For fucks sake.

Once could be called a mistake, even if it was a twelve year long one. But back doing this shit again? Sheer fucking stupidity. Your head drops into your hands as a stab of pain cuts through your gut. What the fuck do you do now? Marcus so honestly put his heart on a platter for you last night- could you be the cold hearted, callous bitch that throws it back in his face? All of your body fizzes with fear - your muscles twitching with the cortisol so rather than irritate him with your fidgeting, you slide out of his bed.

Bare soles on the night-cooled wooden floors help to ground your flighty soul as you walk around the unfamiliar apartment. Whilst the exterior dampness can only come as far as pretty patterns on the window pane, the chill causes tiny pinprick goosebumps to stand proud against your skin. You finally settle cross-legged on the floor by the French doors leading out to the balcony, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass - mentally cheering on your favourites as they glide towards the inky pools gathering beneath them.

With your mind so lost in your new-found sport, you aren’t entirely aware of the arrival of a warm, breathing blanket that curls itself around your body languidly before you are tightly encircled by long limbs and gentle nuzzling into the side of your neck, “What’s up, honey?”

A small, precious kiss is pressed into your temple before the sleep-thick murmur continues in your ear, “Thought you’d left. So happy to find you here.”

Leaning back into his broad chest, you allow the expanse of his form that is wrapped around you to consume your body whole, “Bad dream. Couldn’t get back to sleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘M sorry,” Marcus slides you slightly to his left so he can search your face for the answers that you are so incredibly reluctant to give, “Your heart is racing - do you want to talk or just have things that will make you feel better?”

Initially, you don’t feel able to catch his gaze, having thought about breaking his heart only minutes prior to his soothing arrival but when you do, everything hits you like a ton of bricks. The deep pillow creases of his cheek, sweetly mussed up hair and the earthy hues of his questioning eyes make your fist fly to cover your eyes as your tears echo the deluge of rain.

He doesn’t speak. Just holds you close. Cradling you in his arms as your body shakes into his. Marcus allows you to sit with your pain awhile - not pressuring you to speak or offering any empty platitudes to solve it- allowing the hurricane of grief to rip through you, all the while tethering you to the ground.

As the tears exhaust themselves, Marcus leaves and your eyes dance in panic at the loss of his soothing touch. The relief of hearing his kettle start to boil and then the gentle roar of taps filling a tub, stretch a ghostly pair of arms back around you, soothing the ache beneath your ribs. A hand reaches down to you offering a way out - gently hoisting you back onto your feet.

“C’mere sweetheart,” Marcus pulls you back into his chest, pressing a line of kisses along your hairline, “I’ve made you a cup of camomile tea and run you a bath.”

He makes to leave you but your haunted eyes and tight grip upon his wrist beg him to stay, “Honey, I don’t want to overstep the mark here. I’m sorry that I asked you to stay. Overwhelming you like this, isn’t fair of me.”

Trying to eloquently respond to him comes out with just a snotty sad gasp so you vehemently shake your head tugging his hand towards the bathroom. Once inside the metro tiled space - pausing between heaving breaths - you manage to squeak out in your juddery voice, “Please stay with me.”

“Please don’t feel guilty - this is just shit I need to work through,” you mumble as you fiddle with the hem of Marcus’ t-shirt, feeling his skin twitch as you accidentally make contact, “I’m sorry that it’s having a knock on effect for you.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he leans in to sweetly kiss your forehead, “I’ll turn around while you get in but I promise not to leave.”

“I don’t care if you see me naked - it’s just a body,” you mutter slightly confused by this sentiment when he’d been stroking your breasts earlier. As you start peeling off the t-shirt you’d borrowed from him, Marcus swings to face the bathroom door quickly.

“No,” the sharpness of Marcus’ response steals the air from your lungs momentarily - you stand in front of him like a rabbit caught in headlights, “I’m sorry, sweetheart - didn’t mean to be so forceful. No - it’s not just a body. It is your body and I wanna enjoy it properly when you’re not so upset. It would be taking advantage.”

Slowly lowering yourself into the delicious expanse of Marcus’ bath, you allow the warmth to soak into your aching bones. The water cocoons and hugs every inch of you as you permit it to unknit every knot of tension within your body.

“You can turn around now.”

A kind smile plays upon the deep creases set by Marcus’ eyes, “Tilt your head back.”

Reaching behind you, he turns on the shower attachment - the water bursting forth in a perfect summer rain across the skin of the bath water. Like a parent with a child, he checks the temperature until it reaches a soothing heat and runs it over your hair, soaking every last strand, washing away the mix of salt from anxious sweat and tears. Dropping the shower head in the bath, he then grabs a generous squirt of shampoo in his hands, lathering it into your scalp, massaging until you feel like a gelatinous blob under his skilful touch.

After rinsing every last bubble and sud from your hair, Marcus then squeezes out some conditioner - the bottle releasing the most indecent sound that has you both giggling like small children. Having coated his digits well, he starts to run his fingers through your hair - combing every strand with his hands, ensuring there isn’t a single knot to be found. A gentle finger beneath your chin tells you to tip your head back again as the shower rinses the excess away.

Settling back on the plush bath mat, Marcus passes you your tea silently and you just sit. Sit there in companionable silence - without an ounce of awkwardness- just both sipping tea as your body gradually accepts its need to sleep again.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be ready,” Marcus gazes softly after your disappearing form as you spin into your bedroom to get dressed for work. It takes every bit of gentlemanly restraint that he possesses not to follow you, run his hands over your silken skin and get a hit of your delicious taste. Instead he re-settles his mind by looking around your flat having finally been allowed a peek inside your inner sanctum.

He doesn’t quite know what he expects to see but it certainly isn’t this. It feels an odd mix in there- piles of cushions and blankets but no photos. No pictures decorating the place yet multiple empty frames propped against walls, waiting for their stories to be told. Your home isn’t really a home at all - it is just a roof over your head with nests for you to curl into exhaustedly.

“Have you been here long?” he asks quizzically, spying the battered moving boxes that have obviously been rummaged through for a missing necessary nick-nack or two but never having been fully unpacked. Marcus runs his hand over the coarse, corrugated cardboard and light spattering of dust coating them, wondering what secrets you wish to keep hidden in there and if you will ever open fully to him, to allow him to lighten your load.

“Almost two years,” he hears you muffledly answer through the jumper you pull over your head as you momentarily reappear in the doorway of your bedroom - a vision of radiantly soft curves- just knickers and a mess of limbs arguing with the item of clothing, before your breasts get hidden under the striped knitwear.

As much as Marcus tries to stop himself, his body takes the required steps forward so that his fingers can be satiated with the warmth of your skin. He doesn’t kiss you yet - the heat of his breath just dusts the shell of your ear as he inhales the scent of his shampoo in your hair.

“Look at you,” he murmurs - shaking his head in disbelief as he grabs your wrists and pulls you into him, “Beautiful.”

Using the back of his hand to release the hair caught in the collar of your jumper, Marcus takes a moment to drink in all your features. The flecks of gold in your eyes, the sharpness of your cheekbones, the streaks of wisdom in your hair - how were you, the beauty that you are, interested in him?

And then you’re kissing him. Your mouth open, soft lips inviting him into your inner sanctum. He feels your fingertips stroking into the nape of his neck, your nails scratching into the hair that twists and curls there. Shivers of pleasure run down Marcus’ spine, making him pull you closer as your touch sparks life across his body. Your gentle push causes Marcus to startle - to stumble backwards, falling back onto the sofa, sending cushions scuttling across the floor.

Feeling his jaw tic as you clamber into a kneeling position above him, Marcus tries to steady his breath by focussing on the small details of you. The darker spots of pigmentation where the sun has permanently kissed your skin. The divots of your collarbones just peeking above your sweater. The small reminder of a childhood misadventure just above your right eyebrow.

Nope. This is not working. God, I want her.

“Lower those goddamn hips,” he growls, “Sit down.”

“I can’t,” he hears you whimper, eyes shut tight, “I’ll make a mess of your trousers.”

Marcus groans as he considers the sweetness that is encased by those bright pink, lace edged panties - still not quite believing that it is him who has had this effect on you. When you grab his hands that have been stroking little circles by your knees and pull them to your ass, the heat in him rises as he squeezes and needles the delicious flesh beneath.

“This is gonna be hard having you work so close,” as soon as he hears the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The little twitch between your eyebrows. The tremble of your bottom lip. The slight shift back of your weight upon his lap. Marcus catches them all.

“I’m sorry. Nush, I shouldn’t have…”

As your weight rocks back away from him, leaving his body quickly cooling with your absence, the air is punctuated with your muttering of one word over and over. Each utterance a bullet coated in guilt hitting him sharply.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Scrunching his eyes tight shut, he rocks forward, head in hands. Should he come after you? Should he leave? Fuck, Pike.

Hearing the creak of your bedroom door, Marcus lifts his head in your direction - his eyes throwing a million apologies to you, “Nush, I’m so sorry - I didn’t mean to upset you. That’s the last thing that I’d ever want to do.”

He watches as you walk across the floor - smaller shuffling steps rather than your usual confident stomp, your eyes red-rimmed and glassy and your breathing a little jagged - and feels like he’s just crushed a butterfly in his hands when all he was trying to do was appreciate its beauty. Water starts to pool in the corners of his eyes as he blinks hard to warn them off - after all, he didn’t need to give you any other reason to walk away from him. A small grateful smile creeps across his face when you settle between his knees, resting your arms across his lap - your tear-streaked face looking up at him.

“I’m frightened,” he hears you whisper, “Repeating past mistakes is sheer fucking stupidity.”

Marcus freezes, the blood in his veins turning to ice as he awaits your verdict.

“I can’t do that again. You cannot become another Jasper to me. The relationship that never was with all the hiding.”

“I don’t want us to hide,” he hears his voice betraying him as fear courses through his synapses, his hands aching to touch you. Hold you.

Please don’t let me lose her.

Please don’t let this be it.

“Can I touch you?” Marcus quietly, carefully checks before daring to reach out. He watches as a cloud of confusion washes across your face at his request.

“Of course you can. What? Hang on, did you think,” you pause, brow furrowed, “Did you think I want to stop whatever this turns out to be?”

With his shoulders slightly hunched, one hand reaching behind to rub the base of his neck, Marcus nods, “Yeah, a bit. I…”

“I don’t wanna fuck this up, Nush,” he reaches forward to stroke your wrist.

“Me neither, but we will,” your words take a moment to register with him, “We have both experienced so much - good and bad - that we will put our proverbial foot in it with each other.

“But, I hope that in time, with our collective pasts and the streaks of grey in our hair, we may also slowly learn how to communicate and say when things are a bit shit for us and why. Why my instinct is to run screaming from things and why you think everyone you love is going to leave.”

Marcus curls forward so he can rest his forehead against yours before placing a small kiss there, “Now you’re really gonna have to be two minutes if we’re gonna get to work on time. I’m just gonna shut my eyes until you’re dressed so I’m not tempted to make us late.”

“You think that’ll work?”

Chuckling at the wink you throw at him over your shoulder, Marcus starts to allow that tiny ray of hope he’s been burying for years to shine again.

✪✪✪✪✪

As Marcus opens the door for you, an overwhelming wave assaults your senses. Noises from tapping keyboards, phones ringing and computers blaring, the overwhelming scents of fatty, sugary yet discarded breakfasts and coffee hits hard but it’s the tiny, surreptitious stroke at the base of your spine gives you the kick you need to go in and start your day. A steaming coffee is thrust towards Marcus behind you and some case files are handed to you by a smiling Andy, “Morning Sir, morning Nush. What time did you manage to get cleared up?”

“Between the two of us, it didn’t take too long,” you grin at the PA before looking over your shoulder to find Marcus smiling at you, “Think I was asleep by eleven.”

“Snoring away,” Marcus barely audibly whispers, making your eyes widen.

“Ready for the meeting at nine o’clock, Sir? I have everything set up in the conference room, ready to go…” Andy sweeps Marcus away from you as you head over to your desk, spying the hot cup of Java awaiting your arrival.

New piles of paperwork seem to litter your desk, replacing the ones you’d tried so hard to clear on Friday afternoon. Office life. That it is a life is a bit of a lie, as every soul within your office space looks like it is in some stage of decomposition. Kiri appears to be in need of another weekend to get over the two days of rest just gone, Dian is yawning into her coffee and as for Harper, well, there’s a part of you that doesn’t quite believe she’s fully human with the way she’s already ploughing through her work.

When 9am finally rolls around, it feels more like two in the afternoon. Marcus sticks his head out of the door to call everyone into the meeting and is met by several groans from the team as they reluctantly shake themselves from their chairs and drag their Monday fatigued bones towards the conference room. At the oval, walnut table, you sit sandwiched between Dian and Kiri, directly opposite Andy in a hopefully not too obvious ploy to not be too close to Marcus.

“Good morning everyone, I’d ask you if you’d all had a good weekend but I think we spent enough time together to know that we all did,” a chuckle rises from your office mates as Marcus welcomes everyone, “I wanted to have a catch up this morning as the Soutine that Agent Pierce and I checked in Lyon, has come back as a definite fake. The verdict was reached late Friday afternoon and the French authorities are currently trying to trace its origins.

“We also received word this morning that a Modigliani has turned up in Sotheby’s - they have their own art fraud team but hopefully we will get a look in soon. Agent Pierce, I know I haven’t asked you to prep but could you explain to the team what the issues are around his work?”

“Sotheby’s?” you question, staring straight at Marcus and entirely ignoring his request, “I can get in there now as my best mate works in the fraud team.”

“Hephzibah?” Andy catches your eye, “Didn’t realise she’d transferred over from Scotland Yard.”

“More money,” you shrug as Andy presses his lips together and nods in agreement.

“No, Agent Pierce, I’d like us to hang back for now,” Marcus responds, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, “If you could give us some of your insight about Modigliani’s pieces, please?”

Slightly taken aback by Marcus’ firmness, you take a moment before responding, “Modigliani’s back catalogue is a fucking mess as he used to give out sketches like a fortune teller.

“Jean Cocteau said that he was drawn by Modigliani roughly fifty times but he only ever owned one picture. Prices have skyrocketed over the past decade with one going for $170.4 million dollars so he’s very much a member of the $100 million club along with Warhol, Picasso et al but not quite at their ethereal prices.

“One of the main things about Modigliani is that the love of the man is not easily separated from his art. Over the years, he has been painted as somewhat Byronesque in his exploits by salacious biographies and films - very much sex and drugs and rock n roll. A bohemian who lived in Montparnasse and Montmartre at the Fin de Siecle - he was known by all the artists who lived there at the time - Picasso even said he was the only man in Paris who knew how to dress.

“To be honest, whilst he was hot - soulful dark eyes, ebony, wavy hair and a beautiful bone structure with an extraordinary amount of intelligence and eloquence-”

“Ah, so you have a type?” Harper mutters into her notes.

Your cheeks flush and eyes dart around the room, hoping that Marcus didn’t hear that as you desperately try to summon a consummate professional performance for the others, “-It is hugely difficult to separate the man from the myth but the main issue due to his profligacy with his art, unlike the other greats who get over $100 million for their work, Modigliani’s work is often questioned. You could easily find a Modigliani in an attic with a letter attached from the man himself and people would still raise an eyebrow at it.

“So, um, the main thing according to all the auction houses is that unless it is in the catalogue curated by Ceroni, it ain’t a Modigliani. This is problematic in itself as that was published in 1958 and even some of the pieces on his list are questionable. People have ended up in prison over their dubious dealings with Modigliani’s back catalogue as you can see in the case of Parisot.

“So if a piece comes to auction that isn’t on the list, they’re damned if it is a Modigliani, and damned if it isn’t?” Dian questions you.

“Pretty much. And he worked at a time when a lot of advances and changes happened in artist’s products. In the first half of the twentieth century, both the production of paint and paper changed massively as everything was slowly more industrialised and made more stable. By industrialising these things, it made the equipment cheaper quicker as more could use it rather than being made Etsy-style in tiny batches that were way beyond the means of most artists.

“Normally, with older pieces we can look at how the artists use paints and the type of paints they use but with more modern artists everything becomes a bit murkier as it is harder to date. And I will stop there before I piss off Harper by rabbiting on too much more.”

Even Harper has the decency to smirk at your comment before returning to her notes. Marcus’s gaze has softened again as you finish speaking, “ Thanks, Agent Pierce. Perhaps we could hear from you now Agent Gleason and Youngerson?”

Harper raises her eyebrows in Marcus’ direction before starting, “So, Agent Youngerson and I have been looking at various right wing groups currently active across the world and what their links are to the art world. The main ones who have thrown up scents for us to chase are The Old School Society, Hydra and The Order.”

Dian looks up from her pad of extensive notes, “Yeah, we've been tracing money routes with those three and when looking at the main donors to these groups, they’ve all had dealings with art galleries and auction houses recently. So we’re now looking into each donor carefully and may need to do some in the field meetings with them as prospective buyers - so my darling work wife, Nush, we may need notes unless you fancy being our cover girl?” she comically winks at you. Making a little heart with your index finger and thumb, you send an equally cheesy wink and click of the tongue back at her.

Marcus huffs a chuckle out at the two of you before turning his attention to Kiritopa, “How have you been getting on with your catalogue of fakes relating to this case?”

“Yeah, alright - slow going collecting all the data as it seems some auction houses are reluctant to reveal how many fakes pass through their doors,” Kiri frowns before glugging some more coffee.

“It’s understandable, they don’t want their reputations dashed. Doesn’t make our work any easier though. Agent Morrison - if you can show me what you’ve compiled so far that’d be great,” Marcus gives the agent a small, sincere smile before turning to address the room again, “Right, I have a meeting this afternoon that’ll keep me out of the office for the rest of the day so I’ll leave you all to get on. Have a great day everyone.”

✪✪✪✪✪

You:

Hey sexy lady, I hear you’ve got a tasty little number at S’s - can I take a look?

Hephzi:

Off the books? Course you can. Change into civvies and I’ll get you in this afternoon.

You:

You’re a fucking ⭐️. I’ll make it worth your while

Hephzi:

Do you mean cake and coffee? Because if you do, I’m fucking yours.

You:

Urm obviously! See you around two?

A small knock on your desk makes you put down your phone and you look up into Marcus’ face, “Hey, you got a minute?”

“Yes, Sir,” as you push your chair away from your desk, you throw your mobile in your desk drawer and follow him into his office.

His desk is immaculately tidy and warm to the touch with its honey and caramel tones washing back and forth in undulating waves as if across a beach. There’s not a hint of Marcus in his office yet - no personal treasures - it stands in stark contrast to the warmth of the man you’re getting to know.

“I just wanted to check you were ok. I heard what Harper said,” he reaches out to straighten the ribbing at the bottom of your jumper, his thumb stroking your tummy lightly.

“She’s not wrong,” you grin lopsidedly at him as you step in closer, placing your hands on either side of his face, “Dark soulful eyes, beautifully high cheekbones, delightfully luscious lips that are perfect for kissing - hard not to fancy Modigliani, really.”

“You’re mean,” Marcus squeezes your hip as he shakes his head, “When would you like to speak to the others? I think being up front with them will help us in the long run.”

You sit on the edge of his desk, leaning back slightly, your face illuminated by your smile, “Maybe we can have our first date and then think about the long run?”

When you see the flinch from Marcus, a pang of guilt echoes through your gut as you recall your earlier conversation, “I think you’re right- once we’re truly confident we know where this is headed, we should speak up. I am not going to lose my job or risk my reputation for you… but I also already know that I don’t want to lose you either.”

“Me neither,” his hand reaches out for you, fingers entangling, thumbs stroking - eyes crinkling as they meet yours, “What are you doing for lunch?”

“Well, I was a bit distracted when I got dressed this morning - there was this really hot guy in my flat…”

“Uh huh, tell me about him,” Marcus slowly drawls, looking down at you amusedly.

“Oh you don’t want to know, Sir. Wouldn’t let me get dressed. Just kept groping me.”

“How... inappropriate of him.”

“Yeah - so I was almost late to work because of him wanting his wicked way with me and accidentally ended up putting on two different shoes.” Marcus steps away from you and having looked down, notices the one extremely dark navy and one black ballet pump with a gently shaking chest as he tries to swallow his chuckle.

“Going home to change? Your mind really must have been elsewhere,” you nod at him -slightly embarrassed by your initial genuine mistake that has now become a cover story. His gaze intensifies as he cups your face, his eyes focussing on your lips, “I’m sorry honey, I don’t think I’ll have time to drop you there and back before my meeting - will you be ok?”

“Of course, Marcus - I’ve worked here for years,” you tease him, feeling awkward as fuck when the half truth you are spinning for your boss feels awkward and bitter in your mouth.

But his kiss doesn’t. Marcus quickly closes the gap between the two of you, leaning towards you - his head tilted, lips soft and welcoming with their desire for you utterly apparent. Deepening the kiss, his mouth gently opening, tongue searching as his hands drop from your face to your waist, you find yourself forgetting to worry that anyone could walk in. Forgetting the regret of lying to him. What had you even been talking about? Should you be doing this? Fuck it. You pull him the final distance so that no air could pass between you - just you and Marcus refusing to pause for breath until your lungs run out of air.

Pulling back to gaze at him with lust blown pupils, wanting him so much more, you eventually find the energy to push away from him. Swiping at your lips with your thumb in case anyone spots the remnants of this moment as you walk towards the door on brand new baby deer legs.

“Hey Nush,” you swing back to look at Marcus, still standing, equally dumbstruck as you, before he winks with a cheeky grin, “Nice shoes.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Gripping the cardboard carrier that holds two steaming cups of black coffee in your left hand, you ring the bell to the magnificent Bloomsbury building that has sold multiple pieces of multi-million pound art. The Georgian façade is impressive in its structure and beautifully kept without a sign of peeling paint, decrying its almost 250 year history - a far cry from the shatterproof glass and steel at HQ. Hephzi opens the door to you with a wide grin upon her face, “Bang on time, missus - I swear the only way to get you places quickly, is with the promise of fine art to get you salivating!”

You can’t really respond eloquently to her as you are absorbed into the cool of the elegant building. Whilst kept modern and minimalistic, the space has retained some of its more charming period features - the cornicing and ceiling roses are still firmly in place despite the stark white of the walls. Oh, the pieces that have passed through this space! The very thought makes you tingle all over through excitement.

Currently bedecking the walls are a collection of women artists about to go up for auction the next day. To you, there was no true money in those frames - just a conversation between you, the spectator and the artist about their emotions in picture form. A discussion that spanned centuries as you follow Hephzi’s soft footsteps through the gallery, enjoying every single one from a still life of flowers surrounded by butterflies and other insects by Rachel Ruysch to one of the copies of Blinding by Tracy Emin - the upside down nude female form shaped in neon pink tubes. The artists speak through ages, through the art upon the wall, in the language of your soul.

Marcus would love it here. Oh to bring him and enjoy it together, walking through the space, hand in hand. My head on his shoulder...

“...Hello? Earth to Nushka? Ah, welcome back,” Hephzibah is shaking her head at you, “You’re here on work experience if anyone asks, yes?”

“Yup,” still only half listening to your friend, you begrudgingly continue on to her workspace in the fraud and forgeries department, reluctantly walking away from the art you long to submerge yourself in.

“Right, hand over the coffee and cake- I take payment in advance, Madam,” Hephzi demands, hand outstretched, “So tell me about the new job. What’s your new boss like?”

“Marcus is nice,” you quietly offer into the rim of your coffee.

“First names already?” Hephzibah’s eyes are round with surprise, “And you mention him before the job… Who even are you? What have you done with the real Nush? Oh! Oh Nush, do you like him?”

You stand there blinking hard, feeling an absolute idiot for being so awkward in front of the person you call your best friend. A small, barely perceivable nod through the steam of your coffee has the arms of your best friend wrapped around you, “Nush, tell me more - has anything happened? Do you think he feels the same way?”

“I think so. Made a curry last night for the team at his flat, and ended up staying the night - nothing happ.. Well, we didn’t have sex but I think he likes me,” you nervously chatter at her before drawing a deep breath, “He’s pretty fucking amazing. Seems to be genuinely a nice guy - just straight talking, gentle, kind and holy shit is he good looking! His kisses and touches just turn me into fucking jelly.”

“Better than Jas?”

Your heart thuds in your chest so hard that there is a point where you fully expect it to wrench open your rib cage and run across the floor. You stare wide-eyed, your mouth open

“What?”

Hephzi steps forward, her gaze gentle as she places her hand on your arm, “You weren’t quite as good at hiding it as you thought you were. It was pretty obvious you were together and loved each other very dearly - I just knew that if I ever brought it up that you would run a mile.

“I tried telling you that I knew before. It was after he died and I wanted you to know that I knew it wasn’t just the death of a co-worker. Not that there’s ever any just in those situations for us either but I knew. When I asked about meeting someone the other day, it was more of me just trying to figure out if you were ready to date again.”

With that, the floodgates open and the grief flows you like a river, eroding your defences away. Hephzi holds you as you utterly soak through her expensive blouse, “I wanted to tell you so many times but I was terrified of what you’d think of me.”

“What I’d think of you - are you fucking kidding me, you absolute idiot?” she tucks your tear drenched hair behind your ears, “I’ve held your hair back in pub toilets as you’ve thrown up from too much alcohol and gotten you out of so many other scrapes but that, a relationship with a man from work is what you think I’d judge you for? Nah, that's not how any of this works, mate. Firstly, you can’t help who you fall in love with and secondly, where else are you ever going to meet someone when all you do is work?”

“N...N...Need a tissue. You made me get all snotty,” you tearfully stammer, all blotchy-face and tear streaked.

Hephzi can’t help but laugh at you blaming her for your tears. As she grabs a tissue, she also grabs the cake and the serviettes from the bag, “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up - cake and a masterpiece.”

Following her into the studio beside her office, there it is. A supposedly lost version of Modigliani’s Nu Couché sur le Côté Gauche - her sheer sensuality rolling off her in waves. The way that she gazes out of the piece beguilingly, inviting you to join her on the bed, the sheets ruffled and rolling beneath her delicious curves.

Hephzi laughs at your reaction to the piece, “She’s hot isn’t she?”

“Yep - I’d definitely do her. I’d like to say that it is her almond eyes enticing me but really, it’s that entirely biteable bum,” you say before biting into the pastel de nata.

“Agreed - although for me, it’s her back and her thighs. They are edible - as you rightly say,” she says into her coffee.

“How’s the provenance?”

Hepzhi pulls a face as she turns back to you, “Traceable, but this one isn’t in Ceroni.”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts entirely. Look, love, I can’t let you touch it but feel free to take photos, measurements etc. As soon as my own tests come back, I promise you’ll know before the guys upstairs do,” Hephzibah asserts before sitting back on the desk in the room, “Just remember, you’re here on work experience.”

You throw a thank you over your shoulder at the rapidly retreating figure of Hepzi as you set to work. Using a Canon with a macro lens, you instantly photograph the major features and then take several overlapping pictures so that you can look close up on your computer at work. Whilst not quite a microscope, it would have to do given the circumstances. You trusted Hephzi’s sample taking but it was good to see it in person, even if Marcus had asked you to hold fire.

Whilst you were taking measurements of various points and aspects of the picture, you realised there were multiple footsteps coming up the corridor. Hephzi, obviously heard them gaining on the studio too and rejoined you, to back the story of work experience rather than letting her old friend backstage for some covert readings. She threw her notebook at you with a pencil to have the pretence of you taking notes as she worked.

“Well, Hephzibah, that is the first time I’ve ever seen you entrust your beloved notebook with anyone other than yourself. You have never even shown me the secrets you record there, and I am the person paying your salary,” a truly plummy voice cut through the room, “Whoever this work experience girl is, we will have to see about hiring her if you trust her this much.”

Hephzibah plasters a smile onto her features, “Sir, she is the best I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. Such a keen eye.”

Refusing to turn around, you carry on making notes in Hephzi’s journal, attempting to concentrate on the words written in front of you, instead of the intrusion.

“So what d’ya think? On first impressions, is it real?”

Shit.

That voice.

Stepping up in response, Hephzibah firmly states, “Sir, I am terribly sorry but I am not currently at liberty to be able to fully disclose that info…”

“Oh no, it is quite alright, Hephzibah - this gentleman is Marcus Pike. He is currently fronting an investigation into white terrorism and art forgeries with 5 Eyes. One of your old lot, you know,” Hephzibah’s boss winks as if he was letting her in on the national secrecy act.

“Marcus Pike?” Hephzi shoots you a surreptitious look before the smile is back, “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Shame we haven’t crossed paths before now.”

Marcus offers his hand in greeting to Hephzibah, “I hope we can put that right in the future. I was wondering if we could hear from your work experience person. I am always open to fresh eyes.”

Dread courses through your veins as you turn towards Marcus, not wanting to look him in the face, “It would be remiss of me to make a declaration without reading through and tracking back the provenance as well as undertaking the necessary infrared and paint samples.”

“Sensible,” Marcus nods, his face not betraying a single emotion.

Your face creases at his lack of response, something that Hephzi’s boss picks up on, “Are you alright, dear? You don’t look terribly well.”

“Sudden headache, sir. I should probably get going for today anyway,” you virtually throw Hephzi’s notebook at her before grabbing your bag, “Thank you for today, I will be in touch, Hephzibah.”

Running out of the building as fast as your feet and lungs can carry you, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

Sir Agent Marcus Pike:

Hey,

We need to talk. My office at 5?

You:

...

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319 @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @honestly-shite

#marcus pike #marcus pike supremacy #you're amazing #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x fem!reader

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sirowsky · 8 months ago

Text

@scorpio-marionette How would we survive without our fantasies...

The Bad Day - One Shot

For the person closest to my soul, my wife @lucrezia-thoughts

“Our stories remind us how precious and fragile life can be – and that we must risk our hearts every day to know happiness.” – Luanne Rice

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Fluff Can be read as Gender Neutral Reader (gn!reader) Only warning I can think of is Language. Words: 1525

I hope this helps improve your day, my love.

===================== So, you know those days when everything just goes wrong?

When you can’t walk over a threshold without stubbing your toe, or reach for a doorhandle without almost breaking your finger against it? When you knock the milk or juice-carton over, and think ‘phew, at least the cork was still on’ only to realise the damn carton broke? Every paper you touch tries to murder you, anything remotely heavy just fiddles itself out of your hands, and magically lands on your feet, and even your own brain tricks you by misjudging the distance between your shoulder and the fucking doorway, even though it damn well knows exactly how close is too close?

Yeah – that kinda day.

Those were the days that you wanted to lock yourself in your house and just not step outside, but… well, life… and all that.

When you finally reached your lunch-hour on this particular day of personal doom, you felt sure that every singly toe had to be broken, and there were bandages on three of your fingers already. You were only half-way through your day, and it had the potential to get so much worse before it was over. You contemplated just hiding in a broom-closet until the day was done, but with your current luck, that’d probably just end with you giving yourself a concussion against a shelf or something, in the dark.

You’d taken a seat on a bench outside, hoping that the sun might help your body and mind back into some resemblance of coordination, while you ate. But, of course, that turned out to be a mistake, when the lack of a table meant that you had to hold your plastic lunch box in your lap, which (on a day like this) naturally meant that the damn thing did not remain in your lap. You didn’t even register how it managed to end up bottoms up on the ground by your feet, after just one little bite, and you were so done with this fucking day, you didn’t even care. You just wanted to sit there and cry and feel sorry for yourself until the sun set and this disaster of a day finally ended.

But you were sitting on a bench in a mini-park right outside your office-building, where people were constantly coming and going, and the last thing you wanted was for your co-workers to see you all pathetic like that. You weren’t exactly popular to begin with…

“Here, take this.”

Someone held out a wrapped item to you, and when you looked up you almost choked on your own spit, because the guy handing it to you was Marcus fucking Pike, the guy you’d had a crush on ever since you started at the office. The sweetest guy in the whole damn world – who had no idea you even existed.

“I saw your little accident there, and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“You have no idea… thank you so much.”

You took the offered food and quickly dug into it before a frickin bird snatched it, or something. You’d expected him to walk off, but instead he sat down right next to you, to eat his own wrap, and suddenly you were nervous. You’d wanted to talk to him so many times, even imagined whole scenarios in your mind about how to strike up a conversation with him, each one more ludicrous than the next… And now here he was, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“By the state of your hands, I’m assuming today is one of those days?”

“You get them too?”

“Everyone does, just in varying degrees of severity.”

“Oh, I don’t have degrees, mine are always the worst they can be.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Always so sweet…

“Thanks.”

You finished the rest of your meal in silence, and when you were done, he held a hand out for your trash.

“I’ll take it to the bin over there, save you from another thing that can go wrong.”

He winked at you, and scurried over there, dumping the trash before coming right back, with a bit of a mischievous grin on his face. He didn’t sit back down, but held a hand out to you instead.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here before anyone sees us.”

“You mean.. skip out on work? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can, it’s easy. Just get up and walk away.”

“Pike…”

He just smiled wider, keeping his hand held out for you, and in a moment of pure insanity, you took it, letting him pull you to your feet and walk off with you. He led you away from the office buildings and busy streets, all the way to a promenade deck along the waterfront that you hadn’t even known was there before. And he kept holding your hand. Maybe it was just to keep you from falling every time you stumbled, but the way he held it felt like more than that. Unless that was just wishful thinking on your part. Ugh, more than likely. You tried to distract yourself by talking.

“So, do you skip work often?”

“Never have before.”

“No way. You must’ve done…”

“Nope.”

“But… then, why now?”

“Because you looked like you really needed it.”

That made you stop in your tracks, squeezing his hand a little harder and just staring at him in complete disbelief for a few seconds. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“You bailed on work… for me? W-why would you do that?”

He bowed his head for a few beats, and when he looked up, he had a sheepish little grin on his lips, with that adorable dimple on full display.

“Because I like you. I always have, I just never… knew how to talk to you. You always turn away, keep to yourself, do the work and go home, not much chatter or frivolity. You just seem so… unavailable, I didn’t dare try in case you found it inappropriate.”

Holy hell… but he was too damn sweet.

“A.. are you serious, right now?”

“Very.”

You couldn’t believe this. A whole year you’d been working in the same office as this man, this adorable, kind, sassy, perfect fucking man, not realising that your own insecurity about talking to him was scaring him off.

“I always wanted to talk to you too, I just thought… or, rather convinced myself, that you didn’t even know who I was. I mean, why would you? Aside from being called to the same meetings occasionally, we rarely ever share the same space, and I don’t work directly on your cases.”

“Because you’re interesting. You don’t conform to the ‘normal’ office behaviour. You find ingenious little ways to break policies regarding your appearance, and your desk, so that you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin and space. And even though you mostly stay quiet, whenever you do speak, you’re always well informed and respectful, but also honest. You don’t let people walk all over you just because they think you’re an outsider.”

You had to actually tell yourself to breathe, because you were so shocked you just didn’t function properly right now.

“How do you know all that? When have you had time to notice me at all… I don’t… what am I missing here? I don’t understand any of this..”

He stepped closer. A lot closer, and you froze. He smelled wonderful, and up close like this, his eyes were mesmerising. Deep pools of chocolate beckoning for every ounce of your attention, which they eagerly got, while his free hand found your waist.

“You’re beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed about you. Not just your face, but your soul. Your person. And there’s a kind of grace to you, to the way you move and carry yourself, that I confess I may have spied a little on you in your office, in order to see better. It mostly only comes out when you think no one sees you. And I can see it even on days like these, when everything goes wrong for you.”

A warmth you’d never felt before, spread through your chest and abdomen, making you shiver in the most pleasant way imaginable, and he could see that too. His hand on your waist pulled you closer, while the other let go of your hand, so that he could wrap both arms around you.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Your knees damn near caved in on you, but this was too good for you to allow your body to screw it up, like it had the rest of the day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting one hand find it’s way to the back of his neck, gently tugging him towards you.

“Please do.”

As his warm, soft lips brushed against yours you thought to yourself that perhaps bad days had a purpose, after all. Perhaps they were meant to make the good moments clearer, more distinguished. After all, what was one good moment next to a hundred others, compared to one good moment, among a hundred bad ones?

THE END

#we all wish #marcus pike supremacy

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bakedmandos · 3 years ago

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this has a very special place in my heart like oh my god you dont understand 😭😭 MARCUS PIKE SUPREMACY? DKDJDJS

listen the fact that this man knows who the crab is from moana, plays the fucking ukulele, and PROPOSED LIKE THE DORK HE IS??? W-WHEW..

im destroyed god when the fuck are u gonna give us- ME my own marcus pike?? 😭

Picture Perfect (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Summary: You reflect on a perfect vacation with Marcus.

Warnings: language, talk of flying in planes, mentions of food, implied sexual content and sexual flirting

W/C: 3.6k

A/N: happy Easter loves!!! I really adore this fic and hope you guys do too! It’s part of the Beyond the Sea series I’m writing with the lovely @mandoalorian

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

You never thought you’d see the day when Agent Marcus Pike relaxed for more than a few hours at a time. Luckily, your hand holds three Polaroids, all of them proof of the wonderful week of rest and recharging the two of you just experienced. The plane is leaving now, the islands of Hawaii behind you and endless ocean outside of your plane window. Marcus is snoozing softly, head pressed to your shoulder, and you press a kiss to his beautiful temple. This is the man who holds all of your heart in his hands, and you’ve never been so sure that someone would protect it with their life.

He stirs at the sensation and you chuckle quietly. The roar of the airplane’s pressurized cabin makes everything quieter, and you smile as those brown eyes flutter open. “Just me. Love you. Go back to sleep, babe,” you murmur, and he complies, eyes slipping shut as he nuzzles closer. You look down at your hands again, at the three Polaroids.

The first photo makes you giggle. It was taken the first full day the two of you had in town. Marcus holds a tiny crab in his hands, a look of wonder on his sun-kissed face. He’s shirtless and crouched down, wet sand packed beneath him and patterned swim trunks bringing color to the photo.

The second photo melts your heart. Marcus lies in a hammock in the Polaroid, asleep in the shade. Stripes of light peek through palm fronds, illuminating bits of your boyfriend’s warm body. He wears board shorts and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, his normally gelled hair forming soft waves. The sun you’ve spent your days in lightened it, leaving light brown and even blonde streaks in the top layer. A soft pink covers his nose and cheeks- a result of the sun as well. His ukulele is lying next to him in the hammock.

The third photo makes you tear up at the memory. Two dark silhouettes- one clearly yours and one clearly his- are just outlined against an orange, sunset-colored sky.

You and Marcus arrived at your condo late at night, tired after the long flights, both cross-country and then across the Pacific Ocean. You’d flown first-class, Marcus insisting he spoil you. It was comfortable, but the pressure of the cabin made your body ache and your joints swell. It was impossible to sleep, even with him to use as a pillow.

The first morning, Marcus rises late: it’s about 10 A.M. local time, and he sighs as he finds you still snoring next to him. You look so peaceful and sweet that he can’t bring himself to wake you.

For the next half hour, he sits on the condo’s porch, overlooking the water. He smiles softly as the occasional breeze passes through, noticing that the air slowly warms.

When you finally wake, you wander out to find Marcus on the balcony. You gasp in excitement as you see the rushing surf. “Oh my god,” you grin and wrap your arms around him from behind. “It’s so gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you too,” he teases as his hands rest on your arms. “Isn’t it though?” He leans back against you, watching the seagulls play in the splashing water. “How did you sleep?” He asks, still eyeing the sprawling ocean. There’s a small reef a few yards from the shore, shallow enough to walk in.

You notice it too. “Good. Can we make some coffee then go explore those little tidal pools?” You ask excitedly as you point at them, resting your chin atop Marcus’s chocolate-brown bed head.

“Of course,” he chuckles, turning to kiss the side of your face. “It’s the perfect time to get some sun, too. We’ll get our swim gear on.”

You press a soft kiss into the top of his head, smiling contentedly at the ocean and Marcus’s steady breathing beneath your arms. “I love you,” you practically sing to him, overwhelmed by the happiness of the morning.

“I love you too, pretty girl,” he murmurs back and turns to kiss you softly.

Twenty minutes later, each of you finished with one cup of coffee and changed into your bathing suits, you head down to the water and wade in. You squeal as the cold water laps at your ankles, your pink Polaroid camera hanging around your neck. One hand clutches at the pink plastic, lifting it instinctually to keep it dry. Marcus laughs and takes your free hand, the two of you commenting on the water and the sun as you wander to the rocky shoals a few yards out.

The volcanic rock in front of you is filled with holes and crevices, and it’s teeming with life. Marcus’s eyes widen in excitement as he sees a tiny crab. “Oh my god,” he laughs. “Look at this little guy!”

Walking closer, the crab doesn’t scuttle away. “Oh, do you want to be friends?” Marcus coos, squatting down.

“Careful of the waves, babe,” you remind him, a hand on his spine, between those gorgeously thick shoulder blades. “Don’t wanna get a concussion.”

Marcus shakes his head, absolutely beaming as he scoops up the little crab. “Oh, aren’t you the sweetest thing,” he mumbles to it, admiring its brown shell and tiny claws. “You remind me of that guy from Moana.”

Of course your boyfriend would draw that connection. He mutters the lyrics to Shiny from the movie to the crab as he turns to face you, holding it up. “Look, this is our baby now.”

You laugh and shake your head. “Well, I suppose our child needs a name,” you chuckle, daring to stroke the back of the crab’s shell. It snaps its little claws in return, grabbing at nothing in the air.

“Well, how about the crab from Moana? The Tamatoa?” He asks. The little thing’s claws are clacking rhythmically to some inaudible beat.

“Hmm.” You think about it for a moment, lifting the camera and snapping a photo of Marcus holding the tiny crab. “It’s a snippy little thing. Maybe we should name it Teresa,” you snort, laughing to yourself at your own joke.

Marcus frowns. “No, I like it much more than her. You’re our little Tamatoa, aren’t you?” He coos, holding it up to give it a little kiss on the back of his shell.

Classic, typical Marcus. Giving all of his love with no regard for his own safety. You almost see it in slow motion as the tiny crab snips the tip of Marcus’s nose. “Motherfucker,” he cries at the feeling, setting the crab back down immediately.

It makes you laugh much harder than you should. Leaning onto your boyfriend’s tanning skin, you wheeze out laugh after laugh. He joins you too.

When you both finally settle down and catch your breath, you giggle up at Marcus. “Okay, so that little shit was definitely a Teresa.”

Marcus laughs this time, giving you a brief kiss. “You are the absolute love of my fucking life, baby,” he chuckles and the two of you continue your walk.

Marcus has always been an early riser, and you forgot to close the shades last night before you passed out in the ridiculously plush bed. The early sunrise warms Marcus’s face until he wakes. He rolls over with a yawn and a stretch before kissing the side of your face. You grunt. “Hi.”

“Good morning, angel,” Marcus’s soft voice coos to you, an arm snaking around your middle. “The sunrise looks beautiful. Want to see?”

“No,” you frown. “Wanna sleep more.”

Marcus pouts, kissing your forehead. “Baby.”

“Fine,” you groan, the sleep starting to wear off anyway. “Only because I love you so much. And because I love your dick and don’t want it withheld from me this week,” you tease, sitting up and kissing him softly.

“Yeah yeah,” he laughs and stands, wandering over to the large window in the bedroom.

Your eyes widen at the beauty as you see the gorgeous colors of the sky. The sunrise is behind you, but the horizon is still shifting in hue, pinks and purples and oranges with the dark blue slowly fading away. Marcus wraps his arms around you as you stand next to him. “See. This wasn’t so bad to get out of bed for.”

Nodding, you rest your head against his chest. “I suppose it wasn’t. I’ll go make us coffee,” you murmur and press a kiss to his bare pec, giving his ass a light squeeze as you walk past him.

The two of you make your plans for the day over the coffee, discussing your options and ultimately choosing that today would be the perfect day to find a secluded little beach and just relax in the sun. They wouldn’t be hard to find around here: unlike other places you’d been, it seemed like the shore was endlessly beach.

Parking in a free lot, locking your ragtop Jeep behind you, you and Marcus wander down the beach for a while until you find the perfect spot. How did you know? Marcus spotted the perfect marker: a hammock.

Tied between two palm trees, under the shade of the fronds, was a woven hammock. It had no pillows, blankets, no one around and no belongings. Marcus decided it was yours now- or at least for the day.

The white sand is warm beneath your feet, flying out as Marcus chases you. You’d stolen his sunglasses just moments ago and now you’re running. “Get back here!”

“Only if you fuck me right here and right now!” You teasingly call over your shoulder.

Marcus stops, as if he’s considering it. You do too. Then he picks up into a faster run. “There’s too much sand for that, you little shit!”

Giggling, you stop and let Marcus crash into you, his warm body slick from the tanning oil he’d slathered on. You naturally wrap your arms around his neck. Marcus plucks the sunglasses from your head and puts them back on. “Thank you.”

“Any time, Pikey,” you tease and kiss him softly as his arms wrap around your waist. That was the name you’d called him when you first met, when you were young, up-and-coming interns for the FBI.

The two of you wander back, lying on your beach towels for hours and absorbing the warm rays. You and Marcus snack on some packed food, staring out into the ocean and chatting. It’s absolutely perfect.

Marcus is ever the early riser. You’re usually the one to end up taking a nap if the last night of sleep didn’t satisfy you or Marcus woke you up for some godforsaken reason. As he lies next to you, though, you hear a yawn slip from his lips. “Sorry, what was that?” You clarify teasingly.

Marcus scowls. “I get tired too.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh. “Do you want to go cuddle in the hammock?” You ask, and he nods as he sits up.

Marcus is wearing just his board shorts, but there’s a cool breeze in the shade. He tosses on his Hawaiian shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. He looks so effortlessly cool, that brown hair starting to get slightly wavy from the salty air. His sunglasses sit just slightly lower on the bridge of his aquiline nose, and it makes you grin. You toss a t-shirt on as well, and you grin as you realize Marcus opens his ukulele case.

“I knew you’d use it,” you grin at him as he settles in the hammock. He’d debated bringing it along, contemplating the hassle, but you’d told him he practically had to- you’re in Hawaii, after all. You scoot in next to him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“Will you play me a song by Abba?” You ask him softly, the rush of the ocean and the wind filling your ears.

Marcus nods and kisses your forehead before giving the strings a strum to test some chords. He finally starts playing a soft version of Andante Andante, and your eyes slip shut. His voice is so beautiful and soothing, and you can’t help but quietly sing along.

“I’m your music… I’m your song…

Play me time and time again, make me strong…”

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, ever prayed to whatever being up there that you’d meet the right person for you someday. He’s soft and warm and strong. He’s protective but gentle and the most caring man to ever walk the face of the earth.

Marcus starts noodling around on the ukulele, playing some random chords and notes. “I love you so much,” you sigh and snuggle in tighter against him.

He puts down the ukulele and wraps his arms around you, kissing your temple gently. “I love you too, baby. So much, endlessly.” He’s so perfectly cozy that you cuddle on top of him, and he welcomes the position. He wraps his arms around your body and kisses your neck.

The two of you stay cuddled up like that, tired from the long day in the sun, for quite a while. Before long, you recognize the different breathing pattern Marcus has slipped into- sleep. Smiling softly, you allow yourself to remain nuzzled into your boyfriend’s body for a while longer.

After some time, you sigh and realize you should probably wake him and return to the condo. The sun is starting to sink lower in the sky: not enough to be sunset, but enough to know what’s approaching. Careful not to wake him, you clamber out of the hammock and grin at the image. It’s too perfect.

You grab your Polaroid and snap the photo: Marcus is asleep, sunglasses fallen down his nose, Hawaiian shirt open, ukulele next to him. The hammock sways in the breeze, peeks of light from between palm leaves shining down on him. You giggle when the photo develops and it’s the sound of your laughter that wakes him. “Huh?” He groans, sitting up and losing his balance as he realizes his resting spot is moving.

You walk over on your knees, the sand moving with you and allowing you to do so. You kiss him gently for a moment before breaking away. “You fell asleep, love. It’s just about time to head back to the condo.”

“How long?” He asks groggily, pushing up his sunglasses and rubbing his eyes.

“You were only out for about half an hour,” you assure him and rub his arm.

His eyes are still closed but he smiles at that. “I heard you take that Polaroid,” he chuckles, and pulls you in for another kiss that muffles your noise of defeat.

Two days later, you can hear Marcus singing along to his music in the shower as you get ready for the evening. Sitting at the vanity in the suite’s luxurious bathroom, you apply your makeup, opting to keep things light. You wear a nice outfit and fidget with your appearance in the mirror, touching little things here and there.

A few minutes later, Marcus wanders out with a towel around his waist, his skin reddened from the hot shower. “Hey. You look… amazing,” he grins as he looks at you, taking in the sight. “I can’t compete.”

You grin and walk closer, putting a hand on his warm skin. “It’s a good thing it’s not a competition,” you tease, faces close together. “You’re going to look wonderful too.” You kiss him softly for a moment before he breaks away to get dressed.

The sun is above the horizon, just about to sink into sunset. Fuck, Marcus thinks to himself as he realizes he needs to move quickly. He puts on the nice outfit he’d picked earlier, messing with his hair in the mirror. Not more than few minutes later, he’s back at your side. “Ready?” He asks.

You nod with a smile. “You hurried.”

Marcus shrugs, pursing his lips and shaking his head. You know that look, you’ve known it since the very first time he did it. He’s terrible at bluffing. Something is hidden behind those eyes. “Just… don’t wanna miss sunset,” he murmurs and kisses you on the cheek, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You’d planned on dinner at a luxurious restaurant located within a fancy hotel, but Marcus insisted that you’d be at the beach for the sunset. When you finally reach the resort, you wander through the gorgeous surroundings until you find the white sand beach in front of you.

Marcus walks with one hand in yours, the other in his pocket. He’s quieter than normal, holding back his remarks about the wildlife and gorgeous architecture of the buildings.

There’s a small gazebo just off the sand, and Marcus walks you up. “Well… surprise,” he chuckles, showing you the little shelter. It’s strung with twinkling lights and white gauze, the ocean’s breeze rippling the fabric. There’s a table with a white cloth covering it, champagne glasses at the ready and flowers sat in the center.

“I thought you said we were eating at the restaurant,” you exclaim but laugh in surprise, setting your purse and Polaroid camera next to the chair.

His eyes twinkle with excitement. “Well, they offered this. How could I choose the restaurant when we could have dinner in our own little private gazebo?” He chuckles. “They won’t start the service for a little while. Want to go walk on the beach a little longer?”

“Marcus,” you coo and take his arm, wrapping both of your arms around it. “You’re the most romantic man on the face of the earth.”

He shakes his head and kisses your forehead. “Only for you. Come on, let’s walk.”

The two of you stroll along, the gorgeous sunset behind the dark and rolling ocean. The breeze rustles Marcus’s hair, and you grin as you see it happen. “This is… amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he mumbles and nudges you with his shoulder, making you stumble to the side and laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

Looking up at him, you breathe out a small laugh. “When have you ever asked first?” You tease him, but you stop when he stops walking.

His hand squeezes yours a little tighter and he moves so you’re no longer standing side-to-side but facing each other. He takes both of your hands. “You know how much I love you. I really can’t imagine you wouldn’t, because I know you love me just the same.”

Your brain flies a mile a minute as he starts talking. It sounds too planned, not at all the spontaneous man your Marcus is and has always been. Wait-

“You are, without a doubt, the best thing in my life. I’ve been burned by love before, but you’re everything I’ve ever needed. You’re the only one who has ever reassured me and calmed me and silenced that endless buzzing of fear in my head. I know you’d never leave me, and I hope you know I’d never leave you.”

“Marcus,” you whisper, and your eyes well with tears as he falls to one knee in the soft sand, his own eyes shimmering with tears.

“And, if it’s alright with you, I want to promise you I’ll never leave you. I want to make it so official that nothing can ever separate us, not time or distance or anything. And I figured the best way to do that is, well… fuck, I messed it up,” he winces. “I had all the words, I swear-“

“Just ask me the question, baby,” you laugh, the tears falling down your face. You know what’s coming now, as he reaches into his pocket and presents you with a velvet box.

He opens it and inside is the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It suits you. Of course it does: Marcus knows you better than you know yourself. You can tell when you look into his eyes that no one else ever would or could know you like he does.

He stutters for a moment before you fall to your knees in the sand in front of him. “It’s okay, you know what I’m gonna say,” you say quietly, cupping his face with both hands. “Just… say it. Please.”

He bites his lip then looks into your eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will,” you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him happily. “Yes, Marcus Pike. I will marry you. I love you so much,” you murmur in between kisses.

“I’m so pathetic,” he laughs as the happy tears trail down both of your faces, him sitting back on his heels and you following suit.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh and hold out your left hand. Marcus takes the ring from the small box and slides it onto your finger, grinning as he notices it fits just right.

Swallowing hard, you laugh at the fact that your makeup must be trailing down your face. Marcus wipes the tears with one large hand, his other cupping yours and admiring the way the ring looks against your skin. He kisses your knuckles and you giggle uncontrollably.

“I get to be Mrs. Pikey now,” you grin and he nods.

“Of course. I mean, if you want to take my name. You don’t have to,” he rushes, shaking his head and blowing a raspberry. “I didn’t even think about that really, just figured that you’d tell me what you wanted first.” His words are a blur of relief, the anxiety fading from his body.

“Marcus,” you laugh softly, your hands cupping his face once more. “It’s okay. Just… relax,” you laugh as one of his hands covers yours, his fingers slotting between yours.

He nods. “I think I finally can now,” he chuckles and kisses you one last time.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @sugarontherims

#im the cutest man alive #i hold this fic dear forever and ever #marcus pike my beloved my darling #im abt to square up with every holy entity out there if they dont give us marcus pike #marcus pike fics

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

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@harriedandharassed Wait a minute... Kill him? What am I missing? Give me the scoop 😃

The Secret Lake

Happy Birthday, my Love!

@lucrezia-thoughts

Don't think I forgot about you, my darling wife, I have a big dose of your husband ready for you, should you feel the need for some lovable fluff and happiness! I hope you've had a wonderful day, and if you haven't, I hope this helps. All my love, always --J

Warnings: Marcus Pike x female reader (no physical description), some mild insecurity from both characters, otherwise just fluff central. First date-type themes. Kissing happens.

You're looking for a place to cool off during a heatwave, and remembers hearing about a secluded spot that a colleague of yours might know how to find. The hitch is that you're pretty sure he barely even knows who you are.

Word Count: 3630 Author's Masterlist

It’s blazing hot outside, and you’re desperate for some cool water to dip into, but you know the beach is gonna be packed today and you’re not in the mood for battling sand getting into everything you own. Anakin was right about that one.

You know there’s supposed to be a really nice lake somewhere inland, within an hour’s drive, but you don’t know how to find it, and it’s apparently next to impossible to locate, in between high cliffs, unless you have a guide. There’s one person you know that’s been there, but he’s not someone you socialize with, ordinarily. Which is a shame, because he’s the nicest guy you’ve ever met. Not that you’d spent enough time with him to make a full assessment, and you doubt he’d even remember you after just a casual introduction at the office, months ago. You’re just a secretary, working for his boss, and while you see him all the time, he passes your desk with a polite smile, but never really looking at you. That’s the curse of being a secretary, even when you’re not the-mouse-in-the-corner-type, you become a part of the décor, and eventually people stop noticing you.

His number is in your phone, though. You’ve needed to message him a few times for work, to let him know that your boss had to reschedule something, so perhaps he would have you in his as well and would recognize the caller ID. Screw it. If he doesn’t pick up then no harm done, and if he does and doesn’t remember you or doesn’t feel like helping you out, then at least you won’t have to wonder anymore if he notices you. The phone trembles slightly when you listen to the rings, part of you hoping that he doesn’t answer, and another part dearly wishing that he does.

“Pike.”

The call connects and his voice comes through after seven rings, just when you’d been about to hang up, and you scramble to re-center your brain and remember what the hell you called him for.

“Oh, hi… I’m sorry…”

Your mind goes blank and for a moment you’re about to panic, but then a soft chuckle comes across the line.

“Are you apologizing for calling or for saying hi? Because you haven’t done anything else to me yet, Daisy.”

Your chest tightens at the sound of your nickname, given to you by some other colleagues because of the one personal item on your desk: a conserved daisy in a glass frame. You’ve never told anyone why you have it, only that it’s very important to you, and of course, the mystery soon earned you the name. But you love it. Shit, he asked you a question, what was it?

“Uh, I’m just sorry to bother you, Agent Pike.”

“Marcus, please. We’re both off duty. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Right. Well, I was just wondering if you could give me some directions to the secret lake? I remember hearing you mention to another agent that you’d been there, and I’m just dying to cool down somewhere that isn’t the beach.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there, but there’s no way I can describe the route well enough that you’ll find it on your own.”

“Oh. That’s okay, thank you anyway, I really am sorry if I interrupted something.”

“Hey, I wasn’t done. Will you stop trying to convince me that you’re bothering me, and let me tell you what I’m thinking?”

“Sorry. Again.”

You hear him huff on the other end, and you’re not sure if it’s in annoyance or bemusement.

“I can’t describe it to you, but I’d happily show you the way.”

You nearly fall over with shock, even though you’re sitting down.

“Seriously? I mean, you absolutely don’t have to…”

“Daisy. Stop. I’ll pick you up outside your apartment in 20. Okay?”

He-… he knows where you live?

“O-Okay.”

You quickly pack your things and throw together some snacks before heading down to wait for him by the road, partly in the interest of saving time, but also because you’re not sure how you feel about him potentially seeing the inside of your apartment. It’s small so even if he only stood in the doorway, he’d see most of it, and it’s a mess. Sure enough, he’s there within the promised time, and you quickly put your things in the backseat before getting into the front passenger seat, as he stops by the curb, breathing a little easier once you’re in the cool airconditioned space.

You almost audibly gulp as you take in the sight of him, while reaching over to fasten your seatbelt. Because you’ve only ever seen him in the practically trademarked FBI-suit they all wear, but now he’s in a white button-down cotton shirt with short sleeves, that fits loosely over his tanned chest, the top three buttons undone. And he’s wearing light blue bathing shorts, clearly intending to enjoy a day at the lake as well, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s meeting someone else there, or something. Because he can’t be about to just hang out with you, that’s… inconceivable.

“Hey. Nice to see you outside the office.”

“Hi. This is so kind of you, Marcus, I didn’t even think you’d pick up, much less actually come and show me the way.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t pick up?”

“Just because we don’t know each other. I figured you’d assume that it was about work and just ignore it, since you’re on vacation.”

“Huh. I didn’t even think of that. But I was really glad that it was about this, because I was thinking about going out there myself, but it didn’t sound like much fun to go alone.”

“But you must have people you could’ve called, friends or family. I’m sure there’s always someone who wants to hang out with you.”

He smiles at that, but it’s a jaded kind of smile.

“Believe it or not, but doing this job makes it hard to keep up a social life of any sort. All my friends are fellow agents, and while I enjoy spending time with them, it’s always work. Even when we’re off duty, that’s where the conversations go, because that’s what we all have in common, and it’s just not healthy, you know? I’m bad enough at leaving work at work as it is, I don’t need enablers dragging me back to it in my spare time.”

You feel bad hearing that, since you’re work-related for him too, and now you don’t know what to say, because you want to apologize but you know he won’t appreciate it. You stare out the passenger side window, watching city traffic and built-up areas fade away into wilderness as he drives further out of town.

“Hey, why so quiet, Daisy?”

“Uh, just enjoying the calm. My neighbours aren’t the quiet types.”

“Truth. But not all of it. What’s bothering you?”

You take a breath and glance at him, and damnit… Why did he have to be the most beautiful man in the world?

“You said you wanted to get away from work.”

He connects the dots effortlessly; you can see it in his body language even from the corner of your eye.

“Okay. Clearly, we need to get something straight here. When I talk about work what I mean is active cases. Leads, interrogations, raids, research, meetings, paperwork, bureaucracy. You are not work to me, Daisy, you’re the sunshine that sits in an otherwise grey and dull building wearing colours and offering a dazzling smile to anyone that passes. You’re always helpful, you never seem to have a bad day, or if you do, you’re a master at hiding it. You’re never too far away from a quip or a well-phrased come-back and there is nothing about you that reminds me of work. So will you please stop trying to tell yourself that you’re gonna somehow ruin my day, because I’m really looking forward to spending some time with you.”

He pauses and waits for a reply, but you have no idea what to say. That entire little speech tells you that you’ve been wrong about him this whole time. He does notice you. A lot more than you ever would’ve thought. And while that does boost your confidence significantly, it also makes you terribly nervous. He doesn’t wait for you to try and gather your thoughts before he continues, making you wonder if he’s nervous too.

“I was slow to answer today because I did expect it to be work. But when I saw that it was you… I was excited. I am excited. I’d like to get to know you.”

By now, you’re staring at him, attempting to absorb that he might actually be interested in you, but you soon realize that that’s gonna take a while, and he needs some reassurance.

“Thank you. I’d really like to get to know you too.”

He smiles widely, that perfect dimple on full display, and just minutes later, he turns onto a dirt-track that ends after about a mile, where he parks on a patch of dirt next to some boulders.

“Alright, we’ll have to hoof it from here.”

“How far is it?”

“Not very. Maybe twenty minutes. And this is the only way in, so unless someone hiked here, it looks like we got the place to ourselves.”

You try not to show how that makes the butterflies in your stomach go bananas, while you put on your backpack and fall in behind him. It’s not the easiest trek you’ve ever done. It’s rocky and requires some light climbing for most of the way, finally making you see why this has never become a popular hangout. But once you get past the rocky part, you’re suddenly engulfed by thick vegetation that you have to wrestle your way through, until it abruptly just ends, and you’re there.

Tall cliffs that are vertical in their drop against the water, but also very steep on the opposite side, encircle a small lake full of clear blue water. The entryway brings you to a huge flat rock that’s half submerged, and that’s as much beach as there is. Birds are singing all around you, actual butterflies flittering about everywhere, tiny flowers growing where tree-roots have stretched into the water above the rocks, bringing other seeds along with them. It’s magical. But still just as hot as the city had been and now you’ve been climbing too.

“It’s spring water, filtered through mineral deposits underground, that’s why it’s so clear-…”

He cuts himself off when you run past him and dive headfirst into the cool liquid, having clearly not noticed that you’ve already stripped your top and shorts off and aren’t all that interested in why the water is special. But by the time you breach the surface again, he’s already discarded his shirt and is on his way to join you, that big smile firmly in place right up until he dives. The water’s cold compared to the air, shockingly so, but it only takes moments for your body to appreciate it and for the haze that the heat somehow drugs your mind with, to get blown away.

You don’t wait for him to reach you before you start leisurely swimming towards the other side of the pool, but he catches up to you in no time, falling in next to you but staying quiet as he can see that you’re admiring the place still. At the far end of the lake, you’re surrounded by cliffs, creating a chamber of sorts, that echoes every sound, even the tiny splashes from your swim-strokes, seeming to amplify the sounds, which fascinates you. Turning back, you dive underwater and practice holding your breath while you try to map the bottom, only to find that it’s way too far down for you to even guess at the depth of the water.

Since the flat rock is partly submerged, there’s no trouble getting back out, you just swim until you can put your feet down on it and then walk up until you reach the dry area. Marcus is right behind you, but he lingers in knee-deep water for a while as you go to your bag to pull out your towel and lay it out on the smooth stone, and it’s not until you’ve finished that you notice that he’s watching you.

“How’s the view, Mr. Pike?”

He makes no attempt to conceal the fact that he’s been eyeing you, only smiling again as you challenge him.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, Miss Daisy.”

Playing along (and seizing the opportunity) you ogle him right back, from his hair down to his knees, and then back up, slowly, taking in every detail, before landing on his suddenly slightly self-conscious eyes.

“I’ll have to agree with you on that.”

He chuckles and runs a hand through his dripping wet hair, lingering at his neck while his head dips forwards to hide his embarrassment, all while he slowly makes his way out of the water and comes to pull out his own towel. After settling down next to you, you both fall into an odd kind of silence. Not pressured or uncomfortable, really, but… a bit like there’s a piece of glass between you that neither of you know how to break. So, you just sit there, quietly soaking up the sun and stealing sideways glances at each other.

Until you remember your snacks and reach into your bag to pull out an assortment of fruits, crackers, cheese and nuts, and the moment you invite him to dig into the food, the glass brakes. You talk about a hundred different things, only once or twice straying into work-territory by sharing funny anecdotes or trivia about colleagues. But mostly just telling each other about things you like or have experienced or things that are just memorable, even if they are largely insignificant.

And before you know it, the sun has dipped below the ridge of the cliffs, the food is all eaten, your bathing suits are dry and the magic of the day is running out, like Cinderella’s chiming clock, forcing you back to reality. His eyes meet yours, and you both know that it’s time to go, but neither of you say it. The quiet settles back in between you while you get dressed and pack up, but before you leave, you turn back for one last look out over the lake, feeling like it has somehow shared a secret with you.

The climb back to the car is even harder on the way down, and without Marcus, you never would’ve managed it. But you get back unscathed and pack yourselves into the vehicle, driving back with that same silence sitting like some unseen third passenger between you, disturbing the zen. He stops in the parking lot outside your building this time, in the overnight spots, but he leaves the engine running, as if trying to showcase that he won’t stay unless you ask.

“So… I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too. I’m really glad I called you, Marcus.”

“Please feel free to call me again. Anytime.”

“Same to you.”

He smiles, but it’s uncertain now. Tentative. You bite your bottom lip and throw a look out of the windscreen, trying to decide if you have the courage to kiss him goodbye, or if he’ll even want you to. You feel like he probably won’t mind at least, but there’s no way to know unless you ask or just go for it.

“What are you thinking, Daisy?”

The nickname shifts your thoughts, to a different time but oddly similar situation, and you smile warmly as the fond memory plays out before your eyes for the ten thousandth time.

“Would you like to know why I keep that flower?”

Looking back at him, you see his smile deepen, and he nods.

“It was given to me by a girl named Penny when I was just six years old. She was this rowdy little thing that used to get us into trouble, but she had the most adorable smile and almost always managed to charm our way out of it too. One day, out of the blue, while we were hiding in the middle of a meadow, she kissed me. And not some little peck either, a long, warm kiss that gave me goosebumps. My very first one.”

His eyes have turned into enamoured puddles and the most enchanting smile adorns every angle of his features, making your insides purr.

“Then she pulled back, picked the first flower she saw and tucked it behind my ear, and that was the last time I ever saw her. She moved away the next day. I keep the flower because it reminds me that love is ageless. I look at it and I still remember those goosebumps, that feeling that something very special was happening, and it makes me smile, even on my bad days.”

“So, then you do have bad days. Damn. That means I can’t read you as well as I thought, you’ve been deceiving me all this time.”

“Marcus… who the hell doesn’t have bad days? Of course I do, I just keep a professional mask on.”

“I know, but that’s what makes it so impressive, because I genuinely have tried, but I’ve never been able to tell. Not once. And I detect deception for a living.”

That gives you an idea. Maybe a terrible one, but if you’re ever gonna go for it… Utilizing his apparent inability to tell what you’re thinking, you keep your face in the same comfortable joyful expression you’ve had for most of the afternoon, not giving him any hint as to what you’re about to do. Taking a page from Penny, you don’t give him a chance to pull away, swiftly leaning over the center console to slot your lips against his, forcing your hands to stay in your lap so that you won’t reach up and try to hold him in place, in case he doesn’t want this.

Once he catches on, though, he all but surges into the kiss, his own hands showing none of the restraint yours have managed, coming up to cradle your face while he completely takes over control, licking at your lips, begging for more. And when you let him in, he instantly softens again, inviting you as much as he devours you. Your hands tangle in his hair, tug at his shoulders, utterly unable to get enough of him and suddenly hating the confines of the car making it impossible to get closer. But then he shifts his left arm, and accidentally hits the horn, the sharp signal startling you both into pulling back, and you chuckle breathlessly.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

His eyes are bottomless pits of lust now, but there’s so much affection in there too that it makes you crave him just as much.

“Daisy… I’ve wanted to do that for fucking months.”

“You couldn’t have given me even the tiniest hint of that? I thought you didn’t even know my name, much less my nickname.”

He’s a little taken aback by that, cocking his head to the side and studying you closely.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I haven’t shown you anything but my own mask as well.”

“You know what, Marcus… I think we kinda suck at this.”

That makes him laugh in earnest, and it infects you, but also effectively wipes any and all remaining tension away between you. And suddenly you don’t care what state your apartment’s in, or that the neighbours are terrible, you just want him to stay.

“You wanna come in?”

Something very… expansive, emanates from him as he hears that. As though a whole new world has opened up and become available to him, and his eyes sparkle when he reaches for you, kissing you again, just as fervently. And when he breaks it, he stays close enough that his lips still brush against yours with each word he says.

“Yes. Yes, I really, really do. Which is why I should leave.”

You know that he’s right, that it’s careless to move too fast, that it can wreck things before they’ve even begun, but you still whimper and feel a pout settle into your face. He tries to kiss it away, and he almost succeeds, except that it comes right back as soon as he pulls away again, which makes him laugh more.

“How about you come to my place for dinner tomorrow. My neighbours are quiet.”

“Done.”

You both giggle at how fast and decisively that reply comes out, and then he gets out of the car to help you with your bag, even though it’s just a backpack. You take it and start walking towards your door, but then turn so that you’re backing the last few steps, letting you look at him where he’s leaned against the back bumper of the car.

“Text me your address, Mr. Pike. Some of us don’t snoop in other people’s personnel files.”

His eyebrows shoot up at that, clearly not expecting you to have figured that out, and you smile triumphantly. Because he could’ve just looked you up online, but something tells you that he probably thinks it’s less creepy if he just looks at a file, he does that all the time.

“I peeked. Just one little peek.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful.”

His gaze takes a trip around the parking lot while he smiles bashfully at your compliment, and then he pushes off the bumper and heads for the driver’s door, giving you one last lingering, craving look before he steps in and drives off.

THE END

-------------------------

Tagging some lovely people, just because.

@idreamofboobear @deadhumourist @lucrezia-thoughts @nolanell @tintinn16 @bison-writes @tiffanyleen @sarahjkl82-blog @la-lunaluna @tanzthompson @cannedsoupsucks @toomanystoriessolittletime @sj-draws00 @agingerindenial @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @shsoba05 @thisshipwillsail316 @f0rever15elf @dornish-queen @herefordistractions @littlemisspascal @sewmanystitchssewlittletime @ophelialoveshandsomemen @myfavpedrothings @ezras-channel-rat @winter-fox-queen

#my sweet marcus #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike supremacy

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

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@lucrezia-thoughts You're so welcome, my most precious! And thank you for helping me celebrate this milestone!! 💙

I just really loved the idea of Marcus being that person that even when you haven't seen them in forever, it's always just like it was yesterday 🥰🥰🥰

Day 7 of the Celebration Stories, and this one comes from my lovely wife @lucrezia-thoughts with the prompt: "Please, tell me you missed me." with the supreme Marcus Pike! <3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Marcus Pike x friend reader, reader has no physical description and no specified gender, cursing, college reunion, fluff, happy and open ending. Word Count: 732 Sirowsky's Masterlist

--Reunion--

He was one of your best friends in college, but you haven’t seen him since then. You’d parted ways after graduation, and while you had initially tried to stay in touch, this had been before the age of smartphones and all the modern technology that makes connecting to other people so easy these days, so it hadn’t taken long before your busy lives had killed your friendship.

You weren’t going to come to this reunion, for a lot of reasons, but in the end, it had been the prospect of seeing him again that had made it impossible to stay away. He’s in the FBI these days, and you know that he’s working with art theft and stuff, but that’s also pretty much the extent of what you know. Whether he’s single, married, a father, or perhaps no longer identifying as male or straight, you have no idea.

But sitting there, at the far end of the café that’s being used for the event, you’re certain that none of it matters. You just wanna see him again. You watch your former classmates make their entrance, one after the other, and then proceed to behave exactly as you expect, because of course they haven’t changed much. Which is somewhat comforting, but also dull.

You’ve been there for an hour and a half, and barely spoken to anyone, because you hardly knew them when you were in class together, and even less so now. There were two other people that you were also close with back then, Miles and Kayla, but they got married and moved to Europe years ago, so they’re not coming. And since it’s looking increasingly unlikely that the man you’re waiting for is gonna show, you get up and start making your way to the door.

It takes a while, because everyone wants to pretend to care that you’re leaving early, and you’re too polite to just tell them to fuck off, so you fake a smile and try and work your way through them as painlessly and quickly as you can. Stepping outside it feels like you’re taking your first breath of actual air in almost two hours, and it cools you down, so you take a moment to just stand there and breathe.

“Still not a people person, huh?” a familiar voice sounds from your right, and you turn your head to find him there, slowly strolling towards you with his hands buried in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Marcus…” you breathe, stunned to finally see him again.

He looks even better than you remember. More mature and definitely a lot calmer, but that boyish twinkle in his eyes hasn’t gone anywhere. And somehow you feel like you’ve just come home.

“Please, tell me you missed me,” he says with a smile as he comes to a stop right in front of you. “Because I have had a terrible year, and I could really use an old and good friend right about now.”

You decide not to dwell on whatever the terrible stuff might be, because you’re also in need of a good friend to take your mind off the greyness of your life, so you smile back.

“Yes. I’ve missed you terribly. Now give me a hug and then let’s go find some good food and catch up,” you suggest, and he quickly wraps his arms around you with a warm chuckle deep in his throat.

He seems to hold on to you just a little longer and a little tighter than what you’d expected, which makes you think that maybe he really has gone through some shit, and is downplaying it to not ruin the reunion. But you don’t mention it. You just take his arm once he pulls back, and together you saunter off down the street, looking for a Chinese restaurant, and somehow you know that this friendship isn’t going to die off again this time.

You’re both a little different now, shaped by the things you’ve gone through, no doubt, but you’re also the same. Everything about him feels familiar, from his walk to his mannerisms to his voice and the way he talks, and you imagine that it feels the same for him. And you just know in your heart that any friendship that can feel this unchanged and comfortable even after a decade of no contact, is meant to last.

<<<<<<<THE END>>>>>>>

Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging so that more people might find it <3

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @lovefreylove @elegantduckturtle @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @ellie-darling @startrekkingaroundasgard @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @thisshipwillsail316 @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @spideysimpossiblegirl @nolanell @toomanystoriessolittletime @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @bilibiche @harriedandharassed @shadesofnerdlygrace @hotchlover @little-mrs-morales @gallowsjoker @cosmicbreathe @criminalmind1927 @myfavpedrothings @spishsstuff @suttonspuds @sjdraws-00 @ezras-channel-rat @justnat15 @anditsmywholeheart @i-love-movies @insomniamamma @lowlights @thelion-sroar @herefordistractions @ellenmunn

#i love you wifey!!#my precious wife #marcus pike supremacy

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sirowsky · 2 years ago

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@toomanystoriessolittletime *sigh* I think we all need Marcus to take us to a secret lake 🧡

The Secret Lake

Happy Birthday, my Love!

@lucrezia-thoughts

Warnings: Marcus Pike x female reader (no physical description), some mild insecurity from both characters, otherwise just fluff central. First date-type themes. Kissing happens.

Word Count: 3630 Author's Masterlist

“Pike.”

The call connects and his voice comes through after seven rings, just when you’d been about to hang up, and you scramble to re-center your brain and remember what the hell you called him for.

“Oh, hi… I’m sorry…”

Your mind goes blank and for a moment you’re about to panic, but then a soft chuckle comes across the line.

“Are you apologizing for calling or for saying hi? Because you haven’t done anything else to me yet, Daisy.”

“Uh, I’m just sorry to bother you, Agent Pike.”

“Marcus, please. We’re both off duty. Now, what can I do for you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been there, but there’s no way I can describe the route well enough that you’ll find it on your own.”

“Oh. That’s okay, thank you anyway, I really am sorry if I interrupted something.”

“Hey, I wasn’t done. Will you stop trying to convince me that you’re bothering me, and let me tell you what I’m thinking?”

“Sorry. Again.”

You hear him huff on the other end, and you’re not sure if it’s in annoyance or bemusement.

“I can’t describe it to you, but I’d happily show you the way.”

You nearly fall over with shock, even though you’re sitting down.

“Seriously? I mean, you absolutely don’t have to…”

“Daisy. Stop. I’ll pick you up outside your apartment in 20. Okay?”

He-… he knows where you live?

“O-Okay.”

“Hey. Nice to see you outside the office.”

“Hi. This is so kind of you, Marcus, I didn’t even think you’d pick up, much less actually come and show me the way.”

“Why would you think I wouldn’t pick up?”

“Just because we don’t know each other. I figured you’d assume that it was about work and just ignore it, since you’re on vacation.”

“Huh. I didn’t even think of that. But I was really glad that it was about this, because I was thinking about going out there myself, but it didn’t sound like much fun to go alone.”

“But you must have people you could’ve called, friends or family. I’m sure there’s always someone who wants to hang out with you.”

He smiles at that, but it’s a jaded kind of smile.

“Hey, why so quiet, Daisy?”

“Uh, just enjoying the calm. My neighbours aren’t the quiet types.”

“Truth. But not all of it. What’s bothering you?”

You take a breath and glance at him, and damnit… Why did he have to be the most beautiful man in the world?

“You said you wanted to get away from work.”

He connects the dots effortlessly; you can see it in his body language even from the corner of your eye.

“I was slow to answer today because I did expect it to be work. But when I saw that it was you… I was excited. I am excited. I’d like to get to know you.”

By now, you’re staring at him, attempting to absorb that he might actually be interested in you, but you soon realize that that’s gonna take a while, and he needs some reassurance.

“Thank you. I’d really like to get to know you too.”

He smiles widely, that perfect dimple on full display, and just minutes later, he turns onto a dirt-track that ends after about a mile, where he parks on a patch of dirt next to some boulders.

“Alright, we’ll have to hoof it from here.”

“How far is it?”

“Not very. Maybe twenty minutes. And this is the only way in, so unless someone hiked here, it looks like we got the place to ourselves.”

“It’s spring water, filtered through mineral deposits underground, that’s why it’s so clear-…”

“How’s the view, Mr. Pike?”

He makes no attempt to conceal the fact that he’s been eyeing you, only smiling again as you challenge him.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous, Miss Daisy.”

“I’ll have to agree with you on that.”

“So… I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too. I’m really glad I called you, Marcus.”

“Please feel free to call me again. Anytime.”

“Same to you.”

“What are you thinking, Daisy?”

The nickname shifts your thoughts, to a different time but oddly similar situation, and you smile warmly as the fond memory plays out before your eyes for the ten thousandth time.

“Would you like to know why I keep that flower?”

Looking back at him, you see his smile deepen, and he nods.

His eyes have turned into enamoured puddles and the most enchanting smile adorns every angle of his features, making your insides purr.

“So, then you do have bad days. Damn. That means I can’t read you as well as I thought, you’ve been deceiving me all this time.”

“Marcus… who the hell doesn’t have bad days? Of course I do, I just keep a professional mask on.”

“I know, but that’s what makes it so impressive, because I genuinely have tried, but I’ve never been able to tell. Not once. And I detect deception for a living.”

“I’ve wanted to do that all day.”

His eyes are bottomless pits of lust now, but there’s so much affection in there too that it makes you crave him just as much.

“Daisy… I’ve wanted to do that for fucking months.”

“You couldn’t have given me even the tiniest hint of that? I thought you didn’t even know my name, much less my nickname.”

He’s a little taken aback by that, cocking his head to the side and studying you closely.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, I haven’t shown you anything but my own mask as well.”

“You know what, Marcus… I think we kinda suck at this.”

“You wanna come in?”

“Yes. Yes, I really, really do. Which is why I should leave.”

“How about you come to my place for dinner tomorrow. My neighbours are quiet.”

“Done.”

“Text me your address, Mr. Pike. Some of us don’t snoop in other people’s personnel files.”

“I peeked. Just one little peek.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, beautiful.”

THE END

-------------------------

Tagging some lovely people, just because.

#this man is so fine #marcus pike #marcus pike supremacy

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