#Marcus Pike x fem. reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

psychedelic-ink · 3 months

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐑𝐄

ㅤㅤmarcus pike x art historian!reader

genre: mutual pining, friends to lovers, forced proximity, smut, minors dni,

word count: 6k

summary: when a famous art collector is murdered, circumstances lead you to be temporary roommates with Marcus Pike.

warnings: oral sex (marcus receiving), marcus getting spoiled, some very mild angst, idiots in love

a/n: this work was commissioned by the lovely @sevillagrenada! thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

** dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Another day, another handsome detective at your doorstep.

It’s been a few months since you and Marcus first got acquainted. He had visited you during one of your busiest hours, asking you for information on a recently stolen painting while you were desperately trying to sort out a curated disaster by one of the interns. It didn’t end well. You ended up shouting at him to leave you alone and even though you regretted your choice in showing how distressed you were, it was what it was. What surprised you later, however, was finding him in the early morning hours with two coffees and blueberry muffins. He apologized profusely and asked for a do-over. Something that you were more than eager to oblige.

And the rest, what most art historians like you would say, was history.

Now he visits you almost every morning if he can. Thanks to his charm, you were now considered the number one go-to person of the FBI when it came to art theft. A title you didn’t mind having.

“A bit early even for you, don’t you think?” you say, handing him the folders you’d been carrying. You smile as he lets out an exaggerated “oomph” and go to open the door. “Don’t be a baby, detective.”

“I just wanted to see you, what’s the harm in that,” he answers, following you inside. “I have the day off tomorrow so I won’t be visiting.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Good to see that someone appreciates it.”

He takes a seat as you head for the coffee machine. You’d got it a month ago, saving Marcus the trouble of waiting in line every morning before work. You appreciate having this as an excuse for him to stop by every morning. Luckily, the museum was on his way to work, meaning he was more than happy to visit you. Sometimes it’s hard to forget that this relationship between you two is meant to be nothing other than friendship, a platonic thing. But every day you find your heart swelling more and more at the sight of him. It’s been too long since you felt close to someone. It’s been even longer since you ached for a person you know you shouldn’t ache for.

“Are you working on something with Remedios Valo?” When you turn you see him hunched over your desk, his eye meet yours, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Sorry, all these books were just sprawled here. I couldn’t help but look.”

The coffee machine comes to life, the aroma mixing in with the scent of books.

“That’s alright,” you answer, lips feeling numb. “And yeah, Olivier is adding one of her works to his collection so he wanted me to take a look.”

“Which one is he buying?”

You know he absolutely despises the idea of art being bought, hidden from the rest of the world to be a decoration. You hear it in the drop of his voice.

“Les Feuilles Mortes.” His gaze falls back to the table. “Dead leaves. The one with the woman with orange hair and green dress.”

He hums when he finally sees it on the page, “It’s a nice one.”

“It is. It’s one of my favorites.”

You bring the two cups of steaming coffee. His eyes find yours as you place them down, taking a seat. “You must be excited then,” he states. “To be seeing it in person.”

“I’m just happy it’s going to someone I know will take care of it.”

“I did meet him once. Seemed like a decent enough guy.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, “You really hate art collectors don’t you?”

“With a passion,” a soft smile touches his lips. “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

You shake your head, smiling into your cup as you bring the steaming liquid to your lips. He’s always like this. Making sure just how much you matter, making you feel cherished, it’s a contrast to how you feel most of the time. Your eyes fall on the painting printed onto the glossy paper. Everyone interprets art differently. In this particular piece, you see loneliness but also a peaceful serenity. The shadow bowing to the woman, them being connected with a piece of blue yarn that she’s holding. The fact that it’s blue and not read also piques your interest. It makes you think it’s not something that is forced, it’s not the fates that brought them together but something else. Something more intimate and free.

“So, when are you seeing this stunning artwork in person?”

“Tonight.”

Marcus already knows that today is going to be a long day.

He knew it as soon as he entered his office, all fellow agents gathered in one place, murmuring. They parted like the Red Sea when he came through. That’s when the captain told him that extinguished art collector Olivier Balmaceda was found dead. Murdered.

All he could think of was you. How excited you were to see him, and the painting, tonight. How Olivier was your friend and what would this mean for the investigation? Everyone here knew you, adored you. You being close to the murder victim certainly wasn’t good. He didn’t want you to be involved in any way, not even as a consultant.

He steps out of the unmarked FBI sedan, his leather shoes echoing against the pavement as he approaches the crime scene. His partner, Tim, follows suit, both agents taking in the scene that awaits them.

The art collector's mansion looms before them, an opulent testament to a life steeped in appreciation for creativity. The air carries a faint scent of antique wood and the unmistakable aura of the art world. As they enter the expansive gallery, it becomes clear that Olivier Balmaceda's passion for art extends far beyond mere aesthetics.

The crime scene, bathed in the soft glow of gallery lights, is surreal. Olivier lies in the heart of his sanctuary, surrounded by the very beauty that defined his existence. The juxtaposition of life and death against the backdrop of artistic brilliance is haunting.

Tim glances at Marcus, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. Together, they navigate the intricate dance of art and tragedy. The paintings, sculptures, and tapestries bear witness to the final act of a man whose life was intricately interwoven with the world he cherished.

As Marcus approaches Olivier's lifeless form, he can't help but feel the weight of the art that envelops them.

The art collector's mansion is cloaked in an air of somber anticipation as Marcus's focused gaze is drawn back to Olivier's lifeless form, nestled among the artworks that had once been a source of joy. The forensic team, adorned in pristine white suits, moves with meticulous precision, weaving through the crime scene like careful curators preserving a delicate masterpiece.

"Bullet entry at the back of the head. Looks like a single gunshot," Marcus hears one of them say, his voice a measured cadence amid the artistic silence.

Marcus nods, absorbing the gravity of the information. The team proceeds, each member contributing to the careful orchestration of documentation. His path takes him to the abstract painting, now surrounded by the scrutinizing eyes of forensic experts.

"We're scanning for any hidden messages or anomalies. This painting could hold clues.”

"Keep me posted," Marcus replies.

His attention turns to the delicate sculpture, now cocooned in an evidence bag. Tim approaches, his words a whisper against the backdrop of the gallery.

"Looks like they're treating the whole gallery as a crime scene. Anything stand out to you?" Tim inquires, his voice a muted harmony in the investigative symphony.

"Not yet. We need to dig deeper, find the connections between Olivier and whoever did this," Marcus responds, his words a subtle melody of determination.

The investigation shifts towards Olivier's desk, adorned with sketches and notes – a tableau of potential motives. They meticulously examines the papers, unveiling a narrative hidden within the inked strokes.

"Possible motive here. Let's see if Olivier was working on something that could've angered someone," suggests the expert, their words punctuating the air with a promise of revelation.

Acknowledging their findings, Marcus's thoughts churn with possibilities. Just as the investigation prepares to move to another sector of the mansion, his discerning eyes catch sight of a sketchbook nestled on a nearby shelf. A flicker of curiosity sparks within him, prompting the donning of gloves.

"Hold on a moment," Marcus interjects, a pause that reverberates through the dance of forensic activity.

The team halts, their collective gaze directed towards Marcus as he delicately retrieves the sketchbook. Its presence is unassuming, a silent witness to the unfolding drama. As Marcus flips through its pages, the sketches reveal a familiar artistic style, each stroke a brush with recognition.

"Wait... these look like—" Marcus begins, his words a murmur to the sketches that come to life beneath his fingertips.

Tim glances over, an inkling of recognition in his eyes.

"Isn't that—"

"Yeah. It's hers," Marcus confirms, closing the notebook.

So much for not getting you involved.

“Captain, you can’t be serious.”

Your eyes are drawn to Marcus, his voice holding the tone of nothing other but disbelief. Your eyes turn to the floor. Olivier is dead. Murdered. And the only proper evidence to connect the dots of what happened is your sketchbook. The sketchbook you could’ve sworn you left in your office. The sketchbook that you only kept to yourself other than Marcus and a couple of more trustworthy people. One of them being Olivier.

You close your eyes. It’s exhausting to breathe. You focus on how your nostrils flare and let it all out through a small gap between your lips. Marcus inches closer, hand firm against the small of your back.

“I’m dead serious, Agent Pike,” Captain Lana answers, her voice calm yet cold as ice. “Until this entire case is solved, she’s on house arrest and under your care.”

“Just because we found her sketchbook does not mean she’s a suspect—”

“Agent Pike,” her voice cuts through the tension in the room. A sharp shudder crawls up your spine, your skin prickling with attention as you open your eyes. Despite her tone, she doesn’t look mad. “You will do what is best for our consultant. As of right now, she is linked to the case of one of the biggest art collectors for reasons we do not know. The best thing we can do is keep an eye on her and protect her.”

His mouth slams shut, his jaw clenched. His hand deserts your back and in that moment, all you can feel is guilt. Guilt of him being forced to do something he clearly doesn’t want to do.

To share his home.

“I understand,” he answers curtly, turning on his heel. “Let’s go get your things.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking to you, shooting Captain Lana a glance, you follow him out of the office.

Marcus hasn’t said a single word during the entire drive. Even when you finally parked, he just took your bags and led you up the stairs to his apartment. Your heart felt as if it was shattering into a million tiny pieces. The poor organ was already weighted down by your friend's death, and now one of the closest people to you couldn’t even look at you.

He drops your bags to the floor and you slowly shut the door. You don’t even have it in you to look around, not that it would matter, you’ve already been here before. You doubt anything changed.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before he can say anything else. “God, Marcus, I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

His hands are on you in an instant, lifting your downturned gaze. You blink away the tears, breath catching in your throat as you meet his eyes. It’s so easy to get lost in them. You could live an eternity there. “For . . for having to stay here. I know it’s inconvenient.”

“Oh, sweetheart no, no. You could never be an inconvenience. I’m. . . I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I should’ve checked in on you. None of this is your fault understand. None of it,” his thumbs draw slow circles around your cheeks, the knot in your throat growing by the second. “And for all it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re here. I would be worried sick knowing that you’re alone.”

Suddenly you’re being pulled into his chest, your senses completely enveloped by his scent. He gingerly cups your head from behind, holding you there, allowing you to disappear from the world for a while.

The first tear escapes unexpectedly. It’s immediately absorbed into his shirt and the rest follows. He doesn’t try to hush you, doesn’t try to get you to stop. He allows you to break down completely. You cry and cry, until there’s nothing left anymore. Only then does he pull back, lifting your gaze to him once more.

“Feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Marcus.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not doing anything you should be thankful for. This…this is what friends do.”

That’s right. Friends.

Your eyes sting when you blink, a forced smile tugging at your lips, “Yeah, friends.”

You’re almost certain that you’re imagining it, but you swear the crease between his brows deepens with your answer.

The soft glow of the TV screen bathes the room as Marcus settles onto the couch beside you. “Really? That’s what you want to watch?”

Marcus raises a brow as he looks down at you. You’re wrapped in a blanket, looking as if the two of you have been living together for years. He loves how you’re already comfortable with the living situation. He wished he could have this in better circumstances without an ongoing murder investigation, but he’ll take what he gets.

“I haven’t started the new season yet, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s a murder mystery. Are you sure?”

You snort, “I know the plot of Only Murders In The Building, Marcus. No need to remind me.”

As the first episode begins, the room is filled with the intriguing soundtrack of the show. Marcus watches the characters unfold on the screen, but his attention keeps drifting back to you. The play of emotions on your face, the way you get caught up in the plot – it's more captivating to him than any murder mystery.

Gradually, you lean into him, seeking comfort in the shared moment. The warmth of your presence seeps into Marcus's consciousness, and he finds himself entranced by the way you become absorbed in the show. Unconsciously, his arm drapes around your shoulder, the gesture protective yet tender.

In the semi-darkness of the room, Marcus grapples with his own emotions. The line between friend and something more blurs as he navigates the uncharted territory of his feelings. As you snuggle closer, he can feel the gentle rhythm of your breath, the subtle rise and fall of your chest.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Marcus's mind. Does this closeness mean the same to you as it does to him? He wonders if you sense the subtle shift in the dynamics between you. The arm around your shoulder, a silent invitation, speaks volumes, but Marcus Pike remains in that delicate space between uncertainty and the unspoken desire for something more. The murder mystery on the screen becomes a mere backdrop to the complex enigma of emotions unfolding between two souls entangled in the intricacies of life and love.

Marcus's heart races as he lets his hand linger on your waist. He can feel the warmth radiating through the fabric of your shirt, and he wonders if you can feel the heat of his touch as well.

He watches your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation, but all he sees is the same intensity and focus on the TV. It both thrills and confuses him – is it possible that you can be so oblivious to the way he feels?

But as he watches you, he notices the faint hitch in your breath when his hand moves slightly, as if you're aware of his touch but trying to hide it. It only fuels the growing attraction between them, and Marcus can feel himself getting more and more drawn in.

His mind is filled with images of how he wants to touch you, and he can barely contain the urge to lean in and brush his lips against your neck. He wants to feel your skin against his, to explore every inch of your body.

The tension in the room becomes palpable, and Marcus can feel his heart racing. He looks over at you, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a flicker of desire in your eyes. But just as quickly, it disappears, and you go back to watching the movie without a second glance.

His hand moves even closer to yours, brushing against your fingers lightly. He can feel the heat emanating from your body, and he knows that you're just as affected by the electric chemistry between them.

His mind is clouded with desire, and all he can think about is kissing you, touching you. But he knows he needs to be patient. He can’t just make a move and potentially ruin the friendship you have.

But as the episode goes on, Marcus can barely pay attention anymore. All he can focus on is you, and the way your body moves slightly with each scene. He can feel himself getting harder with each passing moment, and he knows he needs to do something to release the tension.

Without thinking, his hand moves to your thigh, tracing small circles on your skin. He can see your breath hitch and your eyes flutter closed for a split second before you regain your composure.

He leans in closer to you, his lips just inches away from your ear. "Is this okay?" he whispers.

Marcus relaxes when you nod, eyes still glued to the screen. He knows you want to turn to him, to witness his feelings lingering in his eyes but he also knows that you can’t for the same reason why he can’t tell you how he feels. Fear. Fear of rejection. Of loss of a friendship.

So, his hand on your thigh is as far as he’ll go. Soothing you with the simplest of touches.

The credits roll and the episode ends, Marcus can't help but feel a lingering sense of longing. He knows he needs to push these feelings aside and focus on the case, but he also can't deny the strong connection he feels with you.

As you stand up to turn off the TV, Marcus suddenly reaches out and takes your hand in his, surprising both of you. The air between them is heavy with unspoken words and tension, but they both know this isn’t the time or the place.

For now, they'll focus on solving the murder and catching the killer. But Marcus can't shake the feeling that this shared moment was the beginning of something more – something that could change everything.

It’s been almost two weeks now since you moved in with Marcus. And other than Olivier’s murder, things have been. . . peaceful. He’s been doing everything for you. You’ve never been taken care of to this extent before. It made you feel bad in a way, as if you were a burden to him and now he felt inclined to take care of you just because of the circumstances.

However, you couldn’t ignore the tension either, the chemistry. Almost every night you thought of when the two of you watched TV. How close the two of you were. You often find yourself thinking about how differently that night could’ve ended. Only if you were brave enough, then maybe the friendship could’ve escalated into something more.

While heating leftovers for the both of you from last night, the door clicks open. You expect to see his smile, the same question on his lips asking how your day was—but all you can see in his eyes is exhaustion. He forces a smile when he sees you, then silently heads to his room. Your lungs cave in on itself. Your body buzzing with worry, you look down at the barely heated leftovers. He deserves something more. Something fresh.

So, as you quickly head down the hall to check on him, you order his favorites. You come to a halt at the door, heart beating in your throat, you knock.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, almost apologetically, which makes you feel even worse.

“I just wanted to check if you’re alright. Can I. . . Can I come in?”

You’re about to head back to the living room when the door slowly opens. His tie hangs loosely around his neck, the first three buttons of his shirt wide open, exposing skin. You barely manage to tear your gaze away. He looks vulnerable, defeated.

“I’m okay,” he clears his throat. “I promise.”

You ignore what he says and take a step forward, forcing the both of you inside the bedroom. It smells of cinnamon. “I ordered us some food from that place you like. We have some time to relax.”

“Relax?”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and trap his face between your hands. You want to make him feel good. You want to pamper him. At least this one time, you want to do something for him instead. You know what his answer is going to be if you ask him about his day—he’ll brush you off, because it’s the case you’re involved in. The murder of your friend.

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.”

His eyes widen, lashes fluttering, his lips part, “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to but I want to.” You quickly add when you see the hesitation growing in his eyes. “Please.”

You notice the hollow in his cheek, the way his jaw moves as he chews on the inside. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. After what feels like hours, his head jerks in a small nod, “Okay.”

Marcus gently falls onto the bed and you drop to your knees, taking a place between his spread legs. You can feel his eyes on you. His gaze intense as you fumble with his belt. You tug down his pants along with his underwear, his hips slightly lifting to make it easier for you. His cock is still soft. It makes a certain type of hunger grow inside you. Placing both hands on his thighs, you dip down, taking him into his mouth. He sharply inhales, cock twitching over your tongue. It doesn’t take him long to grow in your mouth, and suddenly swallowing him down proves to be harder than you thought.

Your nostrils flare as you attempt to swallow him down, your nose brushing against the soft curls. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, and when you look up you see his head falling back, his brows furrowed as he breathes heavily through his nose.

Parting away, you suck the base of his cock, your tongue swirling. His hips jerk and a moan rips from his throat. “That—that feels good,” he swallows.

“You like it slow?” you say, lips moving against sensitive skin. “Tell me how you like it. Show me.”

“You’re doing great sweetheart, just do it how it’s best for you,” he lets out a breathy chuckle. “I’m not picky.”

Brows knitting together, you pull away and fix him a half-hearted glare. You wrap your fingers around and begin to stroke him, witnessing the flex of his thighs. “I want to do it how you like it,” you state. “Show me or I’ll stop.”

Your lips curl as you hear him whine. It’s such a beautiful sound.

“Fine.”

He drags you back down to his cock, your hand falling away. You open your mouth to take him once more, thinking that he wants to fuck your mouth, but instead, he presses your lips to the side of his cock. You feel the heat of him, the bulging of his veins.

“Wrap your lips,” he rasps and when you do, he starts to move your head up and down.

You let out a muffled moan, the vibrations sending shivers down Marcus’ spine. His movements are slow, almost as if he’s fucking himself deep into you—almost as if he’s been thinking about this for months. Your head bobs up and down, your lips pursed around him tightly. You hear him grunt above you, and you can tell that he’s struggling to keep himself in control.

“Put your hands back on my thighs,” Marcus commands, and you do so without hesitation. “I want to feel the bite of your nails.” His thighs are shaking beneath your touch, and you can feel the coiled tension inside him, just waiting to snap. You do as he asks, digging your nails slightly into the flesh. Another whimper falls for him, a sounds desperate and needy at the same time. He pulls up and finally slips himself into your warm mouth, your eyes water as he pushes you down, taking him whole.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Marcus grunts, his voice punctuated by the wet sounds of your mouth on his cock.

You keep up the pace, eager to please him. You can feel his cock growing harder and harder inside your mouth, and you can tell that he’s close. You swirl your tongue around him, pressing your lips even tighter around him.

“Fuck,” Marcus mutters, his hand gripping your hair tightly. “I’m gonna—”

Before he can finish his sentence, he releases into your mouth with a deep groan, his hips bucking up into your face. You eagerly take him in, swallowing around him as he spills, hot come trailing down your throat. He lets out a heavy sigh, his body going limp as he comes down from his orgasm.

You sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Marcus looks at you with admiration and slight embarrassment, his cheeks peppered with a faint shade of red.

“Sorry, that was quick,” he murmurs, tugging you up and pulling you to his lap. “Now it’s your turn.”

He leans towards your lips but you stop him by pressing two fingers, they’re soft. “We can think about me later,” you say, despite the inside of your panties being an absolute wet mess. “I just wanted to make you feel good.”

“I want to make you feel good too,” he objects, nipping at your fingers. “Don’t you. . . I thought you wanted me.”

The guilt in his eyes is back and your hand drops away from his lips. He’s holding you tight as if you might disappear.

“I do,” you answer tentatively. “But I don’t want you to jump into this thinking you have to. I don't want you to do anything you might regret.”

“Regret?” he shakes his head. “What does that even mean? I’m not jumping into anything. I’m not confused if that’s what you’re worried about,” his arms around you tighten, and with that, you know you’ve said the wrong thing. “You just sucked my cock—are you telling me that was out of pity? Gratitude?”

You cut him off, “N–No. . .”

“Then what was it?” his voice drops dangerously low, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I’m one hundred percent here. It has nothing to do with the case. And for you to do something just because you felt bad for me. . . I thought we were finally getting somewhere after all of this.”

“Marcus—”

“I think I want to be alone right now,” he turns his head away from you but doesn’t do anything to push you off of him. Your apology dies in your throat, your mouth suddenly dry. You slowly move away, the taste of his come still in your mouth as you contemplate what to do. What to say.

But whatever you were planning evaporates with the ring of the doorbell.

You’re sitting on the couch when Marcus comes home and sits on the armchair right across from you. You’re eyes slowly shift from your phone to meet his gaze, he continues to stare down, his thumbs thrumming over his thighs.

It’s been an awkward couple of days after the argument you two had. Neither of you were brave enough to broach the subject, However, that didn’t mean what happened didn’t haunt you in the dead of night, both in a bad and a good way.

“It’s done.”

His words send a chill down your spine, your muscles tightening, “What’s done?”

“The case. We found who murdered Olivier. . . and how your notebook got there.” Marcus takes a deep breath, his eyes finally meeting yours as he begins to unravel the mystery that has been hanging over your heads like a storm cloud.

"Olivier's murder... it was someone close to him. Both rival and friend," Marcus starts, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. "Turns out, his friend had been eyeing the same collection for years. When Olivier outbid him for that prized painting, it pushed him over the edge."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, a mixture of shock and sorrow swirling within you. Olivier, with his vibrant personality and passion for art, didn't deserve such a fate.

"And my notebook...?" you prompt, needing to understand how your own belongings ended up tangled in this tragedy.

Marcus sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Olivier... he wanted to show your sketches to one of his friends. He thought you had real talent and he was planning on gifting you that painting."

Your heart sinks at the realization. Olivier, you’re going to miss him. Marcus wraps his arms around you, offering comfort and support as the weight of the emotions you've been suppressing finally spills over. You lean into him, the warmth of his embrace a soothing balm for the wounds of the past few days. His touch is both reassuring and grounding, reminding you that you're not alone in this tumultuous journey.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his fingers gently tracing comforting patterns on your back. "It’s over now. You can return to your life and begin to heal."

“Heal?” you blin at him, lips parting. “Return to my life? What does that even mean? We can’t go back to normal Marcus. Not after everything. . . I—” You swallow, the knot thick in your throat. “I care about you, Marcus. I care about you deeply and I just want you to know that. I don’t want you to think it was a one-time thing. Ot that I did it because of the circumstances. I did it because I wanted to. And I wanted to long before any of this happened.”

As your heartfelt confession hangs in the air, Marcus's eyes soften, his expression reflecting a mixture of relief and affection. Without hesitation, he leans in, closing the gap between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's a moment of shared vulnerability, a silent exchange of emotions that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

The warmth of his touch ignites a spark within you, a reassurance that despite the challenges you've faced, your connection remains unbroken. In this intimate embrace, you find solace and hope for the future, knowing that whatever trials may come, you'll face them together.

As the kiss deepens, the weight of the past few days begins to lift, replaced by a sense of renewal and possibility.

Marcus's hands move to your waist, pulling you onto his lap as he deepens the kiss. You feel his body pressing against yours, igniting a fire within you. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, pulling him closer as your fingers tangle in his hair.

His lips move fervently against yours, conveying the unspoken emotions that have been building between you for weeks. You can feel his heart beating against your chest and it's a comforting reminder that you're not alone in this moment.

He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a tingle in their wake. You let out a soft gasp, arching your neck to give him better access. His hands roam over your body, his touch setting every nerve alight. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

Your fingers move to his shirt, desperate to rid him of the barriers separating your skin. His lips trail down your neck again, moving to your shoulder, his hands roaming freely over your body. You let out a soft moan, arching your back as his hands reach your waist, pulling your shirt off. The cool air hits your skin but it's nothing compared to the heat radiating between you two.

Marcus and you remove each other's clothes. Your hands roam hungrily over his bare chest, feeling the muscles ripple beneath your touch. He moans softly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

His hands move to your back, unhooking your bra and gently sliding it off. Your bare chest presses against his, skin against skin, and the sensation sends sparks of pleasure through your body. Your lips meet again, his tongue moving alongside yours, his hands roaming lower to your waist and down to your hips, pulling you closer.

You push him down to the couch, your hands reaching for his jeans. With ease, you undo the button and slide them off, revealing his toned legs and the bulge in his boxers. Your fingers trail down his stomach, feeling his muscles contract under your touch.

He flips you over, his lips moving down your neck and to your chest. With a flick of his tongue, he takes one of your hardened nipples into his mouth, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan of pleasure. His hands reach down, unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them off your legs.

As his lips continue to travel down your body, his fingers slide into your underwear, eliciting a gasp from you. You can feel the heat and wetness building between your legs, the tingling sensation increasing with every touch.

In one swift movement, he removes your underwear, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable to his touch. But with Marcus, you feel anything but vulnerable. In his embrace, you feel safe, loved, and desired.

And you know that is something that will never change.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #writing commission #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic

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pedroscurls · 3 months

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second chances | pt. 1

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

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

Marcus was never going to be the one Lisbon chose.

And he should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus never wanted to let her go.

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

“Um–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eager, he thinks to himself. And independent.

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

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

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

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

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

“From where?”

“Texas, you?”

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

Marcus chuckles. “Cheers to that.”

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

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

“It was five minutes, that was enough.”

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

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

“So, uh, I should get going and–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you again, Marcus.”

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

—

next.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #story: second chances

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morallyinept · 7 months

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H I M - A Marcus Pike One Shot

Summary: A lazy day spent making love and sexing it up in the sheets with your partner, Marcus Pike. That's it. There's no plot.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.9k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶 "It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Waenings/Triggers: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) /love making/sex/oral M & F receiving/fingering/romance/desire/fluff/soft/Marcus just being the best sweet doof ever.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don't come at me; you've been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: Schmaltzy love fest in the sheets with Special Agent Pike, anyone?? Hell to the yes. My contribution to the Pike Puddle. 🫠

Enjoy! 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

It’s a lazy kind of day.

One of those that are just written off completely. For nothing other than to chill and do absolutely nothing else.

You lay in bed, stretching, as you watch the silhouette of him linger on the balcony under the glare of the morning sun in just his boxers.

You can hear him murmuring on the phone and the occasional sound of his melodic chuckling flows from his mouth obscenely.

It leaves tingles to barb on your skin as you lay there watching him, thinking about him, in the softness of the sheets.

Thinking about how much you’ve missed him whilst he’s been invested in the case. Lots of late nights, and you’d seen the exhaustion settle in under his eyes each day, puffing them out a little. Endure him falling asleep on your shoulder halfway through a movie with his supper half eaten, balanced precariously in his lap.

Thinking about how, now it’s all solved and the perp behind bars, he seems back to himself again. The old, cheery Marcus whose smile lights up his whole face.

Thinking about how much you want him again as you spy his shapely behind in his underwear as he paces gently.

He flashes you a glimpse of his soft bulge as he turns mid-conversation. You bite your lips feeling that wanton heat lick at your skin.

His eyes glance in and he smiles at you; those light crinkles around his eyes lighting them up further somehow, before wandering towards the balcony edge again to speak a little more animatedly.

You stare like a letch at his butt pushed out as he leans on his elbow.

You sink into the comfort of the mattress and stretch, enjoying the tingly pulse between your legs, wondering what to do today, when Marcus walks back in. He pulls the balcony door behind him, leaving it open with a small gap and a pleasantly warm breeze follows him for company.

His warm cocoa eyes meet yours and you smile knowing instantly what you want to do today.

Him. I’ll do him all day.

Marcus tosses his phone on the bedside table and swings his long legs back into the bed. His skin feels snug from the outside heat already in the air and so smooth as he envelopes you from behind.

“Who was that?” You murmur to him, dreamily.

“Cho. He has some files he wants me to look at for a new case.” He replies in that enigmatic tincture of his voice. Soft, yet heavy. “Told him I’ll take a look when I get back. I’m having my vacation time.” He nestles his nose against the back of your neck and hums out contentedly.

“Good,” you say with a smile as you feel his arms pull you closer into his body. “I’m not letting you leave this bed all week, Agent.”

“Is that so?” Marcus questions; his voice strangled by the little kisses he plants down the back of your neck and trails them all over the globe of your shoulder. Planting daisies as he roots them and watches them bloom.

"Mmhm. I'll cuff you here if I have to."

"Promises, promises..." He snickers through his nose.

You shuffle around and meet his entrancing lips with a giggle. His tongue, slipping gently into your mouth, swirls around your own slowly, teasing you with tender smooches on the end of it as his hand scoops around the nape of your neck and crushes you closer to him.

Marcus could kiss you forever like this, passionately and deep and never surface for air. He could die in your arms and be contagiously happy.

Your noses brush together as you look into his molten brown eyes and wonder how the fuck you got so lucky.

"What are you looking at?" You tease, biting your lip.

"You," he says, leaning in to plant more gluttonous smooches over your face.

Your fingers traverse his chin and you can feel the slight graze of stubble wanting to grow through his usually smooth pores. He shuffles his hips forward, hooking his leg around you and finds comfort in getting closer to you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” Marcus breathes out as he trails his thick fingers across your skin and feels you shudder in response.

"You're so full of it," you grin and he snorts, laughing and it's fucking glorious. The way his eyes crinkle like a Shar-Pei's folds, and his smile blinds the room with a solar flare.

But when he says it, you really feel it as he looks at you with a sincere awe and splendour rooted inside of his coffee roast peepers.

You kiss him again, silencing his guffaws and he replaces them with little yearning moans.

You can hear his breathing change; deep inhalations through his nose and out through his plush mouth into you as they intensify in speed and depth as you touch and map his body.

Your hands run across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms; your safe place inside of his strong, protective grip, and he’ll always hold you in them and keep you secure.

"So perfect," he croons through more gleaming smiles at you. More kisses are peppered on your cheeks, your neck, your lips.

You smile at his words, warming and feeling like goo as he makes you utterly melt with his devoted passion. You can feel his large, swamping hands stroke and caress your skin gently, leaving goose bumps wherever they go. Sweeping across your arms, down your back and cupping your ass cheeks fondly.

He's so fucking beautiful; a handsome dream come true. Lost inside his mouth, like falling into a Marcus soaked candy land, as your kissing intensifies, you can feel him becoming more excited.

Feel him stiffen, pressed against your inner thigh, and it has a wonderful effect on your own sex organs too. He ruts gently into your hips with his; rubbing himself against you as you swallow small feral grunts from him down into your stomach.

You roll, your limbs entwined, and lie on top of him now. You’re on your knees but draped across his bare chest and kiss him furthermore. You want to make him feel loved and wanted, because he absolutely is.

Marcus touches your face, his thumbs sweeping across your cheeks and his fingers winding inside your hair as he groans.

He reaches down and grabs a firm hold of your ass, squeezing those meaty cheeks and you gasp, giggling as he slaps it gently.

You bite your lip as his eyes blaze into yours. He knows you love it when he swats you playfully like this.

“Love this ass,” Marcus smirks through puckered lips.

“Oh yeah?” You giggle as you feel him rubbing your cheeks lavishly.

“Mhm...” He says reaching up and kissing you again.

"Want you to have it," you say, smirking. A hot wave creeping over your skin at the thought if it. At the thought of him claiming the one piece of you no-one else has.

"Fuck," he grunts. "Oh, I'm going to, one day. But we'll work up to that, baby." He smiles reassuringly. "There's no rush."

"I know," you smile.

"Whenever you're ready, okay?"

You nod, and slowly, he begins to undress you, pulling up your camisole you’ve slept in and admiring your skin with strangled gasps as it’s revealed to him.

Warm, puffy nipples nestled inside your swollen areolas greet him, and he can’t help but want to taste them. Planting kisses over them and swirling his tongue around them until they come out of hiding, becoming hard buds suckled on between his teeth.

“Mmm...” You groan as he sucks and licks all over them, squeezing them together in his big hands.

“You like that?” Marcus asks you as he nips again and makes you squeal out.

"Love it," you whine.

"Me too," he agrees with a rouge sparkle in his eyes.

You rub yourself against him; you can feel how hard he is even through his boxers. A tight, binding constriction inside them, poking out as you tease and play and feel every inch of him as you run your aching cunt against him.

You can feel it fizzing on your clit already; the rising tides of a dreamy orgasm already swelling behind your core muscles and eyelids alike. It feels so good, he feels so good.

He senses it building and grips onto your hips, pulling you into your rhythms.

"Marcus," you whine, "mmm, baby." You keep moving. Keep grinding. Keep working your hips as your clit aches and buzzes.

"You feel so good grinding on me. Keep going, you're almost there." Marcus encourages as you tense and gasp.

Your hands slap down onto his chest as you grind harder, quicker. You're panting and groaning as you can feel it shoot through your bloodstream down into your toes.

"That's it, come on... " he urges you with a catch in the back of his throat. "Fuck, baby, look at you."

"God, yes. Yes!" You moan, your eyes rolling back into your head as you're crushed by that wave of tingles and shivers as your clit massages against the length of his cock that's so hard as you come in your panties against him.

You squeal and shudder and tense up. You sit upright smiling and licking your lips, with a breathy giggle.

Marcus is just mesmerised by you; his eyes taking you in like he's taken a hit of heroin and he's seeing you everywhere he looks with blown out pupils.

"Was that a little one?" Marcus asks with a smile and you fall into him and kiss him again.

You nod, "little, but still really good."

"It felt good. I want to give you a few big ones too." He smiles.

"You will, we've got all day."

"All day?" Marcus' eyes widen playfully.

"Mmhm." You confirm dragging your lips over his skin.

"I best limber up," he chuckles. "Don't wanna get a cramp."

You giggle as you kiss slowly down his neck and towards his bronzed chest delicately, looking at him as you inch lower and lower down his taut torso and abs. Your hand slides up his thigh and towards his balls.

"Oh, like that, is it?" He croons, biting down on his lip through hooded eyes as you give them a gentle squeeze over his underwear.

"Ssh." You smirk, tasting the fragrances of his skin and circling his belly button with your tongue, making him hiss in as you draw closer to his waistband.

You drag your lips furthermore, leaving trails of your desire and affection. Your other hand grips the outside of him through his boxers; that hard muscle waiting to be released that you feel throbbing around your fingers. It's damp in patches on the cotton from your slick.

You smile up at him and he’s always so pleased and in awe that you do this to him. You make him so hard and fat with blood that it aches.

You make him want to fuck you so bad. Bury himself deep into you and lose himself to any and all thought.

To make love to you until his heart gives out. Because that's the only way he'd ever stop; only if he was dead.

He lives you, breathes you. You're the fire in his blood, the hunger in his belly.

You position yourself between Marcus’ long legs as he shuffles up the bed a little more, his arm behind his head and watching you with a blissed out smile.

You can smell him through his boxers; smell that inviting musk of his thick meat. You run your lips across the fabric of his underwear, grazing your bottom lip across him and nip him gently through it.

His breathing kicks it up a gear each time he feels your warm and wet mouth trail over the material of his boxers and venture closer to getting him fully out to have a taste.

You pull them down, revealing that swollen, pink and fleshy cock that thunks up against his abdomen gently. A glassy string of pre-cum dangles off of it and coats the fines dark hairs in his happy trail.

You lick it up and the noise that comes out of Marcus' mouth sounds like he's just died.

His dick rises and swells against you as you run your tongue up the length of him, flexing and pulsing, with firm balls as plump as his bottom lip and brimming full, just for you as you stroke them gently.

"Shit…" He whines as you look at him whilst you run your tongue up and down his cock. "So beautiful, baby. Just like that with my cock in your mouth."

Marcus tastes divine, how a man should taste. He's so smooth, firm and weighty. You tease and tongue his length; running it around under his frenum and hearing him gasp and pant as you do so.

A slight ripple in his thigh catches your attention, so you run your tongue under it again, watching him twitch loosely each time.

"Mmm, yeah." He sighs deliciously.

You can see the muscles in his lower abdomen tighten in anticipation. You pick him up so he’s standing upright, gripping a hold of him around the base.

That tall, thick cock greeting you with a reddening head, and you roll your lips down around him. Sucking him up and down slowly, taking him further inside your mouth each time.

“Mmm, baby...” Marcus groans out in a grizzly satisfaction. He fills your mouth, he’s so thick and girthy, but you want him right there; you want to choke on him and feel him pack you out.

You suckle delicately around his oozing head like your favourite popsicle dripping down your wrist in the summer heat.

Hollowing your cheeks, you take him deep and hear the rumble of his voice escape him through his moans each time you do.

His hands are soon on the back of your head pushing ever so gently; he wants you taking him deeper still. But he never forces, never takes. Gentle and submissive to your needs and desires.

They're his needs and desires too.

“Yeah, like that,” he croons with a pantless breath. "Fuck, baby. You're so good at that. Oh fuck..."

Hearing Marcus curse surges through your body, you feel it pull tight on your clit and nipples alike. Always so polite and well-mannered, but if you flick your tongue just right, he rolls in the filth with you.

"Fuck, fuck..." he whispers, he hisses.

You swallow him whole, your lips are touching his balls and you hold him there inside your throat, pause and keep still as he whines out and the sound makes your pussy tingle deliciously.

You can feel your slick drenching your panties, heat emanating from your core. It's too irresistable to not reach down into them and tease your clit. Your thighs shudder as soon as you do; your fingers slipping as you're utterly soaking.

He bucks his hips up gently, rousing you to continue as he prods the back of your throat.

You slide your mouth back up his length and take a deep breath as you kiss the head. Then swallow him deep again, massaging him with your tongue, up and down. A process that repeats and makes his head swim and dizzy with the delight of it all.

“Oh fuck!” Marcus grunts. “You’re killing me.” He's puffing and panting as he stuggles to contain himself a she nitices your hand stuffed in your panties. "You touching yourself, gorgeous?"

"Mmhmm," you whine with your mouth full of him. It feels divine as your pussy contracts and tightens as you flick across your clit quicker and harder as you suck him deeper.

"Oh God!" He croons.

You could do this forever; make him feel so fucking good. Listen endlessly to the noises of him finding his pleasure at your mercy; just fucking him slowly and intensely with your keen mouth all day.

His head relaxes back into the pillows, eyes closed and a smile blooming around his mouth in satisfaction at the feel of you.

You whine and hum around his cock as you come again, bokeh glitter bursting behind your eyelids and you shudder keenly, back arching like a cat.

"Baby," he moans, hearing you come undone; your fingers wet and sticky from your pleasure as you wrap them around his cock.

You then lick around his balls, sucking and nipping on them gently as you jerk him with your come-soaked hand. His head whips up and looks down at you nestled between his legs.

“Yes,” Marcus sings with intense brown eyes fixed on you. “Oh, that’s so good!”

You slurp around them and back up his shaft before popping him back in your mouth for a few more sucks, and then he’s pulling you up to meet his gorgeous face and slack jaw, unable to deny himself from you.

Marcus wiggles his tongue inside your lips, tempting you to sample the fruits of him. You catch his bottom lip inside your teeth nipping on it gently and making him gasp as you stroke his wet cock with your hand, gripping around him and pumping him with gentle vigour.

"God, you're so fucking gorgeous, you know that?" He gasps. He glances down watching as you twist and flex your wrist in a steady pace. "Oh fuck. Just like that. I fucking love that..."

"You've got a mouth on you, Pike." You smirk as he gasps.

"Can't help it when you... ah shit! God, baby, you keep doing that and I'm gonna come already!"

You smile at him, beaming. You never want to stop touching him, never want to stop making him feel so fucking good like this. Never want to stop marvelling at how his mouth parts, how he stares at you as though he can't believe you're making him feel like this.

"I'm not ready to come yet." He grins.

Marcus sits up and lifts you into his lap. He rubs his cock against your slit over your panties, up and down slowly against it, and he can feel that hard bump of your clit protruding as he makes tracks through the outline of your wet, swollen lips.

Your nipples harden as he tongues around them. Then he takes one inside his mouth and sucks it whilst looking at you as you fall under his hypnotic spell.

"Mmm," you whine, throwing your head back, his mouth doing a complete number on you.

He lays you back on the bed and kisses down your body like you did with him, pelting you with his love. Once nestled in between your legs, he places your hand onto your pussy, over your panties, and watches as you start to rub.

“Mmmmmah,” you whine.

“I love watching you touch yourself.” Marcus encourages.

Your fingers press against your slit and you can feel how soaked you are. It feels so good, so wet.

He licks over your knuckles, kisses them, as you touch yourself there, moaning. He smooches your digits and soon you feel his tongue dart in between them and lick over your sticky, cottony mound.

Marcus pulls your panties off and down your legs, and you spread them for him.

"So wet, baby. Look at that." He keens. "All for me?"

He plays with you; toys with you, thinking that he’ll go right for you, but he grazes his mouth barely past your wet cunt lips and bites you gently on the inside of your thigh instead as your pussy is throbbing and stinging for him.

“Marcus,” you whine, fisting in his hair, and he chuckles. He knows how much you need it, need him.

"You don't want me to tease you today?"

You pout, smirking.

"You just want my cock, is that it?"

His tongue makes tracks around your outer lips and you can feel his breath warm against your clit.

"Want my cock fucking into this gorgeous pussy, hmm?"

"Oh God," you groan, fisting through his hair. "That damn mouth on you..."

He grins. Then, he sucks on that swollen hub of aching nerves, ending your agony and sending your voice ribbing into the air.

“Oooh yes!” You wail as you feel his tongue cause carnage within you.

Marcus takes his time tasting you, drinking from you; savouring every last drop of you as you flood his mouth. Your head winds back into the pillows, eyes closed and drunk on heady bliss. He tongues your hole, flicking it in and out in quick darts and watching as you lose your shit.

“Fuck, Marcus! Don’t stop...” You coo as your body shudders. He slides his middle finger in, twisting as he does so. He pulls it out and slides back in. He kisses and sucks your clit as he pushes another finger inside with it, beside himself and groaning into your pussy.

He strokes you, finding your spot and applying the right pressure as he makes come hither motions with his fingers.

The pressure mounts deep inside you. Your thighs buck, vibrating tensely, and all you can see is the sun.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come, Marcus! Fuck! Yes!" You rile.

"I know," he smiles. "Come for me."

Marcus loves it when you come in his mouth; tasting your juices as they pool and froth. He makes delicious groaning noises in satisfaction as he licks up and down your pussy, tasting your lips around his.

"Come for me, baby" he urges again as he tongues your clit faster, his fingers stroking deeper and harder inside you as you clench and tighten before releasing with a strangled groan into the air and fingers twisted in the sheets.

“God, I need to be inside of you,” Marcus groans and kneels up, coming to you and lowering himself down on your body. You kiss him like it’s the end of days and you’ll never see him again.

"I need to feel you, Marcus." You pant.

"Need me?"

"Yeah, I need you. Always need you." You groan.

When he enters you, it’s like the world has imploded around you both - there is no-one else here.

Just you and him, existing purely in this moment together where you become connected in mind, body and soul instantaneously. It'a unspoken, but you can see it in his eyes. Feel it in his touch. Hear it in his groans.

You gasp every time he slides in; filling you wholly and bottoming out with a heady, lusty grunt.

Time slows down; you can hear him breathe like it’s a loud echo all around you, like the ocean crashing into the shore, and it vibrates inside the air.

It’s just Marcus. Just him.

No-one else as he holds your attention and you feel every inch of him sliding deeper into you. His strokes are slow and intentional to get you to feel all of him, and he watches as you contort underneath him; feels your hands pressing bruises into his arms and shoulders. Your chimes filling his ears; your cunt so wet and tight for him.

Him. Him.

Fuck, it's always been him.

You both behold one another around parted lips and dilated pupils. His pace increases as you both heighten your pleasure from one another, feeding off of one another’s energy and love.

Heavy, thick slaps of your flesh pounding upon one another resonate as you go harder on each other. Both climbing together.

Marcus feels it when you come again; your forehead pressing up onto his, and breathing deeply into his face, gasping - calling out his name.

Clawing at his skin, falling apart around him as he scoops you up and pieces you back together before doing it again. An endless repeat of his affection and adoration for you.

Coming so hard for him as he pushes his hips into you relentlessly.

He fucks you hard, deep. He keeps on coming at you, devouring you and smothering you.

You’re his goddess, his woman. What a woman! The one he gets to live inside, to feel you from the inside. The one he can taste, the one he can cradle in his arms as he feeds you every piece of him.

The one he can love.

“M-Marcus!” You call as you release and let go.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you," he swoons. "Coming for me. So gorgeous when you come for me like this... fuck."

You roll him onto his back, straddling him and riding on top of his cock and owning every part of him now.

His hands are all over you, pulling at your ass cheeks and winding you back and forth on top of him, feeling you contract inside as you tighten around him again.

Marcus stops thrusting up into you to just watch you come; marvelling and just stunned at how beautiful you are shaking on the end of his cock and rasping for him.

For a second, it stops all coherent thought. It stops time.

It stops his heart, you utterly kill him.

He then ploughs right on in again as you gasp and tremble, starting the hazy wind of building you up all over again and starting the chase after his own release.

He needs to fill you up with him so badly.

You falter and weaken; your body is a jangled mess and groaning; it’s so sensitive and tingly still. You collapse on him and once more he gets you back underneath him.

“You make me feel so good,” you whisper to him and he smiles knowing that he does. It's his raison d'être.

It's all you. You, you, you...

Marcus pushes back in slowly, watching as he pulls out almost the whole way; his cock greased up with your sopping slit coating him. He slides back in quickly, feels as you rib and squeeze around him each time.

“Fuck, I’m gunna come in this gorgeous pussy,” Marcus puffs, his eyes rolling back into his head as he does it each time. “Right now, right inside of you.” He pants.

"Fill me up," you plead, grabbing a hold of his ass and pushing him deeper into you. "Come for me."

And after a few more deep strokes, you feel him burst; the thick vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing and twitching as he releases inside you, warm and plentiful.

"Fuuh..." The hot expletive loses its way as he empties.

His whole body shudders, crawling up from the base of his spine right into his shoulders as he comes and pumps out. He groans out on a deep, laboured breath.

He falters, weak and unsteady, supporting his own shaky weight and collapses on top of you this time; his hair sticking to his forehead as you brush it away and kiss all over his salty face as he puffs and smiles contentedly, wrapped up in your arms and body alike.

You hold onto his face and look at him, look into him. His cheeks are a flush, matching the scarlet of his lips now as he catches his breath. Those chocolate eyes so warm and sleepy in satisfaction. Hair a tugged on mess, shoulders clammy with sweat.

“I love you,” you say to him in absolute awe.

Marcus smirks and kisses you; a big, plumpy smooch that you still feel on your lips even when he pulls away from them slightly. Never too far away.

“I love you, gorgeous.” He replies earnestly, and smiling with glistening eyes.

He nestles into you further humming in contentment as you stroke through his damp hair.

"I should definitely take more vacation." He beams, chuckling into your neck.

Yeah. It's always been him.

Thank you so, so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this Marcus Pike story of mine. If you did, please consider re-blogging and leaving a comment to let me know your thoughts. Thank you 🖤

MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

#marcus pike #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fics #marcus pike fic #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys

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harmonity-vibes · 6 months

Text

Imagine

You do photoshoots with Marcus Pike.

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forever-rogue · 2 years

Note

hi! i love your fics so much and always know i can come here when i need some comfort…which i am in need of. i went on a first date yesterday and was told today that he “had another relationship in progress” and with that and job hunting i just keep feeling unwanted. i was wondering if i could request a fic where marcus p comforts his secretly-in-love-with-each-other best friend reader? thank you so much!! 💜💜💜

AN | It’s been a minute since I’ve written some Marcus and…here we are! I hope you all know how wonderful and amazing you are! Enjoy ❤️

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Warnings | None

Word Count | 1.9k

Masterlist | PP Characters, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Good morning sunshine,” the cup of coffee and bagel that were dropped in front of you on your crowded desk caught you off guard and you almost jumped out of your chair. The warm laugh that met your ears made you feel the slightest bit better, as you looked up and allowed yourself to look at his handsome face, “should I even bother to ask how you are?”

“G’morning,” you mustered up the closest semblance of a smile that you could manage as he just grinned at you. If he thought you were sunshine, he must have been all of the stars combined, “didn’t sleep well last night is all.”

“Oh,” his smile wavered for a moment before he quickly recovered, “I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe you could duck out a little early and get a nap. I’m sure the boss won’t mind.”

“Thanks Marcus,” your face warmed at your boss’ little wink and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making any sounds, “you’re the best. Best boss and friend.”

“I try,” he took a sip of his own coffee before realization hit him, “hey - your date was last night! How did that go?”

“Umm,” you had been dreading this very moment. You knew he would eventually remember to ask, but you hadn’t planned on volunteering any information. He beat you to the punch. You picked at a bit of your bagel before shrugging lightly, “it went. Fine. Yeah…just fine.”

“Fine?” he parroted, perching himself at the edge of your desk as you just nodded, “doesn’t seem fine. You were excited to go out with him - what happened?”

“Marcus,” you bit your lip and leaned back in your chair before sighing heavily, “he basically told me that he wasn’t looking for anything serious right now. Which is fine enough, we’d never discussed whether it would be serious or casual or whatever. But then he told me that he basically already had another relationship that was just starting and he wanted that to be serious, and then basically said he’d only want to hook up. So, yeah. That was that.”

“Sweetheart, that’s-”

“Surprisingly not the worst date I’ve been on,” you admitted with a bitter laugh before blinking at the stinging in your eyes, “it’s just…it’s my fault for not asking sooner but I feel like that’s something he should have said as well, right? I dunno…it would just be nice to be someone’s first choice for once. It sounds so stupid - and whiney - and I don’t know. It is what it is. I’m sorry for rambling, Marcus. I shouldn’t bother you with my problems like this.”

“It’s not a bother - you are never a bother. And second, I want you to tell me all of this stuff,” he insisted softly, “you’re my…best friend. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that happened. I know you were looking forward to that date.”

“Thank you,” you gave his arm a gentle squeeze before pulling yourself back together, “well, that’s another frog that didn’t turn out to be a prince. On to the next one…eventually.”

“Hey,” he seemed nervous suddenly and you looked at him expectantly. It wasn’t like him to be shy and reserved, at least not with you, “w-what are you -”

Before he could say anything further, the phone at your desk began ringing shrilly. He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply as you offered him an apologetic look before moving to grab the call. You moved a small sorry as he just nodded, moving away from your desk, but not before casting a quick glance back at you. You didn’t even notice, already too wrapped up in your call.

“Get it together Pike,” he chastised himself as he made the trek across the floor to his own office. He was sure this was the time he was going to ask you on a date and actually make sure you knew it was a date, and not just friends spending time together. He’d only been trying to do so for the last…four years? Fuck, how had it become four years without him making a move on you? You, the woman that had managed to capture his heart and soul. But now, he realized, he was going to need to make a move or you’d be lost to him forever. Eventually someone was going to come along and treat you right, and he was determined to be the one, “just do it.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were about halfway through a pint of ice cream, watching your newest trash tv obsession - and thoroughly judging their petty little problems - when a knock came at your apartment door. Tossing the spoon back into the container, you sighed heavily and debated ignoring the knocking. You couldn’t even think of who it would be at this time of evening; you certainly weren’t expecting anyone…

“Coming,” you put on your slippers before trudging to the door, opening it without checking to see who it was. Which, in hindsight, was probably a bad idea, but the thought hadn’t even occurred to you. But your surprise - and delight - there was Marcus on the other side of the door, “hi Marcus. I wasn’t expecting you…please tell me I didn’t forget movie night…”

“No,” he shook his head with a small little huff of laughter, sticking his hands into his pockets nervously. He was still wearing his suit, clearly having worked late and come straight from the office, “I just…wanted to come see you.”

“What’s the matter? Did something happen?” you motioned towards his suit and he shook his head. You reached for his hand and pulled him inside and into the warm, gently shutting the door behind him, “do you want hot chocolate or anything? Coffee? A drink?”

“No, thank you,” he leaned against the counter and you raised your eyebrow at him, “I need to talk to you.”

“Me?” Now it was your turn to be nervous but he eased any worries by shaking his head, “is everything alright, Marcus? You seem…off.”

“You told me about your date,” the reminder caused you to frown but you nodded anyway, “and I hate the fact that it was awful for you. Because you deserve the best - everything. The fact that your date didn’t work out made me happy - not because of your disappointment but because it means…it means I might still have a shot with you.”

“A shot with me?” you looked at him with wide eyes and his cheeks flushed a brilliant red before he gave you a small nod. Your mind was positively reeling at his little confession, and you were sure that you had heard him incorrectly, “what do you mean?”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” his words held no malice as your eyes grew wide and nervous. He seemed to calm down after a few moments as you willed him to say those words you had been desperate to hear for so long. It seemed like a dream come true; never in a million years had you thought that Marcus Pike, not only your best friend but also your boss, would feel that way about you. You’d been harboring a crush on him for what seemed like an eternity now, dreaming that one day he would be your prince among the endless sea of frogs.

“Marcus?”

“I’m in love with you.”

“I…oh, wait. What?” you looked at him in confusion and he laughed, unsure if he should be nervous or happy. He could practically see the gears turning in your head as you tried to make sense of what he’d said, “what do you mean, you’re in love with me? Like…you love me? Do you mean it? I don’t want you to ever say just because."

"I'm not, sweetheart. I mean it -"

"Because I really like you, Marcus. And I'm in love with you. I think I have been for a long time. Probably since we first met. And I've been looking for what I have with you in so many others but nothing has ever come close. That's how I knew-"

"Sweetheart."

"And I've been wanting to ask you out for a long time, but just couldn't do it," you were speaking so rapidly, waving your hands around that you completely missed the way Marcus was watching you with nothing short of pure adoration, "and if this is just some sort of pity thing or you don't really want me, just say it. I don't think I could ever handle being heartbroken by you. Anyone else, I'd live, but never of it was you."

Before you could ramble on any further, Marcus took the chance in your quietness and tenderly put his hand on your cheek before leaning in to brush his lips against yours. That managed to silence you, your nervous rambles cut off and the thoughts swirling around your mind turned into static. Holy fuck. Marcus was really kissing you.

And he was good at it; it felt so right. It felt like you’d been doing this for eons before. It took a few moments before your brain caught up to what was happening, and once it did, you almost pushed him off of you. You made a small sound as you looked at him with wide eyes.

“You kissed me,” you stated the obvious as your glance drifted from his eyes to his lips and back. He looked amused and nodded, “why?”

“I thought it might get you to calm down,” he grinned, “you were rambling. And I wanted you to know that I felt the exact same about you. You’ve been it for me for a long time.”

“Oh,” the corners of your mouth quirked up into a small smile, “oh. I never would have thought that you felt the same. I might have asked you out…or just kept pining after you.”

“We were never just friends, were we?” he gently brushed a few locks of hair out of your face, before stroking his thumb over your cheek, “maybe it just took us a while to get there.”

“Yeah,” you leaned into his touch, marveling at how soft his hand was, “will you do it again?”

“Do what?” he asked as you grew sheepish, worrying your bottom lip, “sweetheart?”

“Will you kiss me again?” your voice was barely above a whisper but he heard you loud and clear.

“Of course,” he nodded, leaning in again so his lips were almost brushing against yours, “I could do that forever.”

“I hope you do, Marcus Pike,” you grinned before kissing him softly, “I hope you do.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years

Text

It’s that time of year again!!! I’m using @absurdthirst template for kinktober this year and here is my schedule.

***These are gonna be very heavy on the smut and some will also be quite dark so please heed all warnings before you read.***

1: Shibari - Marc Spector x f!reader

2: Gagging - Pero Tovar x f!reader

3: Threesome - Frankie x f!reader x Santiago

5: A/B/O - Frankie Morales x f!reader

6: Underwear- Marcus Pike x f!reader

7: Bath/Shower sex - Pero Tovar x f!reader

12: Cock Warming - Joel Miller x f!reader

13: Monster Fucking - Werewolf!Ezra x f!reader

17: Hate Fucking - Joel Miller x f!reader

19: Somnophilia - Din Djarin x f!reader

21: Breeding - Pero Tovar x f!reader

22: Sex Pollen - Javier Pena x f!reader

23: Erotic Dancing - Marcus Pike x f!reader

25: Lactation - Din Djarin x f!reader

30: Public Sex - Frankie Morales x f!reader

#pedro pascal #frankie morales x female reader #marcus pike x female reader #javier peña x fem!reader #oberyn martell x female reader #dean winchester x reader #marc spector x reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo xf!reader

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 months

Text

New Years wishes

Week 5 of the Winter Writing Challenge

prompt: "I wanna be your last first kiss.“

Summary: After spending difficult six month without Marcus he surprises you for New Years Eve.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem. reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Rating: G

Warnings: fluff, also angst, little heartbreak, Marcus is having a tiny midlife crisis, but it all turns out good in the end

A/N: totally stealing from Greys Anatomy I'm not even sorry

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You don’t know why you let Charlotte talk you into going to her New Years eve party. You weren’t big on parties, and you definitely weren’t looking forward to this one.

But you were looking forward to this year finally being over.

That’s the only reason Charlotte used to talk you into coming to her party, to celebrating this year finally being over and to starting a new year which would hopefully bring you more than heartbreak.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your gaze landing on the necklace you were wearing.

The necklace Marcus had gifted you for your first anniversary.

It was a little cupcake on a golden chain, because it was through a cupcake that the two of you reconnected a year before.

Marcus was Charlotte’s big brother. Growing up you had the biggest crush on him but it would almost take twenty years for it to finally become more.

And it was a chance meeting.

You were working in your little bakery, not far away from FBI headquarters and Marcus had moved to town after getting offered to be the leading agent of the art crime division. You would only learn later that this new job originally also entailed a new fiancé.

But her loss was your gain in the end. Marcus started to spend all his lunch breaks in your little bakery, reconnecting and slowly falling in love with you.

And things had been going perfectly.

Eight months after you officially started dating he moved into your little house, just outside of the city you had inherited from your grandmother after she died.

You were so in love with each other, that you really didn’t know how to react when Marcus wanted a break.

It had been after another lengthier mission that Marcus had come home and asked for a some time apart. That he needed some time to think about his life and how he could be the best version of himself for you, and while it broke your heart, you were willing to give him everything he wanted if it made him feel better.

That was almost six months ago and you had both only seen each other a handful of times. He assured you that it wasn’t you, that he had some things he needed to work out with himself and that you deserved to have the best version of himself if you still wanted him.

Of course you wanted him. You would always want him.

You were beyond confused, asking yourself if it was something you did that made him feel this way.

You missed him. Every single day.

You went from daydreaming about the future with him together, both of you planing your wedding, where you would live, how many children you would have, to lonely microwave dinners and reruns of the bachelor until you fell asleep in front of the TV.

Christmas had been beyond depressing.

You never had much family left in the first place, and the last years had been spent with the Pike’s. You were invited of course, but you could not bring yourself to go there and spend the day with Marcus and his family, when you were hurting deep down about your relationship status.

You had tried to talk to him since he moved out, but he had only asked for more time, telling you that he would understand if you were getting tired of waiting, that he did not want you to wait until he figured his shit out.

Charlotte had warned you that Marcus was supposed to be attending her party that day too, and your heart already was hurting only thinking about seeing him again, without being able to actually be with him.

You just hoped that he would figure his issues out, because you could not keep living like this.

The taxi was driving through the busy city.

Charlotte had asked you to make some cupcakes, so the taxi was taking you to your bakery where Charlotte’s husband Eddie would be waiting for you to help transport the cupcakes back to her place for the party.

You could have just taken them to her yesterday, but she insisted she wanted them today.

Paying the taxi driver you grabbed your purse and took a look around, trying to check if Eddie was there already, but all you found was a black town car with a driver waiting in front of it. Shrugging to yourself, you searched for your keys, making your way to the entrance of your bakery when you heard your name behind you.

Turning around you found the driver, an older looking man smiling at you, asking your name again.

„Uh, yeah?“ You answered confused.

„Hello, I am Andrew. I am instructed to take you to your surprise,“ he said.

„Which surprise?“ You asked.

„I do not know. I only know I should take you there,“ he answered.

„Who told you to take me there?“

„Marcus Pike.“

Before you got into the car you tried to call Marcus, but he did not pick up the phone. Then you tried to call Charlotte who only told you that she knew about a surprise, but she didn’t know what it was about.

Still hesitant you sat in the backseat of the car, the radio quietly playing while the landscape flew by.

After a while you had an of idea where you were going.

One of your last dates with Marcus was spent house hunting. You had been searching for a while but could not find something you both liked immediately. You did however find a piece of land that you both fell in love with. It was overlooking the whole city while still not being to far out to commute to work every day, which you and Marcus could do together since you worked only two streets apart.

But before you could have made any further decisions, Marcus had asked for this… break. You were getting more nervous the more familiar your surroundings became, until the car stopped and you turned your head to look to the side, a sea of candles illuminating the night.

The car door opened and Andrew gave you a warm smile.

„I’ll wait here if you’ll need me,“ he said before he helped you out and walked back to the drivers side to get back into the car.

You took a deep breath, before you slowly rounded the car and walked towards where you could already make out Marcus waiting for you, surrounded by what must be hundreds, if not thousands of candles.

You were suddenly glad you had decided to wear your winter coat.

As if this whole set up wasn’t overwhelming enough, it was the first time you saw Marcus since the beginning of November.

He was waiting for you in the middle of this set up, a soft smile on his completely shaven face. Nervously you sucked your bottom lip in, walking towards him, while you looked around, seeing that these candles seemed to make up a shape. Of what, you were not sure.

„Hi,“ you heard Marcus say as you stopped in front of him.

„Hey,“ you whispered.

„You look… you look beautiful,“ he smiled, his hand reaching out to touch you, but stopping himself halfway through. You took a step closer, taking his hand and he sighed.

„You shaved,“ you said and he smiled.

„Yeah. I think I shaved my midlife crisis right off with the beard,“ he huffed nervously, his brown eyes set on you. He squeezed your hand.

„I owe you an explanation. And the biggest apology of my life,“ he sighed, shaking his head to himself. He took your other hand before he looked at you.

„Yeah. What happened? Was it something I did? I…“ you began but he shook his head.

„Remember the undercover mission I had been on for a couple weeks in May?“ He asked. You nodded.

„I ran into my ex wife.“

„Oh,“ you whispered. He took a deep breath.

„And I let her fuck with my head. And then I ran into Theresa and I couldn’t talk to you, because of the Undercover thing and it left me with my stupid thoughts for two weeks up to the point where I was certain that something must be wrong with me and that you deserve so much better,“ he said.

„Marcus…“ you mumbled, shaking your head.

„I know,“ he smiled sadly, „And instead of finally talking to you when I was back I pushed you away. You, the person I want to grow old with. I love you. So much. It’s…,“ he took a deep breath.

„Charlotte told me how miserable you were. She also told me what an idiot I am. My therapist too,“ Marcus continued.

„Therapist?“ You asked.

He nodded.

„Yeah. I wanted to find out what was wrong with me,“ he shrugged.

„There’s nothing wrong with you, baby. You’re just…“ you were looking for the right word.

„An idiot?“ He offered. You smiled.

„Yeah. But you’re still my idiot,“ you said softly and he released a deep breath.

„I’m so, so fucking sorry what I put you through these last months. If I could erase these last months, I would.“

You looked at him, your Marcus. There would be more talking about this in the future. Yes, these last months were hell, but he was here, right now. He loved you and you loved him. That was enough for the moment.

You got on your tiptoes, your arms wrapping around Marcus and kissed him. He stumbled back surprised before his arms pulled you against him and he deepened the kiss.

„I missed you so much. I’ll kill you if you ever hurt me like that again,“ you mumbled against his lips.

„Never,“ he vowed, rubbing his nose over yours.

„So… what is all this?“ You asked, looking up at him.

„This… This could be our dream house,“ he said. He pulled away from you, taking your hand and started walking.

„Right now, we could be standing in our living room. Fireplace right there, biggest couch we can find right here,“ he gestured. You smiled, following him. Now you could see the candles on the ground made out lines of different rooms.

„This,“ he lead you forward along the line, „could be the kitchen. Got you that big island you always wanted so you can have enough space to bake too,“ he winked and you grinned.

„What’s on the other levels?“ You asked. He turned and pulled you in his arms.

„Bathroom, Office, Guest Bedroom, Bedroom with walk in closet….“

„What about a nursery?“ You asked and he smiled shyly.

„We can fit one in there too, I think,“ he mumbled and kissed you.

„Two,“ you said and he nodded.

„I gotta say, this is all very romantic but last time I checked we don’t own this piece of land.“

He hummed.

„When did you last check?“ He asked, a smile sneaking to his lips.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes.

„I signed the papers this morning. It’s yours,“ he said and your mouth dropped open in shock.

„What?“ You gasped out.

„I bought it. For you. For us, if you want. I just… I want to make you happy. I…“ you stopped him with your lips on his mouth.

„You’re insane,“ you chuckled.

„Now you notice?“ He joked and you shook your head with a grin, letting your head rest against his chest when you heard the first firework go off, the sky glittering in pink lights.

„What time is it?“ You asked and he looked at his watch.

„Almost midnight,“ he whispered.

You both looked up at the sky, more and more fireworks lighting up the sky.

„I want to spend every single day of my life loving you. I wanna be your last first kiss. I wanna be the best version of myself for you,“ he whispered against your ear. You blinked the tears away, cuddling closer against him.

„I love you,“ you mumbled against him.

„Happy new year,“ he whispered, kissing your hair. You looked up at him, the man you loved.

„Happy new year.“

#my fic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #stephswinterwritingchallenge #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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psychedelic-ink · 8 months

Text

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐓.

DAY TEN OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: inspired by your favorite lana del rey song + artist au + “don't you know how sick with love i am for you?”

pairing: artist!marcus pike x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni

summary: marcus is in desperate need for a muse.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: body painting, artist/muse, obsessed artist marcus pike, mutual oral s.ex/69 but marcus is on top, cum play, spit play, dirty talk, affectionate whore calling, in a very Marcus fashion things escalate very quickly

In the dim living room, the scent of oil paints hung heavy in the air, mingling with the undertones of desperation and need. An artist needs a muse, Marcus thinks, the crease between his brows deep. He placed his hands beneath his chin, fingers meeting, in a contemplative pose. He sat on the couch; right across from a blank canvas. In front of it his paints were angrily scattered, his want to paint clouding his judgment and angering him. It’s been months since he last painted. Nothing inspired him to paint. Not the books he read, not his perfectly decorated studio speaking to his particular tastes, not his friends—

Nothing.

And now he has to leave and he has to leave right now. He has no time to shower and scrub the scent of paint off his skin, no time to tidy his living room. Slowly, he lifts himself off the couch and walks up to the canvas. He places his palm flat in the middle. The grease of his hand seeps into the woven white fabric. Bits of paint adding shards of color and tainting the pure.

He sighs, pulling his hand away, he stares at the faint shine of grease. Still nothing.

Maybe going out will help him think of something to paint.

He has his doubts but he’s willing to try.

Going out tonight you weren’t expecting much. Maybe some laughter—a lot of drinking, but that was pretty much it. You certainly weren’t expecting to meet a charming artist with brown eyes and dark brown hair who had a smile that turned your insides into absolute mush.

He opens the door for you and you go in. It’s a clean apartment, which you appreciate. The scent of paint and hints of soft vanilla tickles your nose, you step instead with a smile and Marcus follows, closing the door with a soft click.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says a bit bashfully. You turn with a raised eyebrow, prompting him to explain. He points towards the canvas, then down to the ground, your gaze follows. “The paints.”

You shrug, “You’re an artist. I’d figured there’d be some paint.” you add shortly after. “In fact, I expected more.”

Marcus leads you to the couch, hand gentle as it presses against the small of your back. A shudder crawls up your spine, a flame awakening between your legs. You swallow thickly.

“I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell,” his grin widens as you give him a look. “I was talking about my art but honestly haven’t been the most fortunate in that apartment either.”

“Tortured artist,” you murmur, eyes flitting across his face. “Classic.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs. His other hand slides to your waist, the other moving up from the middle of your stomach and gliding up between your breasts until he tucks his fingers under your chin, holding you with a thumb and a forefinger. The chocolate of his eyes is gone, leaving you to stare into complete darkness. He smiles hungrily—stares at you as if he’s been waiting for you since the end of times and not that he’s found you, he’s never letting you go. “I’m everything but classic.”

His thumb pulls at your bottom lip, exposing hard teeth. Your heart flutters and you smile. It should frighten you. The obsession in his eyes. Your stomach jumps, the skin over bone growing taut. Your breathing goes heavy, your gaze dropping to his lips multiple times within the silence. He knows. He knows how badly you want him and that only turns you on. You’ve never been anyone’s first choice before, never caught the eye of a stranger at a bar. People felt relaxed around you but that didn’t entice them enough to actually want you or be with you. Obsession was like kryptonite for a lonely person. A drug.

And man did you want your fill of it.

Your pulse raises, “Why haven’t you been able to paint?” you ask.

His plush lips part with a soft, slow sight. A rumble follows his breath as it ghosts your cheeks. Marcus slides his fingers around your throat, the thin cheap chain of your necklace burning your skin as he presses forward.

“I haven’t been feeling inspired,” he says. “Lost my muse.”

Your breath hitches and he cocks his head to the side, his smile softening around the edges. “I’m feeling quite inspired now, though.”

“You don’t say,” You’re surprised at how sultry your voice is, how hoarse it became in mere seconds. “You think you found your muse?”

He tightens his grip and arousal gathers at the seam of your underwear, you feel the brush of his lips against yours.

“I believe I have.”

You’ve always had an obsession with the color blue. It soothes you. And you often associate it with life itself. Water, the sky. All the most important things in human life are blue, but the color of the water isn’t real, it comes from the sky. A mirage. After learning about it, you only grew fonder of the color, relating to it.

Marcus’s lips taste like that. Something that you see but surely couldn’t be real, a mirage of your darkest desires perhaps? He tastes like heaven and hell and you want more and more and more—

He slips his tongue between your lips, licking himself deep into your mouth. You mimic him, flattening your tongue over his and allowing him to suck the tender muscle into his mouth. You feel his hands everywhere; on your ass, hip, breasts. He squeezes them, rubs his thumb enough so peeks form despite your bra and dress. You moan into his mouth, eyes nearly rolling back from how hot it suddenly is.

Then suddenly you’re being pulled back, all you ever wanted taken from you.

“Let me paint you,” he suddenly gasps. He rubs himself against yours, the length of him hard against your stomach. You let out a shuddering breath.

“Wouldn’t that take long?” you whine. His eyes lit up with amusement. “I mean. . .I would love that but I’d rather. . . be with you.”

“Is my sweet muse suddenly shy?” he teases, nudging your nose together. “When I say paint you I don’t mean paint a portrait of you—I mean I. Want. To. Paint. You.”

“Oh,” you hear the blood rushing to your ears, your cheeks starting to warm under his gaze. “No one’s ever done that before.”

“Good,” he says and fully pulls away, turning his gaze to the blank canvas. Your eyes follow. He seems to be staring directly into the middle of it, you don’t know why, you wish you could see what he sees.

Then his head suddenly snaps back to you, almost making you jump, “I’m thinking blue.”

You hope to disguise your surprise, but from the way he smiles, you know he sees something on your face to prompt the expression. “Yes,” he says nonchalantly. “Blue.”

It seems that not much preparation is needed for him to paint you. To turn you into his personalized canvas to use. After laying down a rather large white fabric on the floor, he places various colored paints and brushes. Marcus gets behind you, fingers playing with the fabrics of your dress. You shiver at the brush of his fingers. He kisses your neck, the wet of his tongue tasting your skin.

“Will you strip for me?” he asks.

Your answer is ready on your lips, “Yes.”

And he pushes down the straps, lowers your zipper. The dress pools at your ankles and you step out of the waves of fabric. You want to give him a show.

Turning to him, you unclasp your bra. His eyes follow the curves of them immediately, taking in the sight of your peeked nipples, the way they sag in their natural beauty when the bra is removed. You would normally be embarrassed but the feeling escapes you entirely, no matter how longingly he observes your details.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, eyes meeting yours. “Show me the rest of you.”

Slowly leaning forward you hook your thumbs under the pretty lace and pull it down, it drops to your ankles. A chill settles at the base of your spine when the cool air hits your wet, warm pussy. Marcus licks his lips, eyes eating you hungrily before meeting your gaze once more. He takes a step forward and cups your mound with the entirety of his palm. A soft moan trembles within the confinements of your throat as he begins to stroke between your folds with two thick fingers.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, breath tickling your heated cheeks. “You must feel it too, this pull between us. The crimson ropes of faith telling you that you’re mine.”

You don’t miss the way his soft cadence shifts into something of a silent growl, he presses the heel of his palm against your clit and you gasp, the tender nub throbs. “Lay down,” he orders, hand slipping to your waist, you feel the wet streaks he leaves on your skin.

“Tell me why you wanted to go out tonight,” Marcus says while you’re lying down, from the corner of your eyes you see him reaching for brushes and blue paint. “I want to know how your mind works.”

“Well, it’s not that interesting really,” a nervous laughter escapes you. You stare at the ceiling, it makes you feel oddly relaxed even though you’re stark naked. “I’m just tired of being alone. I wanted to have fun, and see if I could. . . find someone that’d wanna spend time with me.”

“I guess you hit the jackpot then,” he answers, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Because I certainly want to spend time with you.”

Your breath hitches. You want to argue, tell him that he barely knows you yet and that he should give it time before he tucks his tail between his legs and runs. But you have an inkling that he does, in fact, know you. You feel that invisible thread holding you together and even though your feelings had let you astray before, you want to believe the bond this time.

The cool, wet end of the brush hovers an inch above your body, a subtle chill bursting across your skin, “I’m telling you the truth you know,” he murmurs as if reading your mind. “I’ll never get sick of this feeling. Never.”

Then you feel it. The cold paint swirling around your breast, tickling your skin, shortening your breath. Marcus smiles at the way your back curves, pushing yourself further into the brush despite the way it makes you shiver. Arousal blossoms between your legs, forcing your legs together, Marcus tuts with the click of his tongue and pushes himself between them so they stay spread for him to witness your glimmering core.

He moves the brush over your nipple, you feel the paint slowly drying around your breast, the swirl of the bristles makes your nipples harden and skin grow taut.

“You look good in blue,” he mutters, rolling his hips. The outline of his cock brushes over your throbbing clit and with your lips parting, you push yourself down, following him. “When was the last time you’ve been with someone?” Marcus asks suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“It’s been a while,” you answer, averting your gaze. “Have I made it that obvious?”

His brows furrow with regret, “Sweetheart no, I was just curious. And I have to admit, I also asked due to some selfishness on my part. Would have to fuck you hard if you’d told me you’ve been with someone else yesterday.”

The words go straight to your cunt, the tender flesh bottoming out as a wanton moan escapes your lips. The brush moves down to your navel, dipping to your belly button. “So possessive already,” you tease, pressing your legs against his hips.

Marcus leans low enough that your lips nearly touch, you hold your breath, your pulse loud in your ears. His smile is dangerous and dark when he whispers.

“So you’re telling me you’d be completely fine if I told you I fucked someone raw over the same floor you’re sprawled out for me now?” Your eyes go wide, anger and jealousy burrowing itself deep in your stomach. His smile grows but he’s not done, he licks the curve of your bottom lip. “Would you be okay if I said I came inside some random woman only yesterday because I was lonely, telling her how good her pussy made me feel? What about if I told you how I bit into her neck? How I ruined her for anyone else that’s gonna come after me—”

You cut his words by pushing a hand over his mouth. You watch wide-eyed as you smear blue paint over his lips and cheeks that you’d gathered by brushing your palm over your stomach. You feel his smile on your skin branding you. “Did you?” you ask, your voice gone hoarse.

His eyes become soft, the cruel teasing from earlier melting away, he shakes his head. You let out a breath, lungs caving in. “Okay,” you whisper, dropping your hand. “S-Sorry.”

Marcus holds your wrist and presses his lips into the curve of your palm, a blue lip mark forming on your skin, “Don’t be,” he says. “This wouldn’t be as fun if we didn’t behave the same way.”

Marcus leaves the brush somewhere near your head and dips his fingers into a shade of red that reminds you of blood. The marks he leaves on you look like claws. As if you’ve been ripped apart by some vicious creature. He doesn’t stop and continues to pain. He draws various shapes with wet fingers, murmuring praise, kissing you where he wishes, leaving blue lips across your bare skin.

You’re quivering by the time he finally slides down and pushes your thighs up his broad shoulders. The sheet underneath you is damp with arousal, your clit aching with the need to be touched.

Marcus blows a teasing puff of hair and your entire body clenches, your toes curling into the thin fabric. “Please,” you beg. “Give me your mouth, fingers, anything—”

Something dark crosses his face but he seems to decide against it and gives you what you want. His lips are soft as he kisses your pussy, slow and sensual. He dips the tip of his tongue between the tender folds and moans at the taste of you. Your brain short circuits when he wraps his devilish lips around your clit, sucking hard on the bundle of nerves, your hips stutter up, meeting the fat strokes of his tongue.

He grips your hips and pins them down, pushing his tongue deeper inside of you. Your breath catches in your throat. When you look down you see red hand prints all over the outside of your thighs, the sight alone forcing a fresh gush of wetness to coat his tongue. Marcus ground and swirls his tongue around your clit as he looks up.

“You taste amazing,” he mumbles, pupils blown wide. “I can spend every hour between these gorgeous thighs.”

Before you can answer he purses his lips, your eyes go wide and your body burns, you watch intently as a drop of saliva stretches from between his lips and lands on your cunt. You shudder.

“You like that?” he rasps, rubbing two fingers over your clit, smearing the spit all around. Your insides clench. “You want me to make a mess of you, sweetheart? Answer me.”

“Yes,” you whimper. “I want it all—I want to be your dirty little whore that you make a mess of.”

“Fuck—” he hisses, this time when he purses his lips, he spits more violently and presses his mouth immediately after. He flattens his tongue and moves his jaw as he sucks, licks and bites. “My dirty whore?” he repeats your words, his tone unbelieving. “God, you’re so fucking perfect. My perfect little whore, all you want to do is come on my face and let me pull you apart with my cock, isn’t it?”

You nod helplessly, the coil in your stomach tightening, you cradle his head and grind yourself against him. This time Marcus doesn’t stop you, allows you to smear your wetness all over his smooth skin. You hear the words ‘perfect’ and ‘whore’ repeated over and over again, the sounds of each word reverberating against your clit.

Instead of white, you see bright blue and shards of red.

He sucks on your clit—hard. You scream his name. Your hips gyrating and stuttering into his wanting mouth. Marcus groans loudly, slurping as his tongue laps at your core, swallowing every drop. Your lungs burn. Your eyes throbbing from rolling so deep into their sockets. Never—Never in your life had you come so hard. Especially not with a man. It would be the toys that pushed you off the edge and your vivid imagination.

“Fuck, baby, that was amazing—” he says wetly. You tremble. “Can you do it again?”

You nod but just as he’s about to dive back in, you tug on his hair, drawing his attention back to you. Your chest heaves helplessly, your cunt fluttering to feel his tortuous mouth on you once more. “Want to taste you too,” you slur. “Use me.”

He pushes himself back so he’s sitting on his heels, you’d forgotten that Marcus was still fully clothed. You eye him hungrily. His cock strains painfully against the fabric of his pants and all you want to do is wrap your mouth around the width of him.

Marcus robs himself through the fabric, smiling, “You want me to fuck that pretty mouth?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then, lay back down.”

You frown but do what he says anyway. You had expected him to ask you to get on your knees instead, your mouth watering at the thought of struggling to take him whole. The scent of paint is thick in the air and once again you’re staring at the ceiling. You hear the faint sound of fabric falling to the hardwood floors. Soon enough he’s standing near your head, fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking himself lazily while looking down at you.

Before he can say anything, you reach out. He holds your hand with a slight surprise and finally takes a step closer. “How did I get so lucky tonight?” he mutters, both his thighs bracketing your head as he sinks down.

Marcus doesn’t sit fully, his body hovering enough so your mouth can reach his pretty cock. You follow the path of the throbbing vein with the tip of your tongue and a drop of precome oozes down from the slit, landing on your chin. You grin widely at the way he shudders, enjoying that he is breaking down just as easily. His breath comes in short pants, the puffs of hot air stimulating your clit deliciously. He kisses your mound and lowers his hips, you dutifully suck on the head, swirling your tongue, your heart leaps at the way he moans into you.

He twitches on your tongue, “Can I fuck your mouth, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice hoarse and thick. “I can’t take it.”

Instead of using your words, you press your palms on his ass and push him down until he’s halfway in and you’re choking. His sigh of relief echoes across the living room. He thrusts again, pulling back until the tip is touching your lips before snapping them back down again. Your throat seizes around him as he goes down inch by inch. You love the way he has surrounded you compelled. His body like a weighted blanket while his tongue delves deeper into you.

Marcus groans loudly, and you feel his hips start to buck faster and more erratically. You try to relax your throat as much as possible, letting him take control of the pace. He pulls back, then he plunges back in all the way to the hilt, making spit and come trickle down the corners of your stretched-out lips.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” he praises, his voice strangled with pleasure. “My sweet little whore, such a perfect hole for me.”

He closes his lips around your clit and draws various shapes around the tender flesh. You moan around him in response, the vibrations sending shivers through his body.

His hips jerk with each movement. You can feel his cock swelling in your mouth, and you know he’s close to coming. You take him as deep as you can, wanting to feel him pulse and release inside you. You can barely breathe, your own release right around the corner and he knows it—he knows it and presses his lips even harder, moves his tongue with more vigor until he tears your orgasm from you.

You cry our around his cock and that only spurs him on, fucking into your mouth deeper, harder.

With one final thrust, Marcus moans and buries himself deep between your lips. His hot release shoots down your throat, some of it dribbling onto your chin and chest.

“Don’t swallow,” he suddenly says, his voice riddled with authority that makes you throb. He pulls out of your mouth with a soft groan, and you wait until his face comes back into view. “Open your mouth, baby,” he mutters. You do and he shoves two fingers inside, smearing his seed all around your lips and down your body, he mixes it with the blue and red paint that marks you as his own. “You look stunning,” he murmurs, his eyes glued to your body.

Then he leans down and kisses you fiercely, his tongue seeking out the sweet taste of his own release. Those same lips slide down to your throat, biting and licking, as he lays down next to you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

Your body seeks his own. Your face burrowing into the solace of his neck, the dried paint leaving flakes of color across his skin while his come leaves shiny stains. The taste of him is now tainted with hints of fear and uncertainty.

“I’m afraid,” you sniffle into the crook of his neck, and he holds you tighter. “I don’t want this to end. For it to become another memory that is out of reach.”

“It won’t,” he murmurs, lips moving along your forehead. “Don't you already know how sick with love I am for you?”

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #artist!marcus pike #marcus pike au #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown

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pedroscurls · 3 months

Text

second chances | series masterlist

wip | ao3

Summary: After Marcus moves to DC - alone - he's determined to just focus on work. After a failed marriage followed with his failed relationship with Lisbon, Marcus believes that love just isn't in the cards for him anymore. Until you move in next door. Character pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Rating: 18+ minors dni, each chapter will have its own warnings.

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #story: second chances

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moralesispunk · 2 years

Text

Out of Hours (Professor Pike x F! Reader)

Summary: Marcus Pike has taken up office in the room across the hall from your PhD tutor’s and it seems like neither of you can get enough of each other

Warnings: penetrative (p in v) sex, unprotected sex, creampie, ass slapping (this is Marcus), kissing, age gap relationship (10-15 years although not explicitly mentioned how big), a little fluff in there too

*****

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We can’t do this.”

The words hung in the air between panting breaths; a verbal acknowledgement that this is something that you shouldn’t be doing not working to put a stop to the way his palms skimmed across your thighs beneath your skirt or the way your nails dug into his shoulders over his white shirt.

Professor Pike - not your professor directly but rather one who had settled in the office across from your tutor’s - had joined the University at the start of the year after a career change while you were heading into your second year of your PhD. You had first crossed paths on the day he moved into the office, his head looking up to where you had knocked on his office door as you held out some mail that had been delivered for him.

You had never really cared much about your job as administrative assistant to the art history department. It was enough to pay the rent and bills as you studied but now that it brought you to his office at least once a day and his messy hair and friendly smile always greeted you with “how was your day?” or “there was a documentary on at the weekend, I think you would be interested in,” it was enough that you started to look forward to coming into work, holding onto his mail till last so you could spend an extra minute in his office. Your relationship had never strayed from this set-up, kind and friendly remarks that were enough to put a smile on your face for the rest of the day, until just after the Fall break.

Every so often you had to stay late to work through whatever admin the professors had decided to land on your desk at exactly 5 on the dot, and this night you were staying particularly late. You had bumped into Marcus in the kitchen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise as you stepped in to pour yourself a cup of coffee and he had asked you what you were doing here so late. Small talk soon turned to both of you sitting at the table, an hour passing before you jumped up and realized you were five minutes from missing the last bus home with your car in the garage. He had offered to take you but you politely declined, taking a second you really didn’t have to come back and wish him a goodnight before you ran for the bus.

That one night turned to two and then two turned to three, the both of you finding your way to the kitchen or his office to chat after a long day, and suddenly here you were months later tumbling into his office as his arm wrapped around your waist and his mouth pressed to yours the second his office door swung open.

His hands slid down your body, grabbing and squeezing as he went before he gripped the back of your thighs and held you up against the door. His mouth moved hungirly against yours, his tongue slipping inside as he lifted you from the door and carried you to the desk where he moved whatever had been left there with a frustrated groan before he settled you on the cold wood.

His hand gripped the side of your neck as he dragged his lips across your cheek and along your jaw before he sucked on the point just below your ear that had you shaking. He had learned what you liked quickly, his mouth spreading to a smile that was pressing against your skin as his hands continued to slide up your legs.

It was then you both uttered your “we shouldn’t” and “we can’t” but neither of you moved, your hands coming up to the back of his head as your fingers threaded into his hair and he kissed lower, down to your chest. His lips dragged along the square neck of your t-shirt, his hands coming to hold beneath your breasts and push up as he kissed and licked back and forth, and your head was thrown back, your hips rocking forward and grinding against his as he stepped closer between your legs.

“Fuck,” he sighed, “you come here in this skirt today, do you know how hard it's been to even pretend to concentrate?”

You gasped as his teeth grazed across your skin, his hands spreading across your sides and bunching up the t-shirt that was tucked into your floral skirt higher and higher until he had pulled it over your head and you were left in your bra. He took a moment to look, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as his eyes flicked up to yours.

“Did you wear the skirt to tease me?”

“It- it was warm today, I-”

You stopped when he tugged your bra down, lips wrapping around one of your nipples as his hand coming to pull and twist on the other.

“Is that the only reason?” He mumbled against your skin.

You shook your head, looking down with a smirk.

“Naughty girl,” he lifted his head, shaking it up at you before his hands slid up the inside of your thighs and his fingers danced along the seam of your underwear. “I think maybe you deserve a punishment for that…”

He slipped you off the desk, turning you around quickly and bending you over until your front was flush against the cool surface. Your hands slapped down against the wood, catching yourself as he gathered up the material of your skirt and flipped it over your ass.

“Marcus!” You gasped his name as his hands palmed your soft skin, spreading you open as you let your forehead fall against the desk.

You tried to think if anyone else was still in the building; sometimes the other admin assistant, Luke, liked to stay late and the walls really weren’t that thick-

“No one else is here, don’t worry,” Marcus calmed your racing mind, noticing how your body had tensed beneath his.

His words made you relax and you looked back over your shoulder at him, his eyes that had been firmly staring at the point between your legs flicking up to yours and you raised an eyebrow, wiggling your hips back at him. His mouth that had been hanging open stretched to a grin, his teeth biting the corner of his bottom lip as he shook his head.

“I haven’t forgotten how you’ve teased me all day, honey.” His hands let go of you, his fingers working to unbutton his shirt sleeves at the wrist before rolling them up to his forearms. He did it slowly, his face giving nothing away as he stared back at you and you were completely at his mercy, your back arching slightly as he raised an eyebrow while a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “First you wear this skirt,” he spoke lowly, a rasp catching on his words from how needy he was becoming. His hand came down against your ass and your chest lurched forward against the wood, your forehead coming to rest back against the desk before he spoke again. “Then in the meeting you walk by and press yourself up against me.” Another slap in the same spot and you bit down on your lip. “And then you send me a photo of that pretty lace bra you’re wearing today.” This slap harder than the others, the moan slipping from your mouth as his hand stayed in place, sliding down between your legs to pull your underwear to the side.

“Look how wet you are,” he groaned, his finger dipping through your folds before sliding towards your clit and making your whole body shake. “Is this how wet you get when you spend the whole day teasing me?”

“I’ve been like this all day,” you huffed, impatient and wanting him to touch you where you needed him most.

“You should have come to see me earlier.” You could hear the smile in his voice, his fingers moving back and forth and skimming over where you needed him. “I could have had a taste of you right here on the desk. Or maybe I’d have let you sit under it and suck my cock as I marked some papers, hm?”

“Marcus, I need you,” you whined, trying to push back against him but his hand on your hip stopped you.

“What do you want?”

“You.” Your voice went higher as he slid his fingers back along your folds and pushed two in to curl deep inside you, his thumb pressing against your clit at the same time.

“You have me,” he replied, smirking down at you as you moaned loudly. He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing you harder against the desk as he licked behind your ear and brought it between his teeth before he spoke again. “I need you to be specific, honey. Be a good girl and use your words and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Your cock Marcus! I want it, please, I need it inside, I-” You cut yourself off with a moan as you heard a zip lower and felt his fingers slip out before the head of his cock swiped through your folds, pushing slowly inside and letting you feel every ridge and vein until he was all the way in and he pulled back to stand over you. “Fuck, Marcus,” you managed to gasp.

“Is this what you wanted?” He punctured the end of his sentence as he pulled out and thrust back in. “Hm? You come in wearing this skirt today and want me to bend you over the desk and fuck you with my cock?”

“It was hot out-”

Marcus’s hands gripped your hips before fucking into you hard and fast as your words caught in your throat and you could barely take a breath in.

“I think,” he said through gritted teeth, “we both know that's not true, is it honey?”

His hand pressed on the bottom of your back, your arms falling flat against the table as he continued to pound into you and your fingers gripped the edge of the table. His hand began to slide up your back before holding the back of your neck and keeping you there as his other hand gripped your hip.

“Can you touch yourself?” He panted above you, his thumb drawing circles against your hip as he waited for an answer.

You wanted to answer him but you couldn't find your voice, instead nodding your head and letting your cheek rub against the desk while sliding your hand down and pressing it between your legs. You could see him out of the corner of your eye, his shirt still on and now rolled up at the sleeves with the top couple of buttons undone while he was now missing his tie. You guessed that he had taken it off the second his office hours finished, his hands always itching to loosen it that bit more during the day until he could finally be free of it.

His hand on your hip lifted to run through his hair, dragging it down his face before he landed another slap on your ass and he went back to gripping your hip.

Your eyes rolled as you moaned, your fingers still working to bring you closer to the edge as you forced your body to relax and you were left looking up to the shelves of books against the wall. It wasn’t as busy as some of the other professors but not because he didn’t have as much; it was because Marcus would roll his eyes at the cost of the “required reading” list and had started to hand out his own books to his students on the promise they would come back the way they left.

Marucs was like that - kind to a fault, always with a smile - and while his hand raised and he placed another slap right where you knew it would be stinging to sit down tomorrow you smiled, knowing that you got to see this side of him too.

“There you go. that's it,” Marcus groaned as the coil pulled tighter and together in the pit of your stomach.

You could feel his belt dig into the back of your thighs but you didn't care, not when he was moaning your name and hitting something deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

“You're so close already,” he groaned, slowing down slightly, “let me feel you squeeze my cock, honey. Let go for me.”

You could barely warm him before you were coming, his hands holding you against the desk as your legs shook and you were just glad his weight was holding yours up or you would have collapsed on the floor.

“Fuck,” he groaned slowly, “that's it honey.”

You were a mess of moans and gasps, unable to tell him how good it felt as your hand fell back onto the table and he slipped his hand beneath you, pulling you back against his chest as he continued to thrust into you. His hand stayed on your neck, turning your head to face him over your shoulder as his mouth crashed against yours. It was all teeth and tongue, the very definition of a messy kiss, but you both moaned into it as your nails dug into his forearm.

You could tell he was close and your other hand slipped up to hold the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair to keep his mouth against you as his hand slid up from your stomach to your chest, gripping your breast as his hips hit against yours.

He came with a muffled cry of your name, his body pressed as close to yours as possible as he spilled inside and you hummed contently back against him. The kiss slowed until you broke apart, his lips pressing to your forehead as you bit back a smile and closed your eyes.

With still panting breaths, your hands fell against the desk to hold you up as Marcus kissed along your shoulder while fixing your bra. He reached by you to pull a few tissue papers, pulling out with a groan before cleaning your mixed mess as he continued to kiss your shoulder, your neck, your temple, before throwing them in the bin and turning you in his arms.

When his lips pressed against yours they were much softer now, his hands rubbing up and down your arms as you relaxed into his touch.

He was always like this - hungry for you the second you stepped over the threshold of his office as he took you hard and fast like he couldn't hold back until you were both getting dressed again and his touch turned softer, lingering for a second like he didn't want to say goodbye just yet.

When he finally pulled back he kissed your forehead once, doing his belt back up as you scanned around for your shirt.

It had been thrown over the chair and you shook your head with a laugh as Marcus walked around to the other side of the desk, pulling the white material back from being inside out and slipping it over your head.

“Are you hungry?”

You looked up from where you were tucking your t-shirt back into the skirt, glancing quickly at the clock and noticing it was well later than you usually stayed before turning to Marcus. He looked… nervous; his fingers tapping on his desk and his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I could eat?” You found yourself staying, not quite sure where this was going.

Maybe he didn't eat his lunch and was offering you to take it, he'd done that once before - the first night he had also drove you home, or maybe he was just making conversation. He walked around the table before stopping in front of you, a large gap between your bodies as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you- Do you want to get some?”

“Food?”

“Yeah, yes, if you want? There's a diner on the way to yours that is open late if you need a lift?”

“I don't need a lift, I- I brought my car,” you said, shaking your head and he nodded, offering a tight lip smile as he placed his hands in his pocket.

“You're right, it's fine, forget it I-”

“No wait,” you stopped him, reaching forward and grabbing his forearm that was still bare with his shirt sleeves bunched up below his elbows. “I’d like to go,” you said slowly and he tilted his head ever so slightly, looking cuter than he should after just bending you over the table and fucking you hard. “I’ll just need to drive my car so I have it in the morning but I could follow you there?”

His nerves turned into a soft smile, his hands sliding from his pockets as he stepped forward against and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“I just need to get a few things but I can meet you down at the entrance?” You nodded back, reaching to squeeze his hand before turning and heading back to the office you worked out from.

It almost felt domestic, the way his kiss had lingered on the edge of your lip as your hand squeezed his before you were both heading down to meet at the door.

You knew you would be lying to say that you hadn’t thought about if there could be more between you, if maybe whatever this was could slip into something else, and so you couldn’t stop the butterflies that swarmed your stomach as you grabbed your jacket and bag and headed down the stairs.

He was already waiting by the door by the time you got to the ground floor, his back leaning against it and his jacket folded over his arm as he held his briefcase.

His head lifted up to look at you, a smile covering his face as he held out a hand towards you and you held your breath, slipping yours into the hold like it was made to fit.

tags

@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09 @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted–ivy @phandoz @janebby @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @bport76 @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @hb8301 @agingerindenial @adriiibell @darnitdraco @nolanell @buckybarneshairpullingkink @quicksilvermad @kirsteng42 @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x fem reader #marcus pike x y/n #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike fic #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction

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sirowsky · 2 years

Text

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

#happy birthday wifey!!#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike one shot #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist one shot #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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supernaturalgirl20 · 2 years

Text

Gonna take part in Steph’s @toomanystoriessolittletime December writing challenge this year (🤘thanks Steph for putting it together 🥰)

Driving Home for Christmas - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Meet You There - Ezra x f!reader

Marry Me? - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Just Us - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Christmas market - Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warmth - Marcus Pike x f!reader

Lunch Date - Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Getaway- Dave York x f!reader

I Do - Marcus Pike x f!reader

This will bring me right up to new years and then I’m taking a long overdue hiatus. I promise I WILL have all my outstanding requests done and posted and my Frankie series will be finished. I will still be writing away (I have a mafia au series I’m working on for Oberyn (it’s super smutty 😈) and one or two other things, but I won’t be posting until at least February.

K, luv ya

Char xx 😘

#pedro pascal #frankie morales x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #javier peña x fem!reader #ezra x f!reader #maxwell lord x f!reader #dieter bravo xf!reader #pedro pascal x reader

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freelancearsonist · 2 months

Text

in shades of gray and candlelight

➔ Marcus Pike x fem!Reader - 7.2k

➔ Nothing good starts in a getaway car, but you sure do have fun delaying the inevitable.

➔ Rated MA for artist!reader my beloved (reader is able-bodied, basic female anatomy and feminine pronouns used, reader is described as having hair that is long enough to be put up but otherwise she’s a blank slate), unprotected p in v sex, cum swallowing, creampie, semi-public sex acts, oral (r + m receiving), handjobs, fingering, very light switchy dom/sub dynamics, a couple spanks, pet names (sweetheart, pretty girl, baby, honey), heavy praise kink, light size kink, consent king!marcus, just like the song it does not end happily [please let me know if i missed any at all :)]

➔ this is my (first 😈) submission to @beskarandblasters Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge! i really did mean for this to be a drabble especially since i didn't know anything about marcus before receiving this prompt but he has my whole fucking heart and mind now 😩 thank you so much for the challenge lovely kel, and special thank u to my baby @fhatbhabie for betaing and screaming with me ily <3 (dividers by the amazing and talented @saradika-graphics)

You meet Marcus Pike on a Friday night and it’s obvious from the start that he’s going to change your life forever.

He looks a little disheveled when he enters the gallery–brown hair ruffled and standing up in places, tie loose, top shirt button undone. There’s an alluring five o’clock shadow burgeoning across his jaw and cheeks. He looks like he’s had a long day, and it’s only going to get longer. It’s all part of the plan, of course. He’s supposed to look like a standard blue collar worker, and he pulls it off with ease.

It’s the exhibition’s opening night, so it’s a little more packed than the gallery normally would be. It works in his favor–he’s able to collect a plastic cup of champagne from the refreshment table and blend seamlessly into the crowd.

His eyes are diligent as they scan the faces that come and go. He tries to commit them all to memory–the tall woman with the slight limp, the short guy wearing the Hawaiian patterned shirt. There’s dozens of people that pass by, and so many of them are forgettable. It’s exhibitions like these that make him dread undercover work.

The art on the walls isn’t exceptional, but it’s not bad. Nothing that seems worth stealing, that’s for sure. But his source is good, and his source said that this place was getting hit tonight. So he keeps his watchful eyes vigilant and pretends to sip the champagne in his hand.

Until he finds your exhibit.

There’s a depth to your art that he’s come to be familiar with–something he sees often in work of high value. Anyone can make abstract art, it’s as simple as flicking paint at a canvas. But few can charge it as emotionally as you have. To convey feeling and passion and heart through abstraction is a separate art form all its own, and it’s one you’ve mastered.

He’s seen original Rothko’s, Van Gogh’s, Kandinsky’s; he’s held their frames in his own two hands. But nothing’s ever made his breath hitch in his throat quite the way yours does.

He stands in front of a canvas simply labeled “Waves In Motion” with your name printed neatly underneath, brow creased with a concentration that seems a little unnecessary given the subject matter of the painting. It’s all shades of blue and violet, swirling together in a way that seems partly sensuous, partly violent. It makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle, and he takes a step closer. That’s when he notices it: a single dot of red paint right in the middle, a focal point of all the swirling cobalts. So small that he wouldn’t notice it if he wasn’t close; so small it could almost be interpreted as a mistake.

But he knows without having to ask that it’s not an answer. He wonders who that dot represents: you, the artist? Most likely.

Without meaning to, he smiles. It’s been a long time, years really, since a piece of art provoked such thought.

“Hi.”

The voice Marcus hears next to him is soft, dulcet. He doesn’t turn to the noise quickly–from the tone in that word alone he senses a hesitance, as if you’re a fawn that’s lost its mother and you’re bound to run if he makes any sudden movements.

And, truth be told, part of him thinks he might not be able to look away even if he tried right now. There’s something so beautiful about this painting–and underneath, something so ominous. There’s an air about the work that says he might unlock the secrets of the universe if he just keeps looking.

“Hi there.” He keeps his eyes trained on “Waves In Motion” as he responds–playing the game. He’s here to brush shoulders, after all; to be the right amount of forgettable yet memorable.

“This is my best, I think,” you murmur while taking a step closer. “It took the least time of all of them, surprisingly. But… I think when you know exactly what you’re trying to convey, it just comes to you easily.”

“These are yours?” There’s admiration in his eyes and an air of something akin to disbelief in his voice as he takes in the group of canvases proudly displayed on the plain white gallery walls.

And then he turns and lets himself take you in. More specifically the curling strand of hair that falls out of your updo to frame your face, the deeply plunging neckline of your dress, the way your calf muscles work even standing still in your high-heeled shoes. You’re a work of art in your own right; the most beautiful piece he’s seen in a long time.

“Yeah.” You duck your head–shyly, modestly–and he’s hooked. There’s one thing in this building that deserves awe and reverence more than your painting, and it’s you. “You know, you’re only the second person who’s come over tonight.”

“No way. They’re all just working their way back here,” he whispers before he can calculate a more articulate response.

But it works in his favor–your giggle is gorgeous, if a sound can be described that way. Sweet and syrupy, it seeps over him as if he’s standing under a cracked honeycomb. He hasn’t actually taken a drink of his champagne, and yet he can feel his nervous system tingling. You’re just that intoxicating.

“The gallery closes in half an hour,” you tell him–a little wistfully at that. “In my defense, I don’t have any family or friends in the area. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to show, not with so many other talented artists here.”

It seems so indignantly unfair to Marcus. That you’re shoved into the far back corner of the gallery, that people haven’t come in droves from all over the country to see your work.

“Where are you from?” He asks as his mind finally starts to clear from the haze it’s been in the past few minutes. With only half an hour left on the job, he allows himself a small sip of the drink that he’s been cradling all night.

“New York. This is actually only my second exhibition,” you explain, and you almost sound shy about it; as if you need to be embarrassed about being young and fresh-faced in the art industry, as if you aren’t the most talented artist Marcus has ever met in person.

He hums in response, eyes unconsciously dragging over you once more. “You came a long way for this.”

You smile so prettily up at him, and in that moment he sees something in your eyes. He can’t describe it–maybe it’s something akin to longing. Something incomplete, unexplored. It’s familiar; it’s the red dot from your painting. Solitary amidst the swirling, lost yet not hopeless.

And just like your painting, he finds himself wanting to get lost in your eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a gallery wants to host you,” you say after another sip of your drink. “Plus, I’ve never been to Texas before, and I needed a change of scenery.”

There’s something so charming, so boyishly intoxicating about the smile he graces you with. “How are you liking it so far?”

“It’s hotter than I’m used to,” you say with a chuckle that he echoes. “And I haven’t been able to do any exploring yet, my flight only got in a couple hours before I had to be here.”

“That’s a shame,” he hums in a tone that reveals deeper meaning. “How long are you here for? Do you have any plans?”

“A week,” you murmur. Subconsciously he leans in closer, on the edge of his proverbial seat. To seal the deal, you lean in too. “And not a damned one.”

There’s no air between you and Marcus. You exist in a vacuum for this moment–unable to breathe, choking on anticipation. He’s so close, yet way too far away. You want to be consumed by him–for him to be swirling blue; and you, a single speck of red in his midst.

The moment shatters with an audible sound–a deep, penetrating voice. “He’s still not here, huh? I don’t think your boyfriend’s coming. If he even exists.” There’s something strange in the raspy voice that drawls these words–something strange enough to immediately put Marcus on the alert.

You flinch at the sudden intrusion into your vacuum, but you recover quickly. You have to, because this intrusive stranger is standing way too close and has way too much alcohol on his breath.

And then something strange happens–you worm your arm around Marcus’s waist and press yourself firmly into his side.

“Actually, he’s right here,” you say. There’s a quality to your voice that wasn’t there before when you were just talking to Marcus–it’s firm, clipped, bordering on hostile. “He just got held up at work. Isn’t that right, babe?”

Thankfully, Marcus has always been one to think quickly on his feet. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, unconsciously moving an inch or two in front of you. Protecting without really meaning to. “I’m sorry, honey. I got here as soon as I could.”

The man–burly and balding, probably a good twenty years older than you–scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

“Is there a problem here?” Marcus draws up to his full height–towering a good few inches over this strange intruder.

Whoever this guy is, he’s not completely stupid. He senses this isn’t going to be a fight he’ll win, so he backs off. “Not at all, man. Just didn’t want little miss standing here all alone the whole night.”

“Thanks,” you say with bitter reprehension. You wind even closer to Marcus–closer than this sudden farce demands. “But we’re fine now.”

He nods once–curt and unhappy, but seemingly satisfied that he’s not going to get what he wants. “Have a good night, ma’am. Sir.”

Marcus takes a mental inventory of the man as he storms off, committing his physical description and his outfit to memory. He doesn’t look like a casual art viewer, and he doesn’t look like a collector. He’s exactly the type that Marcus came here to look out for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as you step out of Marcus’s personal space. “He’s been hovering all night, asking me who I’m going home with and shit.”

“That’s the other guy who came over to talk to you?” It brings a deep frown to his face, a crease forming between his brows. It certainly raises a red flag–if the guy has any eye for value, of course he would be drawn to your exhibit. And if he has an eye for value, he could be the guy Marcus came for.

“Yeah.” You rub the back of your neck awkwardly and avert your gaze, as if you should be embarrassed for drawing that guy’s attention. “It’s not been the greatest night.”

Marcus hates that. He hates that you came all this way to be let down, that this is only your second exhibition and you’ve had such a bad experience with it. More than anything, he hates that he can still see the spark in your eyes when you look up at him, and he can tell that it’s dimmed.

“Gimme just a minute.”

He doesn’t mean to be so abrupt, but he wants to make it quick. He hustles to the single-stall men’s room and tugs the radio out of his inside jacket pocket to call in the man’s description. Then he turns it off, tucks it back into its concealed pocket, and goes over to the sink.

He thought he looked perfect for the part he had to play when he left his house to come here. Now, he’s too disheveled. He wets his fingertips and tries to tame the mess on top of his head; he re-buttons his shirt and tightens his tie. He looks flustered, and he’s not even surprised by it. You’ve got his heart pounding with anticipation in a way he doesn’t think it ever has before.

Butterflies fluttering on in his stomach, he emerges from the restroom to resume his position by your side.

Except you’re not by your exhibit anymore, and the crowd has thinned considerably. He checks his watch and realizes there’s only five minutes before the gallery closes for the night. Maybe you’ve decided to cut your losses and leave early.

He hates the way his gut twists with disappointment, but then he reminds himself that he didn’t come here for you. He’s working, and he needs to stay vigilant. No distractions, no complications.

“You’re still here.”

There’s a wave of relief that washes over him as he hears your voice, and this time he’s not too timid to turn towards you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Thought I might’ve scared you off.” There’s a fresh cup of champagne in your hand and a hint of vulnerability in your voice, and it makes his heart pick up pace just the slightest bit. You duck your head–that shy, modest gesture again. “I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just done that without permission.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells you, more earnestly than he’s ever said anything in his life. “I didn’t mind at all, I swear. Just had to hit the head.”

You look so deeply into his eyes he almost wonders if you aren’t looking through him. But whatever you find, you must like it.

He clears his throat and tries to not show how thoroughly unraveled he is by your gaze. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcus.” You pause for a moment, and he can tell that there’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue–so he remains silent in hopes of drawing it out.

“Do you have someone to go home to?”

There it is–the invitation he was both dreading and hoping for. He should really lie. He’s here on a job, after all–he’s supposed to avoid complications, and some instinct tells him you’re going to be much more than a simple distraction. But he’s told you the truth so far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“No. No, I don’t.”

This is everything that Marcus has never even considered doing. It’s late, it’s dark, it’s a little chilly for spring in Austin. The alley is grimey and drafty–your hair blows in the breeze even as you kneel down before him.

All he can do is stand there, dumbstruck with his back up against the rough brick wall, and stare down at you.

He’s still breathless from the way you’ve been kissing him–all heat and passion, fire and brimstone. Your hands ran through his hair and undid the effort he put in while in the bathroom, and his hands clutched your waist in a futile attempt to ground himself. Your lips are so soft; he thinks he could kiss you forever and never get tired of it. He was certainly planning on finding out, until you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You… you don’t have to–”

But the way you look up at him through your lashes makes his throat close up around whatever protest he was going to try.

“I want to,” you assure him–more of a purr than a spoken statement.

And this really isn’t the place. He shouldn’t let you do this here. But he’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t make him harden in his boring gray work slacks.

Marcus has never been about excitement. He’s always strayed to the comfortable and familiar–he falls into the sweet, caring companion role with grace and ease.

And tonight doesn’t have to be that different. If you’re going to suck his dick in a dark, dingey alley, he’ll let you. But he’s going to lay his jacket down on the ground so you don’t scrape up your knees first.

You keen at the thoughtful gesture and grace him with a grateful smile as your adept fingers work his belt open. He’s straining against the seam of his pants now, begging for the attention that your gaze promises him.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think you’re every bit as eager to get his trousers and boxers down as he is.

And Lord help him, he delights in the gasp you emit when his cock springs free from its confines.

“Fuck, Marcus.” Your lips actually part as you freeze for a moment, just taking him in. He’s thick, maybe an inch longer than average, swollen head peeking through uncut skin as if begging for your waiting mouth. He curves to the left just a little bit, and you can almost see his pulse thrumming through the prominent vein that runs along the length of him.

“S’not that impressive,” he mumbles, and you know that he knows that he’s full of shit.

Your fingers almost don’t wrap all the way around him, and suddenly you’re second-guessing this back alley stint, too. You want him in bed. You want him deep inside you, kissing your face as he fucks you, hands all over your body, thrusts hard yet slow. You want it languid, you want it desperate, you want it any way he’ll give it to you. You don’t want to blow him and say goodbye.

He calculates your hesitation as something other than pure unadulterated lust, and he lifts your chin gently with his index and middle fingers.

“Hey, we don’t have to–”

Again, you cut him off–this time, by dragging your tongue from the seam of his balls all the way along his length to swirl messily around his tip. You taste every heady inch of him and then moan at the salty foreshadowing on your tongue when you catch a droplet of precum leaking from his slit.

Your hand springs into action with a long, slow stroke along his cock, and then you sink your mouth around him and he moans. Without caution or pretense, like you’re not in an alley that anyone could walk down at any moment. It’s a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be and his head thumps back against the brick wall hard enough to hurt, and even still he’s never felt so overwhelmed with pleasure before in his life.

Your nose meets the neat patch of hair at his base and your free hand comes up to his hip, effectively pinning him against the wall when he tries to buck greedily even further into your mouth.

No one’s ever taken him so relentlessly before. You’re insistent, pressing onward even as you gag on his length, and it makes his balls tighten in a way he’s never felt before. It’s like you’re hungry for him; like you’re doing this more for your own pleasure than for his.

Marcus Pike has been a giver his whole life. Tonight, with you, he finally decides to take.

He’d be embarrassed about how fast he comes if you weren’t so eager for it. You moan around him and push yourself as deep as you can, throat working around him desperately not to choke on the size of him. Before he can warn you he’s spilling into your mouth, maybe more than he’s ever come before, thick and salty but undeniably sweet too. You allow yourself a moment to savor him as he pulses in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head of him in a way that makes him shiver and whine.

He’s panting, nearly light-headed, when you finally pull off of him and press one last gentle kiss over his slit.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, because there’s nothing else to say.

You giggle, and he realizes with a strange wistfulness that he would do anything to keep this girl–a girl he’s just met, a girl who’s leaving to go back to her home on the other side of the country in just a week–smiling and laughing the way she is now.

“My hotel is only a couple blocks away,” you tell him as he helps you to your feet. “Would you like a nightcap?”

You pick up his jacket and dust the grime off it–it makes him chuckle. Everything about this encounter has flown in the face of what he’s used to.

He’s never felt so alive.

“I would love a nightcap.”

Your senses wake up slower than normal.

First it’s your eyes–they tune in on the bright mid-sunrise light streaming through the open balcony blinds on the far wall. It falls in slivers and shards over the rumpled white hotel-standard bedding–the second thing your senses tune into. Everything is so soft and light, but it’s a little cold too. Especially the other side of the bed; there’s no heat remaining there at all.

You push yourself up with a grunt and let the sheets fall away from your bare torso, tired eyes scanning around the room. You notice clothes scattered all over the floor while your ears wake up enough to hear water running in the bathroom, and you can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads over your face. He’s still here.

Marcus lets the too-hot water wash over him in scalding waves, muscles still a little sore after a long night tangled together with you.

He checked his phone first thing this morning, and the gallery was quiet all night. They think the suspect he radioed in was the guy they were looking for, but they weren’t able to apprehend him. The running theory is that he might’ve recognized Marcus and decided low-value art wasn’t worth the hassle, but one guess is as good as the next until they can bait and catch the guy.

It’s the weekend now, and Marcus is thanking his lucky stars. Not only does he have a successful mission to celebrate, but he has the most beautiful woman in the world to celebrate it with.

He emerges after a few minutes, wet hair messily scattered over his forehead and wide hips straining against a low-slung hotel towel. He’s a languid Saturday morning wet dream on two legs.

“G’morning,” he hums with a smile–he doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes dip down to hungrily take in your naked torso.

“Good morning, Marcus.”

He stalks towards you slowly, eyes darkening with each advancing step. It doesn’t take more than a second to realize he didn’t get his fill of your body last night, but you’re certainly not complaining.

He’s already starting to harden as he drops his towel and crawls over the foot of the bed, surging forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. If last night was desperation and passion, this morning is syrupy and sweet. He explores your mouth slowly, tongue sweeping between your lips and tracing every curve and ridge he can–almost like he’s trying to commit you to memory.

There are universes in the depths of his dark eyes. He may not say exactly what he’s thinking, but you can see it playing out in those baby browns of his. There’s something simmering underneath the surface–something more than just lust or desire.

Something dangerous.

You tug him closer and cup his face in your hands, enjoying the gentle scratch of morning stubble underneath your palms. He surges forward and presses you into the pillows as he settles himself comfortably between your spread legs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs through kisses scattered along the length of your jaw.

You know you probably look like you got run over by a bus–you toss and turn in your sleep, and it always leaves your hair a matted mess. And that’s not even mentioning the slight tremble in your thighs, left over from Marcus’s enthusiastic attention last night. But there’s so much sincerity in his voice; you don’t think he would waste his breath saying it if he didn’t mean it, and that fact alone makes your heart pound with desire.

There’s a syrupy slowness to the way he moves down your body, lips leaving behind heavy wet kisses as he works down your chest and over your stomach.

And it’s almost like he senses the protest working its way up your throat when you feel his hot breath on your thighs, because he looks up at you and there’s sternness in his gaze. You got your fill last night, and now it’s his turn.

“May I?” He looks up at you from the apex of your thighs with big, round puppy eyes that are impossible to refuse–so you nod eagerly and don’t even try.

If you were eager to have him in your mouth last night, he’s desperate.

There’s no hesitation, no build-up. It’s almost aggressive, the way he buries his face in your heat. He laps like a dog at a bowl, hips canting into the mattress involuntarily as your taste floods his mouth.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growls into your sopping cunt. “You taste incredible.”

You keen at the praise and card your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly at the damp, spiky strands when his tongue laves heavily over your sensitive clit.

Marcus’s greedy hands grip underneath your thighs and push them as far as you can comfortably spread them. You’re still so sensitive after at least three orgasms last night–you lost count after a point–and it serves to wind your nerves tighter than they’ve ever been wound before.

One hand slides to the junction of your thigh and his thumb comes to take over the pressure on your clit as his tongue plunges between your soaked folds. It’s even more overwhelming like this, and there’s not a thing in the world that you want to do more than let him have his fun. Especially when that hand and his tongue switch spots–his lips seal and suck around your clit while he presses two achingly thick fingers into your waiting entrance.

It actually makes your muscles tighten and your back rise off the bed as he curls his fingers just right to find that spot that makes you fall apart for him.

He can tell you’re getting close–he’s already so intune with the way your muscles twitch, the change of pitch in your moans. You whine and cry for him the tighter he winds the rubberband, and he’s eager to make it snap.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says over the overwhelming flutter of his fingers scissoring and curling inside you. “Let me have it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut so tightly as pleasure wracks through your body that you can see constellations. Large hands come to pin your thighs open as his tongue keeps working, lapping and gliding against your cunt with ease as a wave of arousal gushes from your entrance.

You’ve never been so wet in your life, and he’s just getting started.

He trails open-mouthed kisses up your body as you catch your breath–his slick-soaked lips coat your skin with your own arousal as he works his way up to allow you a taste of yourself.

The first wet lick of his tongue into your mouth makes you moan. It’s not the first time you’ve tasted your own slick–you’ve had a moment or two of curiosity–but it’s never been quite as enjoyable as it is on his tongue. It pairs so perfectly with the minty tang of toothpaste left on his breath and makes you hungry for more.

He moves fluidly under your direction as you push him onto his back and roll to straddle his lap all in one graceful movement. It’s perfect like this–he doesn’t have to support his weight so he can run his big meaty hands all over every inch of you, and you can kiss him as deep as you want while you grind down on his aching length.

“Shit, baby,” he pants against your lips. Those aforementioned beefy palms grasp hard at your asscheeks to guide your hips, pulling you into a slow, long grind that bumps the head of his cock against your clit deliciously.

Your pulse thrums with desperation until you’re seeing white–no more teasing, no more preamble. You take his girth in your hand and give him a firm stroke; if you had a little more presence of mind, you might be embarrassed at how wet his dick is simply from grinding against you for a few seconds.

“Go ahead, baby, take it when you’re ready.”

He gasps at the first press of his cockhead against your entrance, head flopping back against the pillows as his hands squeeze your asscheeks with bruising force.

“Shit, you’re tight,” he murmurs, throat working around a thick gulp. “You can take it baby, I know you can. Did so good for me last night.”

You think you would honestly do anything he asks of you so long as he just keeps talking like this.

It takes a moment for you to work your way down his length–he’s so mouth-wateringly thick and the curve of his cock hits the most delicious spot inside you that you didn’t even know existed.

“Atta girl,” he praises breathlessly as your hips settle flush against his. “Just sit there for a minute. So pretty on my dick.”

God, he makes your entire body flush with heat. He turns your blood to molten lava with his words, lighting every inch of skin on fire. You’ve never felt a sensation like this–so overwhelming yet so intoxicating.

You start with slow movements as his hands trace up and down your sides sweetly–it’s more like you’re grinding on him than anything else. His thumbs rub abstract little patterns into your skin as his hands work up to your tits; when he finally takes them in the palms of his hands and squeezes all pretense of soft, sweet morning-after sex flies out the window.

You drop down hard on his cock and it nearly punches the wind out of him.

“Yes!” He growls darkly. His eyes flash with something dangerous–it’s the only warning you get before his hand slaps the meat of your ass and grabs a greedy handful. “Just like that baby, use my fuckin’ dick.”

And maybe, if he was someone else, you wouldn’t be nearly as eager to follow instructions. But with Marcus, you’re nothing if not obedient.

Last night was exploration and discovery–hours into the early morning spent learning each other’s bodies, finding what makes the other squirm and whine and beg. This morning is in perfect juxtaposition to that sweet, soft, probing sex–you know what drives each other crazy now, and you each use it to your advantage. Aggressively.

He surges up to suck a pert nipple into his mouth as you set a hard pace on him, long fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks. He lands another sharp smack to your ass when your thighs start to shake–a reward for using his cock exactly how he asked.

”M-Marcus—”

”I know, sweetheart,” he purrs through a guttural moan. He cants his hips up to meet your thrusts at just the right moment—he hits something so devastatingly pleasurable that your vision prickles white around the edges. “I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? It’s okay, you can let go. Come for me.”

There’s a condescending note to his voice that only makes you squeeze harder around his cock, and within seconds you’re hurtling uncontrollably into ecstasy.

He fucks you through the telltale fluttering of your cunt even when your hips stop moving; strong hands hold you in place and work you through the ebbing waves of pleasure that wrack through your entire body.

”M’so close, honey,” he grunts with a particularly sharp thrust upward. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw in his hand, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Where do you want me?”

”I-inside,” you gasp. “Come inside me, Marcus.”

He fills you as soon as he has your instruction—hard thrusts punctuated by breathy moans as he pumps you full of his release.

There’s a long, silent moment where Marcus pulls your bare chest tightly against his own and you pant into the crook of his neck while trying desperately to even-out your breathing. His fingertips dance across your skin-feather-light, soothing.

The sun is higher in the sky now and meets your eyes with blinding rays through the balcony shutters when they finally open again.

”That was amazing, honey,” he murmurs into the crown of your head. He’s caught his own breath now, but he doesn’t make any attempt to let you go. “How’re you so perfect?”

”M’not perfect,” you mumble into his shoulder; but even to your own ears, it sounds half-hearted. The truth is, he’s so earnestly honest that you believe him.

He hums his dissent with a kiss pressed to your hairline. ”You are to me.”

And you so desperately want to believe him that you don’t even try to argue.

You bask in this warm, lovely afterglow for a few moments longer before Marcus gently taps your hip. ”Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you breakfast.”

You pull off of his softened cock with a whine and try not to get worked up all over again at the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. ”Th-there’s a free continental breakfast downstairs.”

”Oh, then I’ll definitely pick up the tab,” he jokes with a smirk—all you want to do is kiss his goofy, stupidly handsome face.

He pulls you into the bathroom and starts the water running to fill the tub—he’s never really been a bath guy, but your legs are a little too shaky to endure a shower. He’s so attentive—from running a damp cloth between your legs to helping lower you into the water. He doesn’t complain in the slightest when you catch his hand and ask him to join you; he just shuffles you forward and slides in behind you like it’s a casual act that he performs with every hookup.

It’s intimate. That’s really the only way to describe it. You sit between his spread legs, back to his chest, head rested back against his shoulder while his fingers ghost idle paths over your skin. You don’t talk; you don’t really need to. Somehow, you fit together like souls who have known each other for years. Like all you’ve been missing is each other.

You drift off in his arms as he traces soap over all the curves and ridge of your body, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.

It breaks his heart a little bit to wake you—the fact that you’re so comfortable with him, that you trust him with such vulnerability, makes his head spin a little bit. But the water’s turning cold, and the last thing he wants is for you to come down sick or something.

He rouses you with gentle, feathery kisses scattered over your rosy-scented shoulders and neck.

”Mmm… what time is it?” You grumble, pressing your sleep-addled face further into the crook of his neck.

”Just after noon,” he whispers into your hair after glancing up at the clock on the wall.

He can feel the way your mouth shifts into a pout. “Shit. We missed breakfast.”

The adorable downward tilt of your frown as you lift your dad to look at him makes his heart flutter. “Let’s go out, then. The first farmer’s market of the season is going on downtown. I’m sure we can find something good for brunch.”

”Kinda sounds like you’re asking me on a date,” you hum with a slight smirk dancing at your lips.

”Maybe I am.” His tone is light, his meaning clear—he knows this goes beyond a one-night stand, and there’s no harm done if you’re not wanting to cross this boundary. He’d understand not wanting to get too serious about someone who lives thousands of miles away from your home, of course. He’d never blame you.

You give him your best appraising look, staring deep into those constellation-filled brown eyes. ”You’re not sick of me yet?”

”I have a feeling I couldn’t get sick of you if I tried.” There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone, in his eyes. He genuinely wants to spend time with you, even if there’s nowhere for this to really go.

You hum thoughtfully. “I do love farmer’s markets.”

You’re with Marcus more often than not over the course of the next week.

He takes you sightseeing to some of his favorite spots around Austin, brings you to his favorite restaurants, shows you his favorite movies. But he multitasks—while teaching you about himself, he learns as much as he can about you and picks activities he knows you’ll love, too.

He’s a pragmatist; he knows your time together is short, and he wants to make himself unforgettable. If he never sees you again, he wants you to think about him every once in a while and look back on this time fondly.

You spend your days while Marcus is at work painting or drawing or lingering around the gallery, and you fall asleep in his arms every night. With shades of gray moonlight and candlelight cast over your hotel room, it almost feels like this could go on forever.

He tells you to wear something nice before he picks you up on the last night–he wants to celebrate in style, which starts with reservations at an up-scale restaurant.

He’s so achingly handsome. He’s in a matching gray suit over a white button-up, top two buttons undone and no tie to be seen. His face bears the slightest five o’clock shadow and your eyes gravitate to the curve of his lips–the instant smile that takes over his face when those gorgeous brown eyes of his land on you.

If you never see him again, this is exactly how you want to remember him.

“Wow,” he whispers reverently. “You look amazing.”

It’s not the most impressive dress you own, but he looks at you like you’re wearing something worth millions–like you’re worth millions.

You lean up and kiss him, and everything feels right. His hands rest on your waist and it’s so easy to pretend that you won’t be on the other side of the country twenty-four hours from now.

The restaurant is beautiful. Dimly lit and romantic, tables spaced enough to give you some privacy. He takes your hand on top of the table and holds it the entire meal. The conversation is light and airy–you’re both stubbornly dancing around what really needs to be said.

Dessert is cleared and the wine bottle is empty by the time Marcus finally works up the courage to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

“I don’t want you to go.”

You knew this would be coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. You avert your gaze, instead focusing on his large hand wrapped around yours and the windshield wiper motion of his thumb tracing back and forth over your palm. No one’s touch has ever sent such electric tingles through your nervous system the way his does.

You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all.

“Look, I…” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine a little bit, hand leaving yours to gently cup your chin. He forces you to look him in the eyes as he breaks your heart. “I think this could really be something, if we gave it a shot.”

You haven’t lied to him yet, and you don’t plan to start now. “I… I think it could, too. If I didn’t have to go back.”

“Don’t go back then.” There’s a firmness to his voice, but it couldn’t be any more obvious that he’s begging if he actually got down on his knees. “Stay here with me. We’ll figure this out. Just… don’t go.”

And here–with his earnest eyes on yours and his gentle, loving touch on your skin–it’s easy to pretend that it’s that simple.

He takes you back to your hotel room and sheds you easily out of your dress. As cliche as it sounds, it’s not just sex this time. Things that it’s too early to say are buried deep within every kiss, every thrust. He hooks your legs over his shoulders and looks deeply into your eyes while he fills you and you’ve never felt so overwhelmingly connected.

The thud of his heartbeat is insistent in your ear as you come down from your high–so calming, so heartbreaking. You lay on his chest while his breathing evens out and soak up these last few moments of bliss. And then, once you’re sure he’s sound asleep, you carefully worm out of his grip. There’s one more thing you have to do before you go back to New York.

Loud, insistent ringing pulls Marcus from the depths of sleep. He tries to ignore it and go back to sleep, but now that his senses are alert, the sound in combination with bright Saturday morning sunlight won’t allow him the luxury. He presses his face deeper into the pillow that he’s somehow wound himself around in his sleep, but that damned ringing won’t stop.

He sits up slowly and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes–and that’s when he notices the empty sheets next to him. Your side of the bed is long cold, and he knows. Before he even sees the note on the dresser and your room key next to it, he knows you’re gone.

He finds his trousers discarded halfway between the bed and the door and pulls his blaring phone out of the pocket.

“The gallery got hit sometime early this morning. They took everything. Every goddamn piece. You need to get here now.”

His body moves on autopilot as he pulls yesterday’s clothes back on, fingers numb to all sensation as they work to button his shirt. This can’t be happening. It can’t be you.

He notices the note on the dresser as he’s threading his belt through the loops of his trousers, and his gut twists with a sickening sense of foreboding.

I really did fall for you, Marcus. But nothing good starts in a getaway car.

He’s not sure if you knew who he was the whole time and this whole thing was calculated, or if you just got lucky. He doesn’t want to believe you’re that cunning and cruel. He wants to believe that this is just a misunderstanding, that you’re out for ice or something and you’ll walk back through the door at any moment.

But you don’t.

The note is enough of a confession for him. He’ll have the power of the FBI on his side to find you–and he will find you. What he’ll do when he does, he’s not sure. He guesses he’ll know when he sees you.

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pedroshotwifey · 3 months

Text

One Condition

This is actually a requested fic from the lovely @survivingandenduring! You can view the request here if you'd like!

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect)

Word count: 4.9k

Tags/warnings: unprotected piv sex, sex pollen trope, dubcon, unprotected anal sex, double penetration, oral sex, cum eating, so much cum like its kinda scary, Ezra being a nasty little freak, anal fingering, pain kink, big fat juicy plot twist, this is absolutely nasty shit, stuff I'm probably forgetting, I'm actually not sorry at all for this

Summary: You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition.

A/N: Uhhh. don't look at me 🫣

*****

“Um, Marcus?”

You look at your partner, who has the same worried expression on his face as you.

“Yup.”

It’s not a question. You’re both thinking the same thing; you’re in the wrong place.

It looks similar to the planet you were supposed to be landing on, but most of the scenery here is a lush green instead of the blue hues you’d been expecting. It’d looked the exact same from above the atmosphere, but there is a clear difference now that you’re on the surface.

Marcus mutters a curse under his breath but begins the landing sequence anyway. That’s probably for the best; that way the two of you can figure out where you really were, and then where you actually need to be going.

Dust comes up around your shuttle as you touch ground, the greenery around you rustling a bit as the jets power down. You get up from your seat when you feel the craft settle enough for the floor to be stable.

Marcus follows, shutting everything down and then unbuckling himself from the pilot’s chair. You’re already on the other side of the small contraption, looking through the maps you have stored in the tiny compartment of the far wall. He comes up next to you and pulls up the planet encyclopedias, trying to find a description that matches the world you’ve landed in.

You spend the next few minutes flipping through various books and maps until Marcus comes across a planet that matches. He hands the book over and points at the section.

“Here,” he points. “It looks like we're on a sister planet to the one we’re supposed to be on.”

You hum in agreement, reading the small passage provided next to the picture.

“Alright, well, let’s get her powered back up.”

Your partner sighs, running a hand over his face. You furrow your brows. His face has paled a bit and he seems a bit reluctant to follow your request.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, actually. We’re out of fuel,” he admits, trying and failing miserably to maintain eye contact.

You gape at him.

“Marcus! You were supposed to fill her up before we fucking left! It says here that there’s no civilization!”

He nods along as you scold him, knowing it’s well deserved.

“Yeah, I know. I forgot until we were halfway here, but I knew it would take just enough to get us on planet, and we could get more from there. It’s not like I knew that we would be landing on the wrong planet” He spews it out, not defensive exactly, but regretful.

You groan and walk back to the front of the ship, checking the fuel gauge.

“We’re running on fumes right now, I don’t know if it’s going to be enough to get us to the neighboring planet.”

You look at him, trying to keep your anger from showing up because you know that it was genuinely an accident, and Marcus isn’t usually one to mess up like this. But of course when he does, you get stranded on an unknown planet.

Rubbing your eyes, you walk in a circle around the floor, trying to think of a plan. You can feel Marcus’s guilty eyes following you until you come to a stop.

“Okay,” you start. “The book said that this planet is typically only used for mining aurelac, right?”

Marcus nods slowly, obviously confused as to where you’re going with this.

“Well then there should be at least a few miners on planet in that case, right?”

He nods again, furrowing his brows in thought.

“So we should go out and try to find someone to borrow some fuel from?” he asks.

“Yes. Either that or see if there’s someone who can hitch us a ride.”

He sighs and puts his hands on his hips, his gaze downcast to the floor as he thinks through the options.

“Yeah, seems like our best bet,” he agrees after a minute.

Within a few minutes, you both pack small bags and suit up to withstand the harsh environment of the planet. According to the book, the air is extremely thin and can sometimes hold toxic chemicals depending on other factors. You follow Marcus out of the craft and watch as he makes sure everything’s sealed correctly, before you both start walking into the woods.

“Do you know where you’re going?” you ask after you’ve been walking for a while.”

Marcus looks at you, his expression still holding hints of guilt.

“Not exactly. I think most of the mines are located in the forest though, so we’ll just have to keep walking and hope we come across—”

“Shit, Marcus!”

You yell for him as he stumbles across a root and tumbles down into a pit. It’s not super deep, but just enough so that he could have seriously hurt himself with that fall. You carefully slide down the side of it to join him.

“Are you okay?”

He looks up at you from where he’s planted on his back and groans a bit. He opens his mouth to reply and that’s when you see that his mask is on the ground next to him, crushed into several pieces.

“Shit,” he croaks, already feeling the effects of the thin air.

You crouch down beside him, feeling him up for any injuries.

“Does anything hurt?”

“Just my head. It’s fucking pounding.”

You sigh. “Probably from lack of airflow.”

“C’mon,” you grunt, threading your arms under his. “Let’s get you back and hope that you don’t die.”

He glares at you but allows you to help him into a sitting position.

“Well, isn’t this unfortunate? Two little birds trapped in a cage.”

You both jolt at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. You peer up to the top of the pit and find a man standing near the ledge, a blaster aimed directly at your head. He wears a shabby, brown suit with a bulbous helmet that would be almost funny looking if not for the imminent threat he poses. You slowly raise your hands and start to stand back up, a rush of fear creeping up your spine.

“We’re not armed,” you start. “My friend’s mask just broke; we need help.” You try not to sound too panicked as you explain your situation to the stranger, praying to whoever may be listening that he’s not planning to shoot both of you.

“Don’t worry gem, I don’t want to kill you. I simply would like to assure myself that neither of you had plans of my own execution.”

You furrow your brows at his choice of wording, his strange drawl only adding to your confusion.

“I, uh. No.” What else can you really say to that?

You glance down at Marcus and see the same befuddled expression on his face.

“I will warn you that your…friend”—he cocks a brow at you as he says it—”has chosen a rather unfortunate time to lose his filtration system. Assuming, of course, you haven’t already discovered the effects of the tainted oxygen.”

You shake your head as your mouth goes dry.

“Is—is he going to be okay?”

The stranger pauses for a moment as if in thought. He cocks his head and then looks back at you.

“He should be as long as he receives the assistance he should require.”

“What do you mean by that?” This comes from Marcus.

The stranger frowns and lowers his gun, which he seems to have just remembered he was still holding up.

“Are you not familiar with this planet’s cycles?”

You both shake your heads.

The man sighs and kneels on the ledge extending a hand. You stare at it, neither of you making a move toward him.

“Do you want to stay in this pit? I think it would be rather unsanitary to do so under your current circumstance.”

You flash another glance at Marcus, who nods slightly toward you, encouraging you to take the other man’s hand. You step forward and place your palm in his, allowing him to pull you up, and then you kneel to help him hoist Marcus up as well.

“I’m Ezra,” the man says once the three of you are standing. You introduce the two of you as well, figuring at this point that the stranger has to be at least mostly harmless.

“Alright, well tell me, little bird; are you and Marcus of the romantic type?”

You just stare at him, unsure of how to answer that, nor of why he would feel the need to ask in the first place. You can feel Marcus’s eyes on you as your cheeks begin to burn.

“I–uh…”

You let your eyes meet your partner’s, a silent conversation transpiring. You’ve engaged in some less than appropriate activities throughout your travels, but it’s always been strictly for stress release or simply a product of boredom. The last few months, it’s been more of an unspoken thing.

The two of you care for each other and behave as most couples would, but you’ve never actually given each other the labels. You definitely never thought that the deciding conversation would be in the presence of a strange man who seems to be about to deliver some bad news. You’re about to answer when Marcus gives you a short nod, lifting the burden off of your shoulders.

“Yeah, we are.”

The man nods, though he’s clearly amused. You’re sure he can see what just happened and must have used context clues to figure the rest out out.

“That’s fortunate for you. What’s circulating in the air currently is what could be described as an aphrodisiac. I’m sure you’re familiar with such?”

You and Marcus exchange yet another glance.

“Yes, we’ve heard of them,” you say.

“Do you have a craft nearby?” Ezra asks, peering behind you as if he could spot one he missed before.

You hesitate before answering. Even if he’s seemed to be helpful so far, can you really be sure it isn’t a trap?

“We have a shuttle,” you decide on just to be on the safe side. “We’re out of fuel though. That’s why we're out here in the first place,” you add just in case the man has some extra laying around for some miraculous reason.

Just then, you near a heavy thud and a groan. You spin on your heel to find Marcus keeled over, his hands over his groin and his exposed skin covered in a layer of sweat more intense than what’s normal for this climate. You’re on your knees beside him within a second, your hands running over him until he flinches away as if you’d burned him.

“Marcus! What’s happening?” You aim your question at Ezra, who’s still standing above the two of you with an almost pitying expression.

“The effects are getting to him, little dove. I’m afraid you’re going to need to help him in a timely manner.”

You think for a moment, knowing getting your partner all the way back to your shuttle is going to be a difficult task in the state that he’s in.

“I have a camp not too far from our current location, I’m willing to offer up the space on one condition. And before you protest, we both know it’s not safe to engage in life saving activities out here in the open.”

You stiffen at this. Of course there’s a catch; it’s not common to receive help from a random stranger without them expecting anything in return. You glance down to make sure his gun is still in its holster before narrowing your eyes at his face, not liking the way his smile has turned a bit wolfish.

“What do you want? We don’t have any coin.”

“Oh, no, gem. I don’t want your profits. I simply desire to join you and your handsome partner. It’s been a long time since I had something other than my own fist to keep me company.”

“What?” you bark, slightly humiliated that he would suggest something like that, regardless of how handsome he may be. “No, I’m sleeping with a stranger in exchange for shelter!”

“Now don’t get feisty, dove. I didn’t say it had to be you,” he says, watching Marcus with a newfound hunger. “Though it would probably be fortunate for your friend here that it was, assuming he is of the hetero kind.”

“Don’t,” Marcus croaks, looking up at you the best he’s able to.

You’re torn, knowing that Marcus needs help quick, but not wanting to give either of you up to this man. When it comes down to it though, you’re always going to choose what’s best for your partner. You look up at the man with disdain, knowing that you’re not going to have much of a choice here.

“Fine. But not him.”

Ezra’s smile broadens.

“Very well, gem. Right this way.”

He turns around and waits for you to get a near-delirious Marcus about halfway up so he’s propped by one of your shoulders. Noticing your struggle, Ezra comes to his other side and mirrors your position, one hand supporting around his waist.

As you walk, Marcus’s temperature keeps rising and his groans get worse. Fortunately, the man wasn’t lying when he said he had a camp nearby; you only have to walk for about a minute before coming across it.

He opens up the flap as you get closer, taking the zipper all the way down and helping you ease Marcus in. As you lay him down, you can see the bulge in his flight suit; almost twice what is normal. You hear Ezra zip the opening back up and then step in behind you.

“F-fuck, I’m sorry, I can’t–”

Marcus cuts himself off as he shakily pulls down the zipper on his suit, revealing his undershirt and boxers. His hand goes down the latter not a second later, a pornographic moan coming from him as his hand makes contact with his engorged cock. He starts stroking himself under the fabric, panting heavily, and it makes your mouth go dry despite the circumstances.

“Shit, I-it’s not enough,” he grits out, pumping furiously. There are tears in his eyes as he looks at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Better help him quick, little bird,” Ezra quips from behind you, already removing his attire as well. You comply, though for which man you’re not sure.

You strip quickly, the three of you tearing your own clothes off at the same time, each of you stark naked at the end. You feel so exposed between the two of them, especially with Ezra, who doesn’t help at all by giving a lewd whistle at the sight of your bare body.

You give him a look so nasty that you’re surprised he doesn’t drop dead. He raises his hands in defense.

“Woah, little bird, I meant it only as a praise.”

You ignore him and turn to Marcus, who’s just now shoving his boxers off. You gasp when his dick springs up, heavy, red, throbbing, and leaking an obscene amount of precum. It’s swollen to a point that looks almost painful.

You swallow your nerves and try your best to ignore Ezra as you instruct Marcus to lay down on the cot. He tugs you with him, feral to get to you at this point. You fall over him and he immediately starts sucking and licking all the skin he can get to, his hips thrusting up into nothing.

You see Ezra move out of the corner of your eye, taking a seat in the single chair inside the small tent. You lift your head as much as you can to make sure he’s not going to try anything.

“Carry on, gem. I’m a patient man; I can wait my turn.”

If you’re being honest, he looks a little too smug.

Suddenly Marcus is flipping you over, shoving you down to the bed on your back, whispering something you can’t quite catch. He doesn’t wait another second before you feel his cock at your underprepared cunt, and your eyes barely have a chance to go wide before he’s forcing himself into you, groaning wildly as he tugs you down onto him.

It’s only then that you realize he had been whispering “sorry”.

You scream and your hands come up to reflexively try to get him off. There are tears as he keeps shoving himself in, stretching you to your limit. Through your blurry vision, you can see tears in his as well, more of shame than of pleasure by his sympathetic expression.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“N-no,” you squeak even as your hands claw at his back from the discomfort. “It’s okay. Don’t stop. Even if I beg you to.”

You close your eyes and try not to focus on the uncomfortable feeling between your legs as Marcus begins to unrelentingly slam his hip into yours. You hear a sound coming from beside you, and turn to see Ezra pumping himself through your blurry vision. It’s a sight that really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does.

You moan despite yourself as the pain coming from your sore cunt turns into pleasure. You’re getting wetter and wetter as the seconds tick by, the glide of your partner’s cock becoming easier and more toe-curling. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he starts to punch that spot deep inside you. You’re getting hot fast, sweat building up in every crease and crevice as your pussy seems to get more hungry for what Marcus is feeding it.

Each thrust sends you up the bed, but Marcus holds onto you so that you don’t go too far. He’s grunting like a feral animal, his body maneuvering every which way until he finds the position that provides him with the most momentum.

“Ohh that feels so fucking good, baby,” he hisses through his teeth. “Gods, you always take me so f-fucking well.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this before—with this level of vulgarity. You whimper, making eye contact with Ezra as Marcus nails something even more delicious within you. His gaze is heavy and on your face rather than on your body, which surprises you as much as it flatters you.

“Does she suck cock just as well?” Ezra’s deepened voice comes from the chair, his eyes still on you as he asks the question.

Marcus looks down at you, albeit with heavy lids, for your consent. You nod, already fucked out beyond thinking clearly.

“Better,” comes Marcus’s reply, his stare just as heavy as Ezra’s. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

You moan at the thought of being taken from both ends, one of the domineering men on each side. This is going much better than anticipated, both your mind and body opening to the stranger despite your earlier protest.

Ezra doesn’t have to be asked twice, already getting up to hover his thick cock over your face, slapping it gently against your lips. The cot is the perfect height for him to stick it into your mouth, though he waits.

“You want this, gem?”

You almost find it funny that he’s asking, considering he didn’t give you much of a choice earlier. You nod anyway, because you honestly do, your gaze is trained on it as your mouth waters. He threads one hand through your hair, pulling you into the right position, and then uses his tip to part your lips.

He moans as he sinks in, his eyes fluttering shut as you immediately wrap your tongue around him. You find yourself groaning at his salty taste, savoring the weight of him as you start to pull him in. Your cunt throbs as he and Marcus both moan out at the same time, Marcus doubling over while Ezra bottoms out.

Marcus brings one hand to your clit and begins rubbing up and down at a furious pace that would have made you scream if not for the other man’s cock in the way. Tears leak from your eyes as Ezra begins to pump in and out of you, his hips thrusting as he uses the hand in your hair to hold you where he wants.

“Oh you feel devine, little gem,” he moans, his eyes still closed and his lips parted as he picks up the pace. You can feel him hitting deep inside your throat, making you resist the urge to choke. It’s overwhelming but in the best way.

“Oh, fuck!” Marcus nearly shouts the curse as his hips stutter. “Come with me baby, come on,” he urges, moving his hand quicker.

Your back arches up at the feeling, though you’re still pinned by both men. Suddenly, everything flashes white, your hearing going dull as your entire body convulses with the power of your orgasm. You have just enough brain capacity to think that this has got to be the highest level of pleasure attainable.

It goes on forever, your pussy pulsing as you sob and moan around Ezra’s cock. You faintly hear Marcus’s own moans and feel his dick twitch and throb within you, coating your walls in his creamy white spend.

You don’t even realize you had closed your eyes until you open them again upon feeling your own drool dribbling down your cheeks to mix with your tears. Ezra coos down at you, wiping away the saliva though he doesn’t dare slow his pace.

“M-messy little bird,” he laughs.

You glance back down at Marcus the best you can just to realize that he’s still hard as a fucking rock. He’s still riding out his own high, rocking slowly to prolong it as much as possible. His eyes flick back up to yours after a moment, and then to Ezra’s who watches him intently as he continues to defile your throat.

The gurgling sounds coming from you should be downright disgusting, but they only add to the eroticness of what the three of you are doing right now. The tent seems to have filled with the thick scent and humidity of sex, making your head even more foggy than provided by your orgasm.

Ezra’s not far after the two of you, grunting heavily and pulling on your hair to a painful level. He pulls out and strokes himself over your face, letting his cum splatter across your features right after you close your eyes. His thumb comes to your lips, making you open your mouth as he moans aloud.

Some of his seed falls on your tongue, and you swallow it down as Ezra finishes the last few spurts. You open your eyes when you’re sure he’s done, panting and gasping despite your sore throat.

It’s at the same time that the two men pull away from you, and you’re extremely confused until you see that they’re maintaining eye contact, seeming to have had a silent conversation while you’d been distracted.

Suddenly, you’re being lifted by the both of them, your body being rearranged to their preference. You’re so fucking tired, but you do your best to comply with their actions. You’re being lifted onto Ezra’s lap when you finally understand their plan.

His cock is only half-hard after his orgasm, but he begins rutting himself against you regardless as Marcus disappears from your line of sight. You half-collapse on Ezra, moaning as your clit gets stimulated thanks to his thrusts.

“Second drawer, pretty boy,” he pants. You hear shuffling and then Marcus returning behind you before you get the chance to ask what he was doing. There’s a pop from behind you, and then a cold substance at your ass.

You yelp at the unexpected feeling, only to be shushed by Ezra.

“Hush now, gem. I’ve heard you have experience in this area.”

He smirks at you as your cheeks heat.

You moan suddenly as Marcus slips a finger past your tight ring of muscle, pumping a good few times before adding a second. He leans close and whispers praise into your ear, telling you how good you’re being for them, how well you’re taking it all.

He works you up to three fingers before he pulls his hand from you and helps lift you up, propping you up enough for Ezra to notch his tip at your thoroughly soaked cunt. You help the slow descent down his shaft, your lips parting and eyes pinching shut at the sensation.

Ezra chokes on a groan, squeezing both of your ass cheeks as you bottom out.

“Fuck, little birdy, your heavenly cunt should be reserved for those of immortal status.”

You don’t even have the energy to cringe at his wording, instead savoring the way he fills you so nicely, not as long as Marcus, but a good bit thicker. The coarse hairs above his cock rub against your oversensitive clit nicely, making you want to rut against him. Just then, you feel Marcus settle in behind you again, dragging you partially onto his lap so you’re over his cock.

“Ready, sweetheart?” He asks, clearly having regained some of his gentlemanly status after quelling his lust a bit. You whimper and nod at him, and he starts to push inside of you.

“Oh, Gods,” you moan, wrapping your arms around Ezra’s back and digging your nails in for stability. He hisses and increases his grip on your ass, keeping you spread for Marcus as his hips come flush against you.

You’re already so full it’s dizzying, so when the two men start to move, you think you may come on the spot. Ezra goes first, pulling out a bit and then sinking back in, which is when Marcus makes his move, repeating the other man’s actions. Your knees are planted on the cot, giving you the opportunity to move with them.

The three of you are panting, moaning messes, hot breaths fanning across each other’s skin as you nuzzle together. The pace starts out slow, but quickly picks up, increasing your combined noises. Both of the men start to grab at you, moving their hands and groping anything and everything they’re able to.

You can feel their cocks rubbing against your middle wall, creating an intoxicating feeling that you know you’ll miss when this is over. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, being so full you can feel them in your stomach.

Small whimpers begin to spill from your mouth, but are quickly caught by Ezra, who captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his spend from earlier mixed between your tongues. It’s difficult to keep it up with how much you’re being jostled, so he gives up after a moment and instead opts to lick his cum off of your sweaty cheek. You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel Marcus’s hand come up to grasp at your chin, tilting your face so that he’s able to do the same on the opposite side.

The two of you clean your face with their tongues as they thrust into you at a punishing pace, somehow hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. You let out a raspy groan, your hands scrambling over both of their bodies for purchase.

A heat is beginning to build once again in your abdomen, pleasure licking up your spine. It only takes a few more alternating thrusts before you’re coming around their cocks with a scream. You tighten around both of their throbbing cocks, getting them closer to their own ends.

Marcus comes first once again, still slightly affected by the drug from earlier. He bites onto your shoulder as he busts inside of you, slamming his hips up and locking in place, his hands coming up to squeeze your tits as his balls empty into your ass.

Ezra follows right after, seemingly liking Marcus’s idea of a gag, and biting into your other shoulder. You scream again at the pressure of both men’s teeth, your arms raising so you can grasp both of their hair, holding them close.

Your orgasm lingers for as long as theirs do, the three of you coming completely down at the same time. You stay in a sweaty heap for a long time, just trying to catch your breath and make sense of what’s real and what’s not.

You all fall apart after a few minutes, exhaustion officially taking over you. You can feel both of the men’s cum leaking from your holes as they pull out and help you lay comfortable on the cot. They get situated next to you, and you’re all out like lights within the next minute.

The next morning, Ezra’s waiting for the two of you with a portable can of fuel and an extra mask. Your departure is swift and unawkward, Ezra walking with the two of you back to your ship like you’ve known each other for years. It takes a bit longer than it should due to your body being practically fucking wrecked from last night, but both of the men help you get along.

When you reach your craft, you all say your goodbyes, knowing this will more than likely be the last time you’ll come across this strange man. To be frank, you’re still a bit confused about what exactly transpired last night, but you choose to ignore it. Your head is pounding with what feels like the worst hangover you’ve ever had, and you’re just eager to get off of this nightmare planet.

Ezra watches you fuel up your craft and then take off, smiling and honestly quite satisfied with himself. Neither of you even figured it out that he was the one who planted the trap and laced the dirt pit with the drug, nor that he may have let a bit more slip inside his tent.

***** I mean really, do we really expect anything less from Ezra?

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

Text

Undercover Problem

Summary: You volunteered to go on an undercover mission without really reading the mission report or acknowledging that there would be someone going with you. When you learn that you would have to pretend to be married to Marcus Pike on this mission you end up having a nervous breakdown. Because you're 34. And you have never been kissed.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem. reader (though it can be read as gn. reader)

Worcount: 2.8k

Rating: G

Warnings: made up facts about the FBI and undercover missions, anxiety attacks, food, fluff, humour as a coping mechanism, fluffffff

A/N: This goes out to all the late bloomers (and everyone else who just want to read a cheesy first kiss) If I missed anything that makes the reader gender neutral let me now. I tagged this as fem. reader because I always write with a female reader in mind.

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You walked through the FBI headquarters with, what you hoped looked like, a professional smile plastered to your lips, nodding at anyone who greeted you. Trying to appear not like you were fleeing to your office.

You could only hope nobody could see the anxiety attack that you were on the verge of having.

The door of your office was almost in front of you when you heard your name being called behind you by a familiar voice.

Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, before you changed your destination towards the women's bathroom. Somewhere where you wouldn’t have to tell him to leave you alone.

“I gotta use the restroom quickly. I’ll find you after,” you turned around briefly, catching Marcus Pike’s eyes for a fleeting moment before you practically ran down towards the restroom.

This was fine.

It would be totally fine.

You were fine.

Sitting on the toilet seat in the thankfully empty bathroom you massaged your temples, taking deep breaths. You had finally stopped shaking, your chest fully and slowly expanding as your lungs filled with much needed air.

It shouldn’t have taken you by surprise that the meeting you had just attended was about the mission your boss had approached you about earlier this week. For years you had worked on getting information on Claudio Monero, the highest ranking mob boss of the Monero Mafia clan in the States.

It was your first big case and you were proud of the progress you made not only in your division, but in working with many different crime divisions at the bureau.

Claudio Monero also was involved in art crimes, which was the reason you had been working closely with Agent Marcus Pike, Senior Agent of the FBI art crime division.

He was…. Honestly made straight out of a fairytale. He was funny, he was caring, he had your breakfast order down after three days of meeting for the first time and he was so fucking handsome in an almost annoying way. You sometimes asked yourself if he was real.

You caught female (and male) Agents secretly swooning over him more than once in the break room. And you couldn’t blame them.

You definitely had a crush on him, which also was your problem because… you had no fucking idea how to act on it. If you would act on it that was.

Because the… maybe sad or let's say unique/different/annoying fact was, that at the tender age of 34 you had never been on a date. Or been kissed. Or… well you get the idea.

And up until Marcus Pike strolled into your life with his smile and dimples and warm brown eyes, you never really thought about another man (or woman) like that. Like you wanted to know what made them laugh. How they spend their lazy Sunday mornings. How they tasted.

But ever since then it was like a switch was flipped in your brain and you had no idea what to do.

Was this how teenagers felt in puberty? Because your parents more than once told you that they felt like you skipped that part of growing up and went straight to adulthood at the tender age of thirteen.

Only one friend knew about your… lack of experience. You had tried to tell someone else once a long time ago, only to find out they had told everyone they knew about it, making you the weird one. Ever since then you lied about it to not feel like a weirdo. God you were a mess.

Which brought you to your current problem.

Claudio Monero would be in Washington next week for a charity gala and the FBI had managed to get two invitations. Two agents would pose as newly married couple Colin and Riley Rogers who had made a name for themselves selling forged art.

That should have been your first hint on who would go undercover with you.

You volunteered to go undercover when you heard about it the first time and your boss had a long talk with you, because this would be your first time going undercover.

She only did not mention everything that would be included on the mission.

You probably should have read the fine print when she gave you the mission report.

There you would have read that not only are the two undercover Agents freshly married and very in love, no. That married couple also was open about visiting swinger parties, something Claudio Monero was heavily involved in and known for in the community.

Which meant that the FBI Agents also would attend one of his swinger parties in two weeks that he had planned in DC. Of course without the intention of…. Partricipating in any kind of sexual relations (the FBI could not force their Agents to have sex for the sake of getting information, though they did not explicitly forbid it).

Had you known that, you probably hadn’t volunteered like the dumb idiot you were.

That was the first time today you almost had a nervous breakdown in the fully seated meeting room as your boss presented the plan for the undercover mission.

But then you learned that the other Agent who would go undercover with you, the man you would have to pretend to be newly wedded and very much in love with, would be Agent Marcus Pike.

You don’t remember much of the meeting after that, only his eyes on you, his stupid pretty face giving you an encouraging smile that slowly dropped the longer he looked at you, replaced by a frown and maybe even concern the longer you had been stuck in the meeting.

You bolted out of the door as soon as the meeting was finished.

This… was a fucking mess.

But you could do it. Right?

You knew that your co-workers were wondering about your private life after working together for almost ten years and never bringing anyone to any kind of Christmas party or get-together you had throughout the years.

More than once had Agent Murphy tried to ask you out, only for you to shut him down firmly last year. He spread some rumours about you being uptight and difficult after but you couldn’t care less.

Now you wondered if Marcus had heard those rumours too.

God, Marcus.

You’d have to get close to him. Closer than you ever had been with anyone really. Or you could… quit. Move to another country and live on a tiny Greece island and make feta cheese until you die.

There was a knock on the door and you jumped to your feet.

“Sorry. I’ll be right out,” you called, releasing a sigh.

“Are you okay?” It was Marcus. Of course it was.

You looked at the mirror over the sink before you grabbed a paper towel and cleaned your mascara off your cheeks. You didn’t even remember that you cried? Your eyes were red though, nothing you could do about it now.

“Can you let me in?” he asked, his voice now quieter.

You kept looking at yourself in the mirror. Calming yourself down. You had to get it over with. Even though living out your life out in this public restroom had a nice ring to it, you knew you couldn’t hide here forever. And Marcus was right outside.

Deep down you knew that you couldn’t ask for a better partner to go undercover than him. And you wouldn’t even have to play being in love with him.

Oh shit did you really just admit that to yourself?

He said your name and you walked over to the door unlocking it. He slowly opened it, looking at you with those warm brown eyes.

You took a deep breath.

“I need to talk to you,” you said.

“If it’s about the mission. I can request someone else if you’re not comfortable with me going with you. You worked long on this case, you should be the one seeing it through,” he said.

Your heart warmed. Anyone else would insist on being on this mission to take the credit, but not him. You shook our head.

“That’s… That’s not it. Can we… Can we go to my office? There’s something I have to tell you,” you said quietly.

“Of course,” he nodded, giving you a small smile.

“Good,” you nodded too.

“I’ll meet you there in five minutes?” he asked.

“Okay.”

His eyes lingered on you for another moment before he turned around and walked towards the elevator, probably to his office which was on another floor.

You, in the meantime, went to your office to google how expensive living on a greece island was.

He brought cake. And the good coffee from the first floor.

Of course he did.

He sat down across from you while you took a sip from your coffee.

Apparently living in Greece wasn’t as cheap as you thought, so you decided the best plan was to come clean to Marcus about your… lack of experience of… literally anything that had to do with love.

Easy peasy.

Even if he would judge you for it, you trusted him to keep your secret and not be mean about it.

“You’re quiet,” he observed.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, reaching for the cake. Lemon sponge. Another one of your favourites.

“About what?”

“About my reaction earlier,” you took a bite.

“Looked to me like you didn’t read the report before,” he teased and you rolled your eyes.

“Guilty.”

“I get it. It’s your first undercover mission and of course it’s the one where you get to pretend to be into some kinky shit with a complete stranger. It’s not perfect.”

“That’s not it. I just… Fuck. Okay,” you took a deep breath and Marcus raised his left eyebrow, eying you warily.

“I have never been in love. Ever. I don’t know if something’s wrong with me or if I’m just… oblivious if someone along the way has been interested in me in that way but…” you shook your head, "pretending to be freshly married and in love and in some kinky shit? Yeah I should have read the fucking report before,” you laughed nervously, taking another bigger bite of your cake to shut yourself up.

You avoided Marcus' eyes, not really wanting to see his reaction.

“If you save you have never been in love before, you mean…” you looked at him and he tilted his head.

“Yeah. I’ve never… kissed someone. Or… had sex. Which doesn’t mean I might not be into some kinky shit but I’ve never….”

He parted his lips in surprise while you shoved more of the cake into your mouth. You focused on chewing the cake while Marcus processed the news.

“I have to admit you caught me off guard there. But.... It actually makes some sense? I really thought…” he huffed to himself and you grew even more nervous. He shook his head to himself, a smile playing on the corner of his lips before he looked at you.

“You really thought what?” you asked. He seemed to be in thoughts before his face fell.

“The undercover mission…” he said and you nodded.

“Yeah. That’s why…. I have to ask a favour. A big one and you can say no and I will go to my boss tomorrow and request that she finds someone else but. I really want to see this fucker behind bars. And I want to be the one to do it. So… I need you to kiss me. Before we go undercover. There’s no way a newly married couple isn’t kissing or touching each other. And the swinger party… We won’t have sex. But we have to be comfortable with each other so… I am asking you to kiss me. Now,” you ended your rant.

Marcus blinked his eyes at you, his face blank.

“You want me to… kiss you?” he asked. You nodded.

“Now?”

You nodded again.

“Because of the mission?” he asked. You hesitated. “Because if it’s just because of that my answer is no.”

“Why?” you breathed.

A small smile came to his face, his eyes softening as he leaned closer.

“Because it’s your first kiss. Ever. And maybe that’s my romantic heart but your first kiss should be with someone who means something to you. Someone you want to kiss and not someone you just… rip the bandaid off with so you can go on a mission.”

You took a deep breath, your thoughts running through your head. You knew that you would have never asked him to kiss you if you hadn’t been assigned this mission with him. Because he was your co-worker. Because you didn’t know if he’d be interested. Because deep down you wanted your first kiss to be with someone who meant as much to you as you did to them and you were scared to be rejected.

“But if… You happen to have some other reason to ask me of all people, reasons that have not to do with the mission, then I want you to know that I have been thinking about kissing you for a while now,” he said, his eyes warm.

What he was trying to say took a couple of seconds before your lips parted in surprise.

“Really?” you gasped.

He nodded, a smile on his lips.

“Do you think I know the breakfast order of every one of my co-workers? Or how they drink their coffee? Or that they are the funniest and most beautiful person I might have ever met? I thought you weren’t interested,” he said.

“I… I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think…” you laughed nervously.

Marcus said your name, his hand reaching over your desk to put it on top of yours.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

You walked with him in comfortable silence, his hand holding yours as the sun set slowly.

After your confession he had asked you to meet him in the parking garage after you both finished for the day. You followed him with your car, as you drove through the busy streets, surprised when he parked at the Lincoln Memorial. He waited for you at the exit after you parked, taking your hand to lead you through the evening crowd at the sight.

Every time he looked at you from his side, you finally started to understand what people meant when they said that they felt like there were butterflies in their belly. You never experienced love, but if it was only half as what happened in your brain when you were looking at Marcus Pike you might finally know what all the fuss was about.

He walked a little away from the crowds, towards the cherry blossom trees that were in full bloom, until he stopped and came to stand in front of you. He had switched his blazer for a very soft looking dark blue coat and you wondered if it was as soft as it looked.

“Your first kiss isn’t something that should happen in a dark office between files and outdated stock art,” he said. Marcus took a step closer, and you sucked your bottom lip in as he let go of your hand. Slowly he rested his one hand on your waist, his other hand coming up, his fingers brushing over your cheek.

Your breathing got faster as you tipped your head up, giving him a shy smile which he mirrored.

“You brought me to the Lincoln Memorial at sunset to kiss me?” you whispered.

He shook his head.

“I brought you to the Lincoln Memorial at sunset because I want to give you the perfect first kiss,” he said and you smiled.

“Perfect huh?” you teased, feeling brave as you put one of your hands on his chest. And yeah, the coat was as soft as you had imagined.

“I mean it is your first. So it’s not like you would know if it wasn’t,” he shrugged with a teasing smile and you playfully slapped his chest before you both laughed.

But then he put his hand on your cheek, pulling you closer as he leaned in, a soft smile still on his lips.

“I like to make a fuss for the people that I lo…. Like,” he corrected himself at the last minute and your heart fluttered. You put your other arm around him, resting your hand on his neck, your fingers playing with his hair.

“In all my life I haven’t thought about kissing someone before I met you Marcus,” you said quietly and he released a shuddering breath.

“Then I’m gonna kiss you now,” he said and you nodded.

“On the lips,” he added and you chuckled before sighed as his lips pressed down on yours.

#my fic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #Marcus pike fanfiction

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