Flufftober: Work Husband Vibes And Dorky Nicknames with Marcus Pike
Requested by @prettylilhalforc
Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN!Reader
Tags: Pure self indulgent fluff, friends to lovers vibes, over-indulgence in caffeine and general sweetness
“Who’s the new guy?”
Your assistant looks up from the stack of files he’s delivering to your desk to see who you mean then sighs wistfully. “You mean Special Agent New Guy?” You arch an eyebrow and he laughs. “Sorry, that’s what people are calling him. Special Agent Marcus Pike, he just transferred in from Austin. Art crimes I think? And there’s some rumors flying around about him and a woman at his old office, she broke off an engagement or something.”
You feel a pang of sympathy as you watch the man in question make his way across the crowded floor. He’s handsome, moderately tall and broadly built, the scruff lining his strong jaw as alluring as the curve to his nose and his slightly too-long hair that you find yourself yearning to run your fingers through. He looks friendly enough but no one stops him to say good morning or ask how his day is going. He catches your gaze and gives you a warm smile and a polite nod before the elevator doors close and he disappears from sight.
You can’t help but feel for him, all alone in a new office with no one to stop the rumor mill churning.
You wonder if he could use a friend.
You shake the feeling off as quickly as it comes. You’re just getting over your own spectacularly disastrous office romance and the last thing he needs is for people to start gossiping about the two of you. “Let’s give him a break then, yeah? No one needs people speculating about their personal lives at work.”
Your assistant blushes and nods. “You got it, boss.” He scurries back to his own desk, leaving you alone with a massive stack of case files to work through. You eye them sidelong, sigh, and get to work.
Several days go past before you actually meet your new co-worker.
“Let me guess… chai latte?”
You look over the rim of your Starbucks cup to see Marcus Pike smiling pleasantly at you, his own to-go cup looking absurdly small in his large hand. Judging by the briefcase held loosely in his other hand and the coat draped over his arm, he’s on his way to his own desk. “Hm? Oh no it’s-“
He stops you with an upraised palm. “Wait don’t tell me, I’m usually really good at this. I’ve already gone through my whole department.” He cocks his head, considering you before trying again. “Caramel macchiato?”
You smile and shake your head, your fingers twisting the cup ever so slightly to keep your order label hidden from him. “Tell you what. You guess my order, I’ll pick up one of your Saturday shifts.” It’s the least you can do- a small overture of friendship unlikely to get even the nosiest gossip speculating. Just friendliness between colleagues, and certainly nothing to do with the way your heart flutters at the sight of one dimple creasing his cheek when he grins.
“Deal.” He offers you his outstretched hand and says “I’m Marcus, by the way.”
You shake his hand, appreciating his strong, relaxed grip and introduce yourself. He leaves you to your work with a promise to bring you your favorite drink the next day.
Marcus is as good as his word. He arrives at your desk shortly after you do the following morning and hands you a steaming paper cup.
This attempt, a chestnut praline latte, is a sugary blend of perfectly steamed milk, smooth espresso, and warm spices, all generously topped with whipped cream. Even the sweet, spiced aroma wafting up through the plastic lid is enough to make you close your eyes in anticipatory bliss, and you have to stifle a moan when the first sip passes your lips.
"Ohh, that's good."
Marcus’ shrewd gaze is fixed on yours, slipping only slightly when you lick foam delicately from your upper lip. He swallows at the same time you do. "But it’s not your favorite, is it?”
"Nope, sorry.” You reach for your wallet and try to pay him for the drink but he won’t take the money, telling you the drinks are on him until he gets it right. You bargain him down to accepting a coffee from you in exchange (“an americano with two sugars, please.”)
Over the next several days, Marcus brings you a series of different drinks, watching closely for signs he's on the right track. If a drink seems too sweet, he brings you something more bracing the next day. Too complicated? He goes simpler. You try to tell him he really doesn't need to but he's determined and secretly, you like the time it gives you with him.
It’s not long before the two of you are meeting up slightly earlier, giving you more time to enjoy the beverages and each other’s company. You commiserate over tough cases, compare notes after interminable meetings, and generally begin to lean on each other for workplace support. You’re in different departments, but your roles are fairly similar and it’s good to have a work friend who can relate to your situation.
You’d initially expected Marcus to tire of the game (really, you wouldn’t have blamed him) but now that he’s on the mission he’s determined to see it through to the end. Or at least, that’s what you assume, since he turns up at your desk every day without fail, always bearing a new beverage.
He tries endless combinations- an americano with cream, lattes with oat milk and skim, passion tea with lemonade and without, even a chai latte with pumpkin syrup, but he knows as soon as you taste them that he’s missed the mark. One day he even turns up holding a violently colored dragonfruit refresher.
"Ok I know this one isn't right but the young lady in front of me got one and I couldn't resist. Look how pink it is!"
Marcus hands the dragon drink over and you accept it with a laugh. "'Young lady?’ Really, Pike?"
He laughs and rubs his neck looking slightly embarrassed. “Ok, I swear I’m not actually as old as that made me sound.”
Still smiling, you hold the drink up to the light, awed and slightly intimidated by its vibrant hue. “Is pink even the right word for this?”
“Honestly? I work with art all day and even I have no idea,” Marcus shrugs.
As time goes by, your morning talks shift from work to more personal interests, like what you’re each reading or watching lately. He recommends some of his favorite classic detective movies, you share your love of British mystery novels, and both of you discover a shared, secret passion for Veronica Mars. The next day he brings you a hot chocolate loaded with marshmallows labelled “Veronica,” and from that day forward there are always different names on the cups: “Harriet Vane” is hot tea laced with lemon, “Miss Marple” a vanilla latte with a surprising dash of cinnamon and nutmeg, and so on.
Joining in on the game, you ask the baristas to add names to Marcus’ cups. He’s always game to play along, doing a Bogart impression the day you bring him a cup marked “Sam Spade,” and an atrocious Belgian accent after “Hercule Poirot.” Both have you laughing until tears come to your eyes and several people turn their heads to see who is cackling about “ze little grey cells.” You wonder if you’ve gone too far bringing him a cup marked “Watson” (plenty of FBI guys have egos far too massive for them to enjoy being even jokingly perceived as someone’s sidekick), but Marcus just smiles and brings you a triple espresso labelled “Holmes” the next day that leaves you buzzing until you crash, hard.
He finds you sprawled over your desk later that afternoon, your eyes glazed and mumbling about caffeine overdoses. He brings you a slice of cake left over from someone’s birthday to revive you and it’s all you can do not to propose marriage on the spot. Something in your expression must give you away because Marcus looks suddenly uneasy, his usual friendly enthusiasm replaced by a more pensive, guarded look. You wince but before you can say anything else, your phone rings and you have to take the call. He slips away while you’re still on the phone and you’re left hoping you haven’t just scared him off for good.
When the next day of work begins with no sign of Marcus, you’re positive you’ve ruined things, and without even opening your mouth this time. You’re kicking yourself for it mentally as you settle in to start your day.
The next morning he's running late and didn't have time to stop at his normal place. He brings you a mug from the staff room and a promise to bring you a real drink tomorrow. You'd just gotten in too, your hands still chilled and you wrap them gratefully around the ceramic mug.
“You don’t need to,” you reply, taking a sip of coffee without adding anything else. “You found my favorite.”
Marcus stands there gaping. “All this time and it was just black coffee?”
“‘Black as midnight on a moonless night,’” you quote with an amused, apologetic shrug.
“Dale Cooper, of course,” Marcus groans.
It’s bittersweet, this moment of discovery, and you can’t help but feel let down. The game is over, the mission completed. Without this morning ritual, will you still get as many chances to talk to Marcus?
Before you can broach this, his eyes meet yours, warm and brown and, you realize, as essential to your day as your morning caffeine fix. Your heart lifts when he asks “would you like to grab a drink with me after work?”
Not wanting to assume, you ask “need a new game, Pike?”
He chuckles. “No. Believe it or not, I’m not usually much for games.” His gaze is clear and direct as he faces you, though he does take a deep breath before starting. “Ok, here goes. I’ve really liked getting to know you and I’d love to take you out on a date. If not, no hard feelings and I hope we can still be friends.”
You’re beaming like the sun by the time he’s finished and, after a quick look around to make sure no one’s watching, you lean in to kiss his cheek. “I’d love that.”
Marcus’ shoulders slump in relief and he grins back. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Except, how about dinner, rather than drinks? I already know I want to spend more time with you, Marcus.”
He takes your hand, unable or simply unwilling to hide his delight. “Sounds perfect.”
Taglist for Friends Who Came in Clutch with Their Starbucks Orders - Thanks guys!
@keeper0fthestars @radiowallet @andthewishingwell
207 notes · View notes