#Marcus pike fic

[thetriumphantpanda]

I'll Crawl Home To Her | Marcus Pike

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

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Bridesmaid F!Reader

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

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

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

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

Divider by the amazing @saradika

Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs for writing updates.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A few weeks, probably.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’ll be a no then.”

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

“You look well.”

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

“So do you.” You compliment back.

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

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

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

“I asked you first, Agent Pike.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to show you?”

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

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

“Second.”

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

“Which room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I asked you not to?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve been looking at you.”

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

“Because the ceremony moved you so much?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Always, Marcus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Marcus,” You moan out, “Please.”

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

“Mmmhmm.”

“What do you want?”

“Make me come?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Marcus, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m on 4th street, in Petworth.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing Wednesday night?”

“Nothing, as far as I’m aware.”

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

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

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike Smut #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x F!reader #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #the mentalist #the mental illness is winning #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro pascal #marcus pike fluff #Marcus Pike angst #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike The mentalist

[swiftispunk]

the worthwhile fight | marcus pike x f!reader

for ziggy @agentmarcuspike

pairing: marcus pike x fem!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 5k summary: a rude interruption by your ex sparks an unexpected response from you - and an even more unexpected response from marcus. warnings etc: smut, alcohol, misogynistic language, brief violence, reader punches a dude, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, fluff, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby, babe), established relationship, POV swap halfway through. no use of y/n.

A/N: finally giving our boy marcus a go! thank you to ziggy for this idea, and for trusting me to write it. i hope you love it bestie.

It's rare that Marcus actually gets off work on time.

When he'd texted you today to let you know he'd be done by five, asking if you'd meet him at one of his favourite little hole-in-the-wall bars in downtown DC that he's so good at finding, you'd easily agreed, having just enough time to stop at home and change after your own shift had ended. You'd caught up with him shortly after, already sitting at a booth at the bar, waiting for you.

Your heart swells the moment your eyes meet his. He's so handsome, dressed in his suit and tie, ID badge still pinned to his jacket; he’s clearly come straight from work. His warm, brown eyes and boyish smile light up the whole damn place. And it's all for you.

"Hey, babe," he says sweetly, rising as you approach to place a chaste hello kiss to your lips. "How was work?"

"Thankfully, over," you gripe lightly as you take your seat and Marcus retakes his own across from you.

He smiles knowingly. "Yeah, long day for us too," he sighs, holding your hands in his across the table, a familiar tether.

"You haven't been waiting long, have you?"

He shakes his head. "No, no. Just long enough to order you your favourite."

He says it with a cheeky smile and your brows furrow curiously. Have you told him your favourite drink before? You can't seem to recall.

That's when the server appears.

"I've got the IPA," she says and Marcus pulls his hands from yours to raise one palm, indicating the beer's for him. You're already suspiciously eyeing the other drink she has on her tray, glancing in Marcus's direction to find his grin widening.

"And the porn star martini?" she smiles at you, placing the glass decorated with a slice of dried passionfruit in front of you.

Now, the memory comes flooding back - a date night a couple weeks ago when you'd sipped on beers at a local brewery, picking apart the flavour notes of each one, at one point drunkenly admitting you'd rather be sipping a porn star martini than yet another below-average lager. You never would have guessed he'd actually remember that.

But that's just Marcus.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as Marcus thanks the server and she flits off.

You look up at him over the glass, eyebrows raised.

"That's your favourite, right?" he smirks, visibly holding back laughter.

You roll your eyes but you can't fight your own responding smile now; he's clearly proud of himself. You finally crack, because to be honest -

"It actually kind of is," you shrug and his grin turns to a full-on toothy smile as you tip your glass to him and he touches his pint to it. You take a sip and let the cool, sweet liquid melt away some of the stress of your day.

"I'm trying to imagine you actually saying the words, 'porn star'," you admit.

"Would 'adult actor martini' be more polite?"

You take another sip. "There is nothing polite about this drink."

You share another throaty laugh, one of your favourite things to share with Marcus. It's been almost a year since you started dating officially and you can honestly say you've never been happier. So sweet and loving, he softens all your hardest edges, makes every day brighter just by be being him. Sometimes it feels like your heart could burst at any moment just at the chance to call him yours.

But your playful joking is abruptly cut off when you take in the sight of a figure across the bar. Your eyes widen and you quickly drop your gaze.

Fuck, you hope he didn't see you.

"Shit," you curse and Marcus instantly stiffens, noting the shift in your demeanor. "Shit shit shit."

"What?" he asks, peering over his shoulder to try to see what you see before turning back to you with concern in his eyes. "What's wrong, are you okay?"

Your eyes dart back towards the figure. He's not looking at you. Not yet. You sink lower in your seat, as if that could somehow conceal you.

"My ex," you tell Marcus in a whisper as realization washes over his features.

"Oh, shit."

You can hear his boisterous voice carrying over the bar din with ease, badgering the bartender about his drink order taking too long.

"We should leave," you mutter.

At that, Marcus bristles indignantly.

"What?" he demands. "No, we don't have to do that, come on - "

He makes to reach across the table and take your hand, but that's the moment your ex catches your eye and -

"He's coming over here, fuck - shit - "

You pull your hands back and hold them protectively in your lap, inexplicably afraid of what your ex's reaction will be when he sees you holding hands with another man.

"Hey," Marcus coos softly, palms still open the table. "Relax, baby, what's his name?"

You stare at the coster under his pint as your ex gets closer - maybe he won't recognize you. It's been three years, for fuck's sake.

"Ben," you tell Marcus quietly and you catch him nod as he finally slides his hands back to grip his drink instead of your hands.

"Well, look who it is," a familiar voice cuts in then. So much for not recognizing you.

Fuck. Ben is standing right beside your booth now, arms outstretched as he looks you up and down, cowering in your seat. You stare back at him cautiously, while Marcus keeps his eyes fixed on you.

"Hi, Ben," you say tightly, sitting up a bit.

"Thought you were too good for this place?" he says belligerently, clearly having already had a few. And immediately coming in hot with the accusations. Goddamnit. He hasn't changed at all. "Or were you just too embarrassed to be seen here with me?"

You shake your head, something about his mere presence sparking a flash of rage through you, a rage you haven't felt in years. Certainly a rage you haven't felt since you'd met Marcus.

"Well, when you used to get wasted like you are right now - yeah, I was embarrassed to be seen with you, asshole."

Marcus's eyebrows shoot up his forehead, seeming both impressed and surprised at your tone. He's never seen this side of you. You'd hoped he never would.

"Oh, you wanna do name calling, huh, bi -"

"Whoa, okay," Marcus finally pulls his eyes from you to redirect his attention to Ben. "I'm gonna stop you right there, Ben. How 'bout you just go ahead and walk away."

His voice is firm, quietly authoritative. Almost like he's switching into agent-mode, which he probably is.

Ben smirks dubiously, only giving Marcus a cursory glance, enough to take in the ID badge clipped to his jacket, before refocusing on you.

"Hah. So you're dating a fucking Fed now?"

"And what is it that you do for work, Ben?" Marcus presses him.

"Real estate," you and Ben both say at the same time, you with an eyeroll and a cross of your arms.

"Wow, a real American hero, huh?" Marcus says tauntingly. "Let me guess. Selling overpriced condos to corrupt politicians just so they can spend three days a week here? Is that it?"

Marcus shoots a grin your way but you just shrink into yourself further, knowing all too well that his words will only rile Ben up.

"Marcus..." you say warningly.

But Ben is barely giving Marcus the time of day, stepping closer towards you until Marcus finally rises from his seat to put a hand to Ben's chest, stopping him in his tracks.

"Easy, pal," he warns.

"Huh," Ben laughs without humour, eyes darting down to Marcus' big hand splayed out on his chest. He swipes it away with force and you flinch instinctively, fearful of the sudden aggression. "You really know how to fuckin' pick 'em, eh, sweetheart? This who you walked out on me for?"

"Fuck off, Ben," you snap, uncrossing your arms as if to make yourself seem bigger, somehow more intimidating. "I walked out on you because you're a piece of shit."

Marcus has to grab at Ben's arm now to stop him from getting too close, his wobbling form lurching towards you again - with what intent, you're not sure. You sit up defensively.

"Hey, man, do you need it hear it again? Fuck off," Marcus barks, gripping Ben's arm tighter in an attempt to hold him back.

"Hah, yeah, pretty boy?" Ben rips his arm from Marcus's grip and pushes him roughly with two hands against his chest. "Or maybe you wanna meet me outside."

Only Ben would have the fucking gall (or perhaps the lack of brains) to pick a fight with federal agent.

"Hey!" you attempt to interject, standing to put yourself between them as best you can. Marcus's gentle hand on your shoulder stops you in your place.

"It's fine, babe," he assures you.

But Ben is not deterred. He pushes Marcus again, harder this time and the agent stumbles back.

"Come on, Fed, let's fuckin' go."

Marcus holds up his hands, refusing to give in, refusing to escalate the situation as onlookers begin to murmur, their conversations stalling as they take in the scene.

"Ben, stop!" you exclaim.

"Hit me, bitch," he heckles Marcus again, shoving him harder till his back collides the solid wood of the booth. "I dare you."

"I'm not gonna do that, man."

Of course he won't. But you might.

"Don't fucking touch him!" you shout, grabbing at your boyfriend's arm to pull him out of Ben's reach, even as Ben continues to drunkenly throw hands in his direction.

"Hey, just back off, man, alright?" Marcus says, louder now, voice wavering just the slightest bit, a telltale sign that he's losing control of the situation; Ben won't give in.

You're caught between them, helpless as Ben throws a punch in Marcus's direction, missing spectacularly before preparing to charge at him instead, like he's planning to tackle Marcus to the ground. The thought alone is enough to make your blood boil and before you can stop to think it through, you round on Ben and punch him clear in the jaw.

Searing pain sprouts instantly in your hand but it's barely noticeable. The only thing you can focus on is Ben toppling backwards, clutching at his face while the bar's patrons gasp around you.

You stare blankly between Ben and your fist still clenched tightly, dazed until Marcus's voice cuts through your stupefaction.

"Oh my god."

His tone is somewhere between horrified and awed. You turn to him to find his expression is much the same.

"Fuck!" Ben is shouting then. "What the fuck! Are you fuckin' crazy?"

He's lunging towards you and Marcus again, but the bystanders have tuned in now; a bouncer is on Ben in an instant, gathering his arms behind his back and restraining him at last. You exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes, slowly unfurling your fingers and wincing as you do.

While the bouncer escorts Ben out, you suddenly become aware of Marcus at your side, frantic and deeply concerned.

"Jesus - are you okay?" he's saying worriedly, placing two hands on your face protectively and looking you over for damage, his jaw dropping when he looks down and sees your fist. "Oh my god, baby, your hand."

He takes in the sight of your knuckles, turning your hand over in his a few times. You see it now too, the blood that's started to sprout there, the throbbing of an incoming swell already burning under your skin.

"I'm fine," you assure both Marcus and yourself, snatching your hand out of his grip and shaking it as though to dislodge the growing pain. It doesn't help. "I'm fine, I'm sorry, I - "

Marcus's ragged sigh cuts you off. You think he seems a little mad at you and the thought makes you ache with guilt.

"Let's get you outta here," he murmurs.

He throws a stack of cash down on the table and wraps his suit jacket over your shoulders, keeping an arm around you as he guides you out into the evening.

-

It quickly becomes clear that Marcus isn't mad at you so much as he's...aggressively worried about you.

"Does it hurt? Jesus, honey, what were you thinking?"

It's approximately the sixth time he's asked you the same version of the same question, rambling away constantly as he walks you back to his place.

"I'm okay, Marcus," you insist, even as the sting in your hand starts to to properly set in. "I just couldn't stand watching him push you around like that."

Marcus tuts, pausing his strides and gripping your arm so you do the same.

"Let me see."

He takes your hand in both of his, holding it up under the glow of the fading sun to get a better look. His eyebrows furrow together, concern painting his features as he gently caresses your fingers with his own.

"Can you make a fist? Move your fingers?" he asks, letting you go.

You try, grimacing slightly but ultimately finding you're able to twiddle your digits and squeeze your fingers into a loose, if painful, ball.

Marcus breathes a little sigh of relief.

"Good, baby, that's good. It's probably not broken."

He pulls you into his arms then in a sudden embrace, crushing you into his chest. You can feel the anguish in his grasp, the way the hug lasts a little too long, like he's trying to make sure you're still there, safe and well.

You think he might be overreacting a little but you welcome the attention all the same. Mostly you're ashamed you let your emotions get the better of you, that you'd succumbed to violence at all.

"Let's get you home and bandaged up, okay?" he says after a moment, pulling back to place two big hands on either side of your face again, smirking at you with a look that's both adoring and vehemently disapproving. "Maniac. You better hope he doesn't press charges."

You return his smile and roll your eyes, grateful he's finally replaced some of his panic with his usual Marcus charm.

"Well, I kind of have a guy on the inside at the FBI, so I think I'll be okay."

His grin widens before he leans in to press his lips to yours in a loving kiss.

-

You're sitting on one of his kitchen chairs while Marcus crouches on the floor in front of you, first aid kit torn open on the table. He's trying to focus on taking care of you, on making sure your fingers definitely aren't broken and feeding you Ibuprofen to bring down the swelling in your hand.

But truthfully, Marcus is distracted. Painfully so.

As he tends to your wounds, cleaning your scrapes and bandaging up your bruising knuckles, the memory just keeps replaying in his mind.

You, throwing your body into the line of danger, pulling back one strong, beautiful arm and colliding your fist with that asshole's face.

You'd nearly taken him out. You'd nearly broken your hand. He should be horrified. He shouldn't condone it - he doesn't condone it.

And yet, all he can think to himself, as much as he tries to fight it, is how absolutely, ridiculously hot you'd looked. He's been quietly half-hard since you left the bar, his skin prickling with arousal every time his brain conjures up the memory.

He's never seen you like that before, never would have guessed you even had it in you. He knows bits and pieces of your past, knows you've had you fair share of hard times and shitty exes. Sure, you'd been stonier when he'd met you, more closed off till he'd cracked you open. But this - to actually witness you stepping up and taking charge, even if it had left you broken and bruised - it's like seeing you for the first time.

His breathing is somewhat uneven as he finishes wrapping your hand before placing a gentle kiss to the tips of your fingers and rising from the linoleum, keeping your hand in his as he does. For good measure, he leans forward to kiss the crown of your head too.

"It really hurts now," you whine softly, pressing your face into his tummy as he wraps his arms around your shoulders.

"Adrenaline's wearing off," he says, stroking your hair soothingly. "You got him pretty good."

You sigh and Marcus aches with need to alleviate your pain somehow.

"You need anything else, babe? Some water? More Advil?"

He feels you shake your head against him.

"God," you groan, burying your face in his shirt and squeezing him tighter around the waist. "I'm sorry, Marcus, that was so stupid."

Marcus swallows, your proximity now making it very hard to ignore the blood rushing from his head to his cock. He blushes, suddenly glad he's not looking directly at you.

"Actually...I gotta admit. Watching you clock that guy...it was kinda sexy."

You pull back to look up at him dubiously and his blush deepens, nervous the confession might have put you off somehow.

"Really?" you ask but you don't sound upset. You sound...intrigued. It encourages him.

"Yeah," he shrugs, more confident now as your eyes glint with interest and his dick twitches in his slacks. Fuck. "You looked so...powerful. And tough."

"And you liked that?" you press curiously, running your hands gently up the sides of legs while his move to cup the sides of your face.

"I mean, I don't like that you got hurt, but." His voice has gone hoarse, your touch moving to hover over the fronts of his thighs, so close to the growing bulge in his pants. He takes in a ragged breath. "I-I don't know. It was hot."

"Interesting."

You smirk up at him as you slowly undo his belt with your good hand, his breath catching his throat. You pull down the zipper of his slacks, your gaze never breaking from his.

"Is it bad?" he chokes. "Is it bad that it turned me on so much?"

Your eyes glint with wonder but then you begin struggle with one hand to tug at the waistband of his pants, a sobering sight.

"Shit...sweetheart, you don't have to...your hand..." But he sounds feeble in his protests and he thinks you can tell.

You just shake your head and look up at him from under your lashes. "Help me out a bit?"

And so he does, nodding as pulls both his pants and boxers down his thighs so his cock springs free, now nearly fully hard.

"I don't think it's bad, Marcus," you muse in answer to his question as you take him in your unbandaged hand and his lips part involuntarily. You stroke him a few times till he thickens in your palm. "Is it bad that it turns me on that it...turns you on?"

He's having a hard time forming a coherent thought, your touch alone enough to make his mind go blank - it's exactly what he's been shamelessly craving since he led you out of that stupid bar. His fingers unconsciously tighten in your hair while yours tighten around his cock and it's all he can do just to croak out a breathy, "No."

"Do I look powerful like this?" you ask alluringly before ducking forward to take the leaking tip of his cock in your mouth.

Marcus groans, his head falling back at the wet, warm contact. You take him deeper and he just about loses it, your good hand still gripping him at the base as you drag your lips over his length.

You don't just look powerful, he thinks. You are powerful. He's crumbling right in front of you, weak for you in an instant.

"Fuck," he sighs, willing himself to watch you work, even if the sight of you with your mouth full of his cock is bordering on overwhelming after being hard for so long. He fights to keep it together, to make it last so he can keep seeing you this way. "Yes. So perfect, baby. Fucking beautiful when you're sucking my cock."

You hum around him and the vibration makes him see stars. Marcus can barely breathe as you increase your pace on his cock, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing on his length in earnest, your gaze fixed upwards so he catches your eye every time he looks down at you, just like you know he likes.

"Oh shit - "

He gasps when you move your hand from his cock to gently fondle his balls and - fuck - he can't -

"Honey, I don't wanna come like this," he chokes out, just in time for you pull off him with a soft pop and a smile.

"No?"

Marcus shakes his head frantically, ignoring the incessant ache in his cock arguing with him that yes, actually, he would very much like to come like this.

His dick can wait. He needs to be inside you. He holds you by the chin to tilt your face up.

"Wanna fuck you, baby - can I?"

You nod eagerly, biting your lip in a manner so enticing that a fresh bead of precome spills from his slit as he helps lift your shirt over your head, being mindful not to graze your injured hand.

"C'mere," he grunts, hoisting you up on to the table and making quick work of your pants and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor before yanking off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, diving to connect your lips with his.

You moan into him, granting his tongue entrance without hesitation, your own tongue caressing his bottom lip and licking into his mouth hungrily. You slip his shirt off his shoulders and flatten your palms against his chest, your touch causing goosebumps to sprout across his skin. Marcus wastes no time unhooking your bra and trailing his hands over your breasts, palming them briefly before moving lower to cup your mound, tips of his fingers finding your already soaking heat.

"So wet," he whispers in wonder against your mouth, the tip of one finger dipping inside your centre, marveling at the slick collected there and feeling you constrict around him. "How are you always so wet for me, huh?"

He adds a second finger, both of you groaning in unison when he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your head falls back and you lean into your hands, the moment coming to a grinding halt when you gasp loudly - not in a good way.

"Fuck," you hiss, grimacing as you sit up straight and clutch at your injured fist with your other hand; you'd put too much weight on it by accident. Marcus's fingers still inside you as guilt quickly floods the arousal taking over his brain.

"Shit, baby, are you okay? I'm sorry."

But you just smile, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his lips.

"Don't be sorry, baby," you reassure him gently. "You were making me feel so good, I just - forgot all about this." You punctuate the sentiment with a wave of your bandaged hand.

A smile returns to his face; in that case, his dick will just have to wait a little longer.

"Why don't you lie back and I'll make you forget again," he breathes, attempting to lace his voice with whatever seduction he can muster. It seems to work, your eyes glaze over as he coaxes you down on the table and falls to his knees between your legs.

"You just relax, sweetheart," he hums, raking his fingers over your folds and spreading you open, locating your swollen clit before leaning in to press a kiss against it. "And I'll make you forget all about it."

You curse quietly, spreading your legs wider to accommodate his shoulders as he settles in properly before dipping his tongue lower to lick languidly over your core.

He laps greedily at the wetness there, burying his face deeper so his nose grazes your clit and you moan his name above him, a delicious sound - his favourite sound in the whole fucking world - a sound that goes straight to his cock.

He grips your inner thighs to hold you steady when you start to squirm, his tongue dragging back upwards to work quick circles over your clit, closing his lips around the nub to suck it gently between his teeth. Your fingers in his hair let him know he's on the right track and his gaze lifts to catch your eye, a groan slipping from his mouth at the look of bliss on your face. You're already close.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he beseeches you, trailing one of his hands further up your thigh, letting you feel the drag of his palms over the sensitive skin between your legs.

"Fuck, yes - Marcus - I need - "

"I know, baby, I know."

You always need a little more, and he's always happy to oblige.

He pulls back just for a moment to sink two fingers into you once more, relishing the way it makes you whisper his name over and over and over, the way your quiet chanting chokes off with a gasp when he dives in to tongue at your clit again right at the moment his fingers find that spongy spot inside you. He hooks his fingers into it with practiced care, his eyes fluttering closed when you clench around him, slick gushing over his knuckles and now he's aching for it, needy to feel you finish.

His cock drips precome freely onto the kitchen floor just at the taste of you on his tongue and the feeling of your walls around his fingers. Fuck, he loves this so much. He loves you so much.

"Marcus," you sigh and his eyes fly open to find you with your head thrown back, the delicate skin of your neck exposed, your eyelids squeezed tightly shut, right on the edge.

Fucking beautiful.

He unlatches his mouth from you just long enough to gently encourage you towards your climax, staying close enough that he knows you'll still feel his breath against the most sensitive part of you.

"Come for me, baby, let me feel you come on my mouth," he pleads. "Can you give me that? Yeah?"

Your moans increase in pitch when his lip close around your clit again and this time, he doesn't let up, not until he feels you squeezing his fingers and hears you crying out above him as you come. You arch up off the table and into his mouth, waves of pleasure rolling over you as Marcus watches in awe, watches the moment your features slacken and your muscles turn to goo.

Fuck. His free hand comes to his throbbing cock, unable to hold himself back any longer.

Finally, he pulls his fingers from your heat and rises shakily to his feet, his fist clenched tight around his cock. He situates himself between your legs, impatient now as he lines his tip up with your cunt. You're still catching your breath under him when he sinks inside with a low groan.

He falls forward, his palms coming down on either side of your head as he starts to move, his lips crashing into yours and stealing a moan from your open mouth.

He stays locked there as he fucks you, his hips snapping into yours with slightly more ferocity than he usually employs. You don't seem to mind, your gaze veiled with lust when he pulls back to see your face, eventually trailing his lips along your jaw until he finds the hollow of your ear.

"You make so me feel so fucking good, you know that?" he breathes and you just whimper softly in response, the fingers of your uninjured hand clawing over the skin on his back. "My strong, sexy, perfect girl. M'already so close from just watching you come."

He hears you giggle and that catches his attention. His steady thrusting falters and he pulls back to find you smirking up at him.

"What?" he asks, feeling his own face crack into a responding grin.

"And from watching me punch a dude, right?"

He huffs out a breathy laugh, his head falling forward as his cock twitches inside your walls at the memory.

"Fuck," he grunts. "Yeah, that too."

Your smile quickly fades when he pulls out and pushes back in swiftly, hips snapping into yours with new vigour. His pace quickens then, his thoughts consumed by the image of you at the bar, so brave and protective - protective of him. There's that you - strong and sturdy and sure of yourself - and then there's the you with him here, right now, the one who gives yourself over to him so willingly, who comes undone so easily at his touch, who lets him fuck you like this, so pliant and receptive. He's so fucking lucky.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," he stammers when he feels himself nearing the edge, tight knot constricting in his gut, threatening to snap as the drive of his hips come harder and faster. Something in his pleasure-drunk mind tells him he needs to be closer to you, so he hooks his arms under your body and pulls you into his chest, grunting brokenly into your hair.

"M'gonna come inside this pretty pussy, baby," he manages. "Gonna fill you up, you want that?"

"Please, Marcus," you moan softly in response.

His thighs quiver as the tension breaks and he comes deep inside you, ropes of seed coating your walls as he empties himself with a lewd moan. His hands are frantic as they roam your skin, finally settling in your hair as he presses his forehead into yours, his thrusts persisting till the last wave crashes over him.

His lips find yours as he works to catch his breath, both of you groaning in unison when he finally slides his length out of you. He can't stop himself from breaking the kiss to glance downwards, admittedly keen to watch his come dripping out of your gorgeous cunt.

"Fucking hell," he sighs, lips twitching.

"Good?"

"Good," he confirms, ducking forward to kiss you again. "Fuck. You happen to know where any of your other exes hang out? Maybe we go beat up a few more."

It's probably not the best time to be bringing up ex-boyfriends but you laugh out loud all the same, wrapping your legs around his middle and pulling him in impossibly close.

You tut lightly when your laughter subsides. "What happened to my sweet, sweet man of the law?"

Marcus chuckles.

"No, no, see, I'm just trying to fill a gap in the justice system."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'cause, right now, there aren't actually any laws that target douchebags who kept me from meeting you sooner."

Christ, he really shouldn't be allowed to open his mouth after he's come. You don't seem bothered by his nonsensical shit-talking though. If anything, he thinks you seem a little endeared, your teeth biting down on your lip as a tight smile crinkles the edges of your eyes.

"Ah, I see, so what you're saying is, we need to take matters into our owns hands," you nod, playing along.

Marcus strokes your cheekbone with his thumb. "Exactly."

You scrunch your face up and smile; the cutest fucking thing he's ever laid on eyes on, if he does say so himself. You finally detach from one another, locating your clothes and redressing in comfortable silence until a growing worry starts to brew under his skin.

"Hey, uh," he says, all teasing gone from his voice. "You know I'm just joking, right? Please don't ever punch anyone again."

Your lilting laughter once again fills the room as you tilt your head at him placatingly.

"Yeah, I know, Marcus," you assure him. "Won't happen again, promise."

He breathes a sigh of relief. "Okay, good. Love you."

"I love you too, babe."

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x y/n #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fanfiction #Marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fic

[morallyinept]

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

[undercoverpena]

make me like the holidays

marcus pike x f!reader | marcus masterlist

written for 12 Days of Pedro

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

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

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

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

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

Because you knew eventually this would come up.

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

How to start.

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

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

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

Marcus is already thinking—you can tell.

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

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

“Oh. Is that so?”

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

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

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

“You sound very confident.”

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

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

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

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

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

“How can I say no to such an offer.”

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

“Comfortable?”

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

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

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

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

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at the box.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hovering your lips over his. “But?”

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

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

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

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

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

"Marcus..."

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

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

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

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

Then, it stops.

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

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

“Depends how good the drink is.”

It turns out, it’s delicious.

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

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

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

“Thoughts?”

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

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

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

“It’s good.”

Brows rising, he grins. “Yeah?”

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

You’re almost sad when it ends.

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

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

And then you feel it again.

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

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

“You know how good you look right now?”

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

“W-what’s next?”

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

“Thought we could pick decorations for our tree.”

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

“Our?”

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

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

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

“What if you hate my taste?”

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

Rolling your eyes, he laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Marcus.”

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

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

“You excited about the holidays now?”

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

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

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

“Bet you’re wet,” he whispers.

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

“Take me home,” you plead. “Please?”

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

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

“Need you, Marcus.”

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

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

And he turns it up.

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pinching your side, you swear you hear him grunt.

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

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

"No one can see us, I promise."

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

It clicks with such ease.

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

You’re on fire.

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

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

“Who knew you were so dirty?”

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

Needing a little more, craving a little more.

Please, please, please you think over and over.

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

More, Marcus. Please, baby. Please.

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

And it’s bliss.

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

Close, so close—

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

“What do you need, baby?”

“You,” you whine.

Just you, only you. Only ever you.

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

You snap. Break. Fall apart.

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

“Marcus,” you whine, differently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pausing, he lifts his head.

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

“Really?”

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

“Fuck, I love you, baby.”

an: merry pike christmas ;)

#Marcus pike x reader #Marcus pike x female reader #Marcus pike smut #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fluff #Marcus pike Fic #Marcus pike fanfic #Marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike Pedro Pascal #Marcus Pike the mentalist

[atinylittlepain]

Marcus Pike x f!reader

(there is no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man)

He's looking for something other than vanilla, and she is more than happy to provide such a service to him.

warnings | 18+ this is smut, pegging, rimming, sucking and fucking, sex work, lowkey sugardaddy!marcus, sweet shy marcus getting his world rocked, and then pancakes and a blackberry and a black american express card so ya know, the works.

a/n | this was written LAST MAY woof - i think originally it was supposed to be for the first round of the PMAMC (also woof) but she's here now :') special thanks to @idolatrybarbie and @wannab-urs for resurrecting this fucker. there is a part two... just sayin

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

The first thing she notices about him is that he’s nervous. He keeps loosening and tightening his tie, eyes glancing around in quick, anxious sweeps. He’s definitely never been here before, she would’ve remembered a face that handsome, strong jaw under a little scruff and big brown eyes that set a smile tugging at her lips when he finally meets her gaze. 

“Hey there, handsome, welcome in. First time?” His eyes drop down to the floor, a clipped laugh coming out as she steps closer to him.

“Am I that obvious?” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes crinkled in a shy smile that sets warmth spreading in her chest, bringing a delicate palm to his shoulder.

“Just never seen you around before, that’s all. What brings you to Pandora’s tonight?”

“Well, I, uh– I wanted to– um–” He cuts his own rambling off, jaw slack as he watches a man in head to toe latex walk by, being led on a leash by one of her coworkers. 

“Hey, don’t worry about them. I wanna know what you want. Would you feel more comfortable talking some more in one of our private rooms?” Eyelashes fluttering, spine arched, she knows exactly how to reel them in, noting the dip and bob of his throat as he nods.

“I– yeah, um, yes please.” Manners, she likes that. She slips her hand down his arm, taking his hand before turning heel and tugging him down the dark hallway, taking them into one of the vacant playrooms. It’s one of the tamer rooms, a four poster bed in the middle, red silk sheets, and a dark chest of drawers off to the side full of all sorts of fun. She guides him to sit down on the end of the bed beside her, his hands immediately going to his thighs in a nervous squeeze. His eyes are still darting everywhere, but mostly to the tops of her breasts, pressed up in the strappy leather corset she has on, though he doesn’t let his gaze linger there long before jerking his eyes back up to her face. 

“You don’t have to be nervous, baby. I just want to hear a little about why you came in, and how you’d like to be taken care of tonight, alright?” He nods, clearing his throat a few times before replying.

“I just– you gotta know that I’ve never done anything like this before, really. But, I don’t know, I guess I wanted to try something different? My, well my ex-wife, I think she thought I was too, um, vanilla. So I guess I want to– not be– um, vanilla anymore. And, Jesus Christ, you probably think I’m crazy, huh?” Somehow, he manages to still be handsome and look like a kicked puppy at the same time, and she has to resist the urge to push his flop of hair back and press a kiss to the crease between his brows.

“Not crazy at all. So when you say not vanilla, what does that mean to you?” When he gives her no answer, eyes only widening as he seems to wrack his brain for what to say, she laughs lightly, bringing a palm to his thigh and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Why don’t we start with the basics? Do you see yourself being more of a dom or a sub?” 

“I– what does that mean, dom and sub?” Oh boy, more basic than the basics then.

“Dom is shorthand for dominant, that’s the person in control in the relationship, and they’re usually the one inflicting any pain, if you’re into that. And sub means submissive, that’s the person who follows the dom’s commands, who gets taken care of.” 

“Oh, right, that makes sense. I mean, I don’t think I’d be very good at being in control like that, so I guess, more submissive?” I’ll say. She offers him a nod and smile, still trying to coax some of his anxiety out of him.

“Sounds good, handsome. If it’s alright with you, I can be your partner for the night. Let’s get some paperwork for you and then we can get started, ok?” He only nods, something she’s going to have to work on with him.

“For this to work, I’m gonna need you to always use your words with me, alright? That way I know exactly what you do and don’t like.” She says it to him over her shoulder as she rifles through the chest of drawers, getting out a waiver and a pen for him. 

“Uh, yes, ok, I can– I can do that.” She sits back down beside him with a hum, passing him the paperwork, watching his brow furrow as he reads over it.

“That’s a list of kinks we do and don’t participate in. Are there any that you’re particularly interested in exploring tonight?” Another clear of his throat, keeping his eyes glued to the paper when he responds.

“Do men– do men really like that? I mean, I’ve heard of it, but, does it feel good?” She looks over his shoulder to where his finger is pointing, her lips crooking into a smile when she sees what’s caught his attention.

“Mmhmm, it can be very pleasurable, with an experienced partner, of course.”

“And you– are you, um, experienced?” Her smile broadens into a grin at his question, resting her hand on his shoulder.

“Oh baby, I’m very experienced. Is that something you’d like to try out tonight?” He seems to consider it, his eyes darting from her lips back up to her gaze a few times before he finally nods.

“Fuck it, yeah, I wanna do that. But is it ok if that’s the only thing we do on this list? I don’t think I’m really into the whole– chains and whips thing.” She laughs at that, giving his shoulder a squeeze as she nods.

“Whatever you want. Just need you to sign that waiver which basically affirms that we’re all clean here at Pandora’s, and you are too. You’re familiar with our pricing, right? It’s three hundred for an hour, and five for two.” 

“Is it ok if I do two?”

“You’re the customer, honey. What you say goes.” With a decisive nod, he ticks the box next to two hours on the form, signing his name on the dotted line before handing her back the pen and paper.

“Nice to officially meet you, Marcus. You can call me Daisy, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” As she sets the paperwork down on the chest of drawers, he lets out a light laugh, drawing her attention over her shoulder.

“That’s not your real name, is it?” Stepping out of her heels, she pads back over to him, standing right between his legs, setting down the items she grabbed before guiding his hands onto her hips.

“It’s not, is there something else you’d like to call me for the night?” He takes a sharp inhale as she drags his hands from her hips, up and up until his palms are cupping her breasts through her corset.

“I, um– Daisy’s good, yeah.” Letting her hands fall away from his, his eyes search hers, obvious in looking for permission that she’s happy to give.

“You can touch me, Marcus, whatever makes you feel more comfortable.” 

“Can I take this off of you?” His fingers are toying with the laced-up front of her corset, which she lightly bats away.

“It’s a little tricky, let me.” She makes deft work of unlacing the garment, a known path for her fingers that usually bores her, though there’s a little kick of something else, him watching her and the fine flicker of her hands. Marcus lets out a laugh at the grin she offers him, fizzling in his throat when she lets the corset fall away to reveal herself to him, standing before him in only her barely-there shorts. The heat of his hands just hovers over the swell of her breasts, and she can’t help the sigh that thrums in her throat when he finally lets his palms press against her skin. It’s not often that a client affects her like this, and she has to clear her throat to refocus on the real task at hand.

“Why don’t we get you out of your clothes? Sit back for me.” She’s undone dozens of ties, worked her fingers through miles of shirt buttons, and doesn’t even have to look to get trousers unfastened now, but she can’t shake the prickle running up her spine at the way his eyes follow every movement, and she can’t hide the shudder that runs through her when he tentatively tucks her hair behind her ear as she works his pants down his hips. 

“Have you been doing this for long?” She shoots him a look from her spot between his legs, his pants discarded to leave him in just his briefs.

“Are you really trying to make small talk?” Oh, he’s blushing now. She likes that, crawling closer and dipping her head down to press a kiss to the center of his chest before dragging her lips up and up, catching at the bob in his throat before letting her mouth just hover over his, feeling the shaky pants of his breath.

“There’s no need for that, Marcus. I’m gonna take care of you now, and I need you to tell me what you like, and what you don’t, do you understand?” His voice comes out a little hoarse, and she can feel the thrum of it where her chest is brushing against his.

“Yes, I understand.” A grin is all she gives him, ducking down before his lips can meet hers as she lets her mouth drag a trail down his torso until she’s nipping at the waistband of his briefs. 

“Can I take these off?” When all he does is nod, she gives his hip a light pinch, something between a laugh and a grunt jumping from his chest at the sensation.

“Yeah, you can take them off, I– sorry.” She smoothes her palm over the spot she pinched, smiling up at him.

“That’s ok, baby. Just remember your words for me.” He can’t be real, that’s all she can figure when she gets him totally bare before her, his cock a perfect pink that matches the flush on his chest, thick enough to set her jaw aching in anticipation, and long, pre-come smearing in the tuft of hair over his pelvis. She can’t help but wonder why the fuck anyone would ever want to leave him when he’s this pretty to look at. 

“Can I touch you? Get you warmed up for me?” He’s propped up on his elbows to watch her kneeling between his legs, lips swollen from how much he’s been biting them, slightly parted in something like wonder.

“Yeah, yes, please.” 

“Hmm, I like a boy with some manners. Just relax, Marcus, and remember, I’m here to take care of you.” With that, she presses a kiss just below his belly button, smiling against the twitch of his muscles before dipping down and letting her lips ghost over the underside of his cock. It’s involuntary, the hum she lets out when she takes him fully into the heat of her mouth, relaxing her throat like she’s learned to do, a necessary move in order to take all of him. And he’s perfect beneath her, thighs flexing under her splayed palms, low moans rumbling in his chest as she alternates between swallowing him down and lapping at his leaking tip. She knows she’s done her job, that she’s loosened him up, when those moans start to get a little louder, a little more drawn out, and he slumps down off his elbows to run a hand through his hair, eyes scrunched shut. A kiss over one hip, then the other, keeping her palm steady on his heaving belly while she reaches for the lube, his eyes squinting open to see why she stopped. 

“You ever used lube before?” 

“No, never needed to, I guess.” 

“Well it’s gonna be your best friend tonight. I’m gonna warm a little up in my palms and then I’ll let you get used to the feel of it, ok?” He hums out an mmhmm, watching her hands rub in quick circles, his eyes following the subtle shake of her breasts with the movement. And when she gets her hands on him again, slicking her palm up his cock, a hiss slips through his lips.

“Sorry, is it still cold?” 

“No, fuck– just feels really good.” She grins at that, letting her wrist flick, hand in an easy glide as she slips her palm down to cup the weight of his balls, his groan cracking and shooting up an octave, hips jolting at the sensation. 

“Has no one touched you like this before, baby?” 

“I– Jesus, no– no one’s done that before.” 

“Well that’s just not right. Feels good, huh?” A little squeeze to punctuate her question sets another moan loose in his chest as he presses his head back into the sheets.

“Y-yes, feels really good.” She nudges his thighs open a bit more, letting her hand slip down lower, not pressing, but circling, gauging how he reacts as she keeps her other hand easily stroking his cock. 

“Remember, need you to tell me what feels good and what doesn’t. We can stop at any time. Do you like what I’m doing right now?” His eyes are still shut tight, one hand fisted in his hair, the other tangled in the sheets, pleasure pulling his whole body taut.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s, hah– it’s different, good, different good.” His words go a bit slurred when she presses her finger forward, opening him up as he lets out another breathy moan. 

He takes it well, whimpers and moans crackling in his throat as she starts a steady thrust, only pausing to work a little more lube over her hand. 

“Doing so good for me, Marcus. You wanna try taking a little more?” He sits up on his elbows, surprising her a bit with his firm reply.

“I want more, want you to use that on me, please.” He tilts his head over to the strap laying on the end of the bed, once again catching her off guard.

“You sure you’re ready for that?” He tilts his head at her, a crooked smile on his face.

“Didn’t you say something about the customer always being right?” She lets out a real laugh at that, shaking her head at him as he just grins, clearly pleased with himself. 

“I guess so. Alright, handsome, why don’t you get on your hands and knees for me? We’ll take it nice and slow.” He seems a bit taken aback by that request, his smile going a little slack as she gets off the bed to step into her harness, though he catches himself, clearing his throat and shifting around on the bed into the position she asked for.

She can’t help herself, getting back on the bed and kneeling behind him, laying a quick pat to his very cute ass that has him craning his neck over his shoulder to look at her.

“Sorry, just looks so good I had to give it a little tap. You ready for me?” He hums his assent as she slicks her fake cock in lube, bringing one palm over his low back in a reassuring circle as she scoots in closer. 

“Just relax, Marcus, this is about you feeling good. That’s it, open up for me.” She works her strap in slow, curling over him to press her lips in a murmuring of praise into his shoulder blades as he whimpers beneath her, his hands fisted tight in the sheets. 

“How’re you feeling, baby? Is it too much? We can go back to what we–”

“No, no. I just– just need a minute, fuck– didn’t think it’d feel this good.” She’s not being professional about this, she knows it too, but she doesn’t care. A professional would be checking the clock, making sure that he gets his before his time is up. A professional wouldn’t be laying kisses over his shoulders, whispering to him that he’s doing so good, that he can take it, that he’s so pretty like this. But nothing about the way she wants him right now feels professional, the way she wants to take care of him, to make him feel good, to keep him feeling good for as long as she can.

“Just say the word. I move when you want me to.” 

Slow and smooth, nothing but patience and permission in how she fucks him, her hips slotting with his again and again and again, simmering down into a close press, her chest draped over his back and her hand working his cock in time with her thrusts when he finally unravels beneath her. He slumps down onto his forearms, a slur of curses punching out of his lungs as she runs her palms up and down his shuddering back. But what he does next is so unexpected she finds herself at the mercy of his movements. The moment she pulls her hips away from his, he turns over underneath her, still catching his breath as his hands find her hips, insistent and harsh in the way he pulls her down onto the bed. He’s certainly a sight, cheeks flushed and hair perfectly mussed up in every direction, his eyes blown dark and wide as he hovers over her.

“Can I take care of you now? Is that allowed?” A professional would say no, that his time is up, get him a towel and a glass of water and process his credit card.

She doesn’t say no.

He fumbles a bit with the straps of the harness, letting out an impatient groan that makes her giggle, quick to bat his hands away and make easy work of shimmying the whole thing down her legs. And the smile he gives her as she does is downright sheepish.

“That’s, uh, a bit tricky.” She brushes his hair back out of his face, thumb settling against the dimple in his cheek, a move that’s entirely too sweet and she knows it.

“Just a little. I’m all yours now though.” He doesn’t waste any time, ducking his head down to press a sweet kiss over the top of her breast that turns salacious when he slides his tongue down over the tight peak of her nipple, her back arching up into the heat of his mouth as he lets his teeth graze over the sensitive skin. His hands are splayed around her hips, greedy and insistent in the way his fingers curl and press into her ass, lifting her hips up to slide her tiny shorts off her legs before he settles back between her thighs, his nose brushing against her twitching stomach, dark eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“Is this ok? Can I taste you? Make you feel good like that?” He steals a move from her book when all she does is nod, his hand that’s still curled around her hip laying a gentle pinch to the swell, his grin going boyish as she huffs out a laugh.

“Can I have your words, Daisy, please?” She tilts her head at his shy question, enjoying the flushed flare creeping up his cheeks.

“Hmm, you’re a fast learner, huh? Yeah, baby, I want your mouth, Want you to make me feel good.” 

It’s not that she had been expecting him to be bad at it. But she also hadn’t been expecting him to be so fucking good either. Head thrown back, thighs trembling around his scruff, moaning his name good. He’s not precious about it, licking a flat stripe through her cunt before letting his tongue catch on her clit in a harsh press, dipping back down to lap up the slick pooling at her entrance, a continuous circuit of pleasure that has every muscle in her body tensing up. He groans low in his chest when she rakes her fingers through his hair, tugging just a bit unkindly when his teeth graze her clit. One large palm snakes up to grasp at the swell of one of her breasts, his other hand pressed across her pelvis to keep her spasming hips still as he fucks her with his tongue, the strong hook of his nose dragging across her clit with each pass. And it hits her all at once, that snare of pleasure snapping hot and hard as she comes with a stilted moan of his name, her heel pressing between his shoulder blades, keeping him exactly where he is, and he continues to work her over as she comes undone on his mouth. 

She tugs at his hair again when it becomes too much, her hips jolting at the thrumming chuckle he lets out when he finally pulls away, resting his cheek against her hip while she tries to catch her breath. They lay like that for a hiccup of time, just staring at each other, a dazed smile on his glistening lips that she knows is mirrored in her own hazy grin. Eventually she lets out a long sigh, reaching out for him and thumbing away some of her arousal that’s smeared across his jaw. 

“Do you wanna, like, get a burger or something?”

“Is that– is that a part of my two hours?” “Oh baby, your two hours were up a while ago.”

…

He’s waiting for her right outside the club, and she mentally kicks herself for having worn sweats and a hoodie in for her shift earlier, though he doesn’t seem to mind, smiling big and broad when she steps outside to join him. 

“I know you said burgers, but there’s a diner around the corner that does the best pancakes in DC. Sound good to you?” She likes this version of him too, confident, certain, a bit old-fashioned with the way he holds his arm out for her to take like they didn’t just wreck each other a few moments ago, letting her hold onto him the whole walk over to the diner, opening the door for her, the whole chivalric production.

It’s so late at night, they’re virtually the only people in the place, tucking into a cracked vinyl booth and putting in their order, pancakes and scrambled eggs and bacon, the works. And they share every last bite, having both clearly worked up an appetite after their evening together.

Though he’s vague about it, she can suss out for herself that he’s some sort of higher-up government type, she knows them well, and in turn, she answers his questions about her, that her work at Pandora’s is good enough to be supporting her through college, Marcus seeming to perk up when she tells him she’d like to be an art teacher one day. He’s older than her, at least enough to have already been married and divorced, but she can’t find it in herself to care about that, too busy enjoying their easy conversation, the subtle game of footsie they have going on under the table, and the way he smiles at her, all of his attention on her. It’s so strange, so different, so starkly contrasted to the way her nights usually go, not that she minds the simple rotation of disinterested clients, but she hasn’t had someone look at her, really look at her the way Marcus is, in quite a while. 

“I have to admit, I wasn’t really expecting my night to end like this.” Plates long cleared, each of them nursing a mug of coffee as the first sweeps of dawn start to light up the streets outside, she smiles at his admission.

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” He grins at her question, leaning in on his elbows like he has the wildest secret to tell her.

“Really good surprise. I mean, I just think you’re– amazing. Fuck, is that weird of me to say?” She mirrors him, leaning in on her elbows, a smile threatening to quirk her lips.

“Hmm, no, it’s cute. For the record, I think you’re kinda amazing too.” Their faces are so close, and she realizes all at once that she hasn’t even kissed him yet.

“Only kinda, huh? Guess I didn’t do my job then.” She can almost feel the curve of his smile as she laughs at his simpering response, the sound getting swallowed when he closes the space between them, pressing his lips to hers. And he’s good at this too, his palm coming to cup her jaw, thumb stroking along her cheek as he deepens the kiss, licking into her mouth and nearly melting her on the spot. Though it’s over too soon for her liking when they get interrupted by someone clearing their throat in front of their table, pulling away to see the rather annoyed looking waitress setting their check down and shuffling away with a sour side-eye. She opens her mouth to protest when Marcus reaches for his wallet, but he waves his hand, black American Express glinting in the diner’s fluorescent lights.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, I’ve got it. It’s the least I can do after going over my two hours.” She can tell he means it as a joke, a flippant remark, but her stomach still sinks at even the suggestion of this still being a business transaction. It’s a sore spot for her, and though she’s more than comfortable with the work she does, her exes hadn’t been, nor had they been kind about it for that matter.

Busy signing the check, Marcus doesn’t notice the way her face falls, and she’s already out of the booth and halfway out the door of the diner when he finally calls out for her, further rubbing salt in the wound when the name he uses is Daisy. 

“Woah, woah, hey, what happened in there?” The hand he hooks around her bicep is gentle but insistent, and she can’t help the tears threatening to spill over when he turns her around to look at him in the faint morning light.

“Look, if that’s all this is to you, just business, that’s fine, but I have enough respect for myself to not–” He cuts her off, bringing his broad palm to cup her cheek again, his eyes wide and unwavering.

“Hey, that’s not what this is– I mean, at least not anymore. We did meet under some, ah, particular circumstances. But this isn’t business to me now, if that’s ok with you?” He thumbs away her stray tears, and she nearly goes dizzy with the relief she feels hearing those words from him. 

“I’m sorry, baby, it was a stupid thing to say, wasn’t even thinking.” Baby, it’s the second time he’s called her that. She’s never anyone’s baby, they’re always hers, but she likes it now, coming from him, finding herself smiling into his touch.

“I don’t want you to call me Daisy.” His eyes soften, smile tempering as he nods.

“Ok, what should I call you?” She tells him her real name, and with it, the last shred of her professionalism dissolves, and she doesn’t care one bit. He says her name like he’s rolling a hard candy around in his mouth, slow sugar in each syllable before he presses a kiss between her brows, lips trailing down to catch hers in a sweet smack. 

“Can I see you again? And, definitively not as, um, as business?” It makes her laugh, how quickly he shifts between confidence and constraint. She likes both. 

“I would really really like that, Marcus. Am I giving you my number or are you giving me yours?” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, like he’s surprised she actually wants that, though he’s quick to catch himself, clearing his throat and smiling.

“Uh, both? Both is good, right?” They swap phones, and she can’t help thinking to herself that of course this man has a Blackberry, stifling a giggle as she types in her number. 

“Can I walk you to your car? It’s back at the club, right?” 

“Oh, I don’t have a car, actually. Just take the bus to get around.” He doesn’t seem to like that, lips pressing into a thin line as he looks at her.

“How about I get you home this morning? Would that be ok?” Under any other circumstances, she wouldn’t dream of getting into the car of a man she just met, but seeing as she’s already broken a dozen of her cardinal rules with him, she doesn’t think twice about getting into his sleek BMW that’s still parked outside the club. He keeps a palm splayed just above her knee, thumb idly swiping back and forth, a soothing lull as she gives him directions toward her apartment complex. She hates to admit it to herself, but she’s a bit reluctant to get out when he does pull up to her building, leaning over the console for a kiss that he willingly gives her. 

“So I’ll call you?” She lays a kiss to the small patch in his scruff, smiling against his skin when he lets out a huff.

“I’ll answer. Thank you, Marcus, for a really nice night, and morning.”

When she gets inside her apartment, she slumps back against the door, blowing out a long exhale and shaking her head.

“Fuck.” Her boss is going to kill her, but she doesn’t really care. 

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #marcus pike angst #marcus pike smut #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x female reader

[burntheedges]

Passing Notes: Ask

Marcus Pike x gn!reader | 1.2k words | Passing Notes masterlist

summary: You've made a new friend on tumblr.

a/n: happy gift exchange, @katareyoudrilling! I’m really glad we found each other on here and that we’re friends. 🧡 This is sort of inspired by your Marcus-as-your-assigned-FBI-agent fic, sort of inspired by your year of asks… for the @swiftiscruff gift exchange 💕

tags/warnings: flirting, banter, reader walks around their apartment and is otherwise not described

...

You sigh as you drop onto your couch. It’s Friday, finally, and you sink into the cushions with relish. You let the comfort coax you into relaxing and close your eyes, trying to think about anything but the week behind you. 

It helps.

But as soon as you stop thinking about your week, you start thinking about something else. Someone else. In the back of your mind you can feel the excitement building, now that you actually have time to consider it. After just a few moments of rest you’re leaning forward to reach for your laptop. 

He might have sent you a new ask, after all. It’s been three weeks. He has to be back by now. You have to check. 

You feel your heart rate pick up as your laptop whirrs to life and you take another deep breath. It's ok if he didn’t, you tell yourself. He might not be back yet. And you don’t even know him.

But as soon as your tumblr homepage loads you’re grinning, wide. There’s a single notification next to your inbox. 

You click, trying not to hope too hard, but you see the messy paints of his profile picture and let out a delighted laugh. He’s back. 

Hey! Sorry I was MIA, had that work trip. But I did have time to come up with some new questions. :) First, if you had to pick any famous painting to take home from a museum and hang over your couch, which would you pick? I ask because I was thinking about this yesterday when I saw an ad for a new exhibit at the art museum downtown. In the ad they had a Renoir hanging over a bright red couch and it looked so bizarre I couldn’t stop thinking about it and I need your opinion. I hope you’re doing well!

The opening lines make you bite your lip. He was thinking about you on his trip. He came up with questions, just for you, in the three weeks he was away.

Part of you tries to tamp down the excitement – you don’t even know this guy. All you know about him is that his name maybe starts with a P and he’s in his 40s. His profile says just that: “P | he/him | 40s | art nerd” and that’s it. You know that he likes art and stories about art and has amazing taste in art… and he seems to enjoy sending you asks. And answering asks from you. About art, and anything and everything else.

And just before he left on his trip, he started… well. There’s only one word for it. 

Flirting. 

He started flirting, in his asks. And then he even sent you a message, not an ask. The message was about a book you’d just finished, carrying over your discussion from the replies on a post to a private chat for the first time. You grinned like an idiot as you bantered and joked and flirted with him. 

give-me-arts: I can’t believe you didn’t like that book! you: It was slow! Soooo slow. give-me-arts: but that’s what made the payoff so good! you: but what good is it if I have to slog through all of that to get there? I’m too impatient.  give-me-arts: sometimes patience is worth it in the end 😉

But then he broke the bad news — he had to go on a work trip, probably for at least two weeks, and he wouldn’t be able to get online at all. You rolled your eyes at yourself, a bit, for how sad it made you. But whatever. It doesn’t matter now. He’s back! 

You start to type your answer to his ask, but your eyes stray towards your messages. You bite your lip. What could it hurt?

you: Welcome back! Just saw your ask. How was your trip?? give-me-arts: Hey! Way too long. I might have come up with a long list of asks for you in my down time 😉 you: Just for me? I feel special. ha give-me-arts: You are.

Your eyes widen. That is definitely the most direct he’s been so far, with flirting or anything else. What happened on that trip? You take a deep breath and ask about something else, shying away from his reply for the moment.

you: Did you finish the book? give-me-arts: I did! I liked it. I supposedly have the next one in the series waiting for me but I haven’t picked up my mail.  you: Go get it! Read it tonight! give-me-arts: haha ok fine. Let me go grab it. 

You smile and turn back to your draft of your answer to his newest ask. But before you can really get going there’s a knock at your door, just a few minutes later. 

You open it to find Marcus Pike, FBI agent and your (very attractive) neighbor, waiting on the other side. He looks tired and a bit rumpled but he has a light smile on his face, as always. 

“Hey neighbor. Here for your mail?” You invite him in as he nods. 

“Yep. How have you been? Thanks again for grabbing my packages.” You wave a hand at him and shrug. 

“It was no big deal. And I’m fine, nothing new around here. Did your trip go long?” He told you he would be away for at least two weeks, but it was closer to three. He nods.

“The case took a bit longer than we thought. I’m glad to be home.” He sighs, clearly tired from traveling.

You gesture towards the small pile of packages next to the table by your door. “Well, I piled your mail over here–” 

You are rudely interrupted by a notification from your laptop, and you feel your cheeks heat when you realize it was from tumblr. You glance over and see that your screen is angled towards the door and the page is clearly visible. Your eyes dart back to meet Marcus’ but to your surprise, he’s smiling. “Tumblr? I have one, too. It’s great.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen and you tilt your head at him in surprise. “Are you in any fandoms?”

He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Is liking art a fandom? But you already know how much of an art nerd I am. Comes with the job.” 

You laugh, and nod. “I like tumblr, too. It’s fun.”

Marcus nods and starts gathering his mail into the tote he brought with him, smiling. “Yeah, and I’ve met some cool people on there. It’s nice to just talk to people about art and books and movies, even if I don’t know them in real life. Helps me relax after work.” He straightens, bag full, and smiles at you again. “Thanks again for this. Can I buy you dinner sometime this week? To say thanks?”

You bite your lip. “Sure, Marcus. That would be nice.”

He grins, and it’s as attractive as always. “Great, I’ll text you. But I’ll let you get back to your messages. Have a nice night, neighbor.”As you sit back on the couch after Marcus’ visit, your tumblr messages catch your eye, and yor thoughts turn to P again. How funny, you think, that I have a neighbor who loves art and I seem to attract the same kind of internet friend. You shrug and dismiss the thought before reopening your draft. You need to respond to P’s ask.

#PPCUGiftExchange2024 #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #x reader #bte friendship exchange

[moralesispunk]

Can't Sleep

Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Summary: You can't sleep and Marcus comes up with a plan to fix that

Warnings: established relationship, oral (f receiving), kissing

Word Count: 1k (very short and sweet)

It has been hours since you first woke up.

Your side of the bed was now uncomfortably warm from all of the tossing and turning, sticking your leg out and back in from under the duvet while flipping your pillow over so many times that neither was the cool side anymore.

You groan and rub your eyes that are sore from watching the clock turn from 1:23 to 3:46 without a wink of sleep.

Marcus stayed snoring softly beside you, barely moving an inch throughout all of your fidgeting with one arm thrown over his head and the other resting on his chest as he dreamt away while you grew more and more frustrated with your mind's inability to turn off.

It was your best friend’s birthday tomorrow and you still needed to get a card, which you had meant to do after work but those files had got lost and so you had to stay late. And you were in charge of picking up the cake so you had to do that tomorrow as well. But that was on the other side of town so you would have to get ready early, go get the cake, then drive all the way back again in time for the barbecue. Then there was your prescription you had to pick up but the pharmacy was closed on Sundays and you would be out of your current pack by then so you would have to get that on the way to the cake shop…

Eventually you stopped clock watching and instead turned to face Marcus, taking in the stronge slope of his nose and pouring lips. His hair that was even messier than usual despite his head barely moving on the pillow from the second his eyes close to the second they open in the morning. The small furrow between his brows that was present even when dreaming, like he had to solve every problem that came his way even when asleep.

You didn't want to wake him with any more tossing and turning, especially not when he looked so peaceful, and so you slowly pushed your weight up to your elbows, thinking about the spare room down the hall, but before you could move any further a soft palm wrapping around your forearm stopped you.

“Where you goin’?”

You looked back down at Marcus, his dark eyes blinking up at you.

Hushing him softly, you tried to move away but he held on to you. “I just can't sleep. I’m going to go to the spare room. Go back to sleep.”

The crease between his brows deepens, his head shaking back and forth against the pillow as he tugs on your arm until you’re laying back down beside him.

“Nope.”

“Marcus-”

“No.”

“I don't want to keep you up, too.”

He doesn't respond to that, instead pulling you until you're instinctively wrapping around him with a leg thrown over his waist and your hand resting on his chest.

“Why can’t you sleep?” He asks instead.

“Thinking about everything I need to do tomorrow,” you reply, already feeling more relaxed as his fingers trail up and down your back, bumping your sleep shirt up higher until the bottom of your back is exposed and he starts dragging his fingers back and forth across your soft skin.

“That's tomorrow’s problem,” he replies, kissing the top of your head.

“I still can't stop thinking about it.”

It's something you can't help. Your mind is always twirling a million different thoughts, especially when you lie in bed with the near silence - Marcus's snoring and the brown noise track playing softly through the speaker Marcus set up by your side of the bed is usually enough to help you sleep but not tonight. Tonight your mind is just too loud.

Marcus must sense this, rolling you until you're lying on your back and he's hovering over you, his elbows planted by either side of your head and his still half-sleeping eyes looking down at you.

“Want me to help?” He asks, his voice rough but only partly with sleep, partly with whatever thoughts are now running through his mind as he nuzzles against your neck.

“I don't know how you can-”

You cut yourself off with a moan when he grinds himself down against you.

“Will you let me take care of you?” He mumbles against your skin, dragging the neck of your shirt down enough to kiss along your collarbone. “Hm?”

“Yes.”

He kisses you down your chest, lifting your t-shirt up to bare your stomach and kissing along the soft skin there before settling between your legs. He slowly drags your shorts down your legs, kissing as he goes, before settling back between your spread thighs.

He goes slowly, stopping to kiss up and down your thighs he holds over his shoulders or licks along the crease at your thigh. He does it until your body stops feeling tense and starts to relax back into the mattress, your moans turning to breathy gasps and your orgasm is accompanied only by a slight arch of your back and and your hand running up and down his forearm until he comes to wrap it in his palm as he squeezes it once, his thumb rubbing along your wrist.

Your face is turned into the pillow, your body is pilant against the mattress, your hand stroking across his strong shoulders.

“Still worried about tomorrow?” He asks and your lips twist into a frown.

“Well, a little. I still have so much to do. The cake. The prescription-”

“I’ll pick up the damn cake,” he mutters between your legs.

You choke back a laugh, turning and looking down to find the way Marcus lifts his head enough to look up at you as his eyes crinkle at the side from amusement and a soft smile covers his face.

“I’ll pick up the cake. I’ll go to the pharmacy. I’ll do whatever, but we can talk about that when the sun is up. Right now…” He dips his head, nipping the inside of your thigh with his teeth before licking and kissing away the pain. “Right now I want to make you come again,” he mutters.

And he does. He holds you through it as he brings you to the edge three more times, the final pulling you into a sleep as he kisses up your stomach and chest, nuzzling against your neck and pulling you to his chest.

“Sweet dreams, angel.”

_________

tags:

g@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @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 @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thereisaplaceintheheart @graciexmarvel @trickstersp8 @dreamiesunny @oogaboogasphincter @booksaremyyoga @bport76 @sirpascal @nyfeeer @manuymesut @alwaysdjarin @milispunk @thirddeadlysin @theluckyplaces

#marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x y/n #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike #marcus pike fic

[chronically-ghosted]

the days i spend with you

rating: T

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

word count: >1000

summary: a snow-storm keeps you from meeting Marcus's family over the holidays so you cheer him up by maintaining Pike family traditions.

warnings/tags: literally none, so much fluff, bad jokes, talking with your mouth full which is bad manners, references to air bud (do y'all even know who that is), minor praise in a barely kinky way, no y/n

a/n: i was feeling festive and my beautiful beautiful moots answered the call! @yoursoulsunbreakable requested: What about making apple scented candles with Marcus P on a rainy day? 🕯️🍎 🍁 this was healing to my soul to write so there will be more autumn/thanksgiving themed oneshots coming soon! (if you like these, please go look at @trulybetty 's october x 500 -- she did all of October with these yummy prompts, so please check them out and give her a follow!)

🤍Masterlist

“Stop it, you’re going to make me laugh.”

“I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re going to make me drop it!”

“What do you want me to do? Shut my eyes?”

“Yes!”

With a smile, your eyes flicker between the dribbling hot wax and Marcus, laughing as he stands up and goes to the other side of the kitchen. He pops half a Snickerdoodle in his mouth.

“Shee ‘m ev’n in a d’frnt room. ‘Appy now?” 

Your distraction taken care of, you return your attention to the culmination of about eight hours of work. Arms straining with the heavy pot, you continue to pour out the amber colored liquid into the small glass container that came with the kit and you bite your lip, focus entirely on maintaining a steady hand. A whole number of things could go wrong here: you could spill the wax and have hot wax splash all over Marcus’s grandmother’s Queen Anne table, which could have been present at the original Thanksgiving. You could pour too fast and the wax would yank down the wick and then you’d have to pluck it out with tweezers before it could harden – naturally clumsy, adding speed to the mix would only incentivize more chaos.

But you hold steady, wrists tight, and the wax slowly fills to the top, the tiny string staying firmly around the chopsticks. 

“That’s it, baby, you’re doing perfect.”

His voice makes your toes clench in your shoes and you bite your lip harder. Caught half-way between wanting his praise and finding even his voice a distraction, you block him out entirely and lean forward, just as the wax reaches the lip of the glass container. Like Marcus had shown you on the one he did just before, you flick your wrist up and the flow of the wax drip, drip, drips until the last bit is stopped by the edge of the pot. 

For a moment, you worry about what you forgot to do or if you’ve missed a step – because everything looks too perfect. The wax is settling properly, a cinnamon apple smell pungent throughout the house, and the string holds strong. 

Firm, warm hands slide over your waist as Marcus kisses your neck. His breath smells like sugar, the weight behind you a balm and a praise all its own.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” He asks quietly as he noses your ear. “You’re a natural.” 

You bite your lip and run your palms over his knuckles, up to his elbows, then settling firmly on his forearms.

“I know I’m not as good as your sister, or your mom, but at least I didn’t spill everywhere.” You smile gently when he stiffens slightly behind you. Twisting in his arms, you put a hand on that smooth face you love with all your heart. He returns your smile, but it's dampened. You know he’s disappointed that the weather grounded all planes to Maine where the Pikes’ have a winter home – he had been so looking forward to introducing you to his family. “I hope I haven’t shamed your ancestors with my shoddy candle making.”

Marcus laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug around your waist. “You haven’t shamed anyone. I give that candle a ten out of ten.” 

“And I burned the wax only once!” This time you laugh with him as he kisses your cheek. You forget how easy a happy Marcus shows affection, someone entirely different from the forlorn man you met all those months ago after he moved to Washington from Austin. “What’s next for the Pike family Thanksgiving Olympics?”

“Well, for a championship gold medal like that, I think all contestants deserve a hot chocolate and a repeat viewing of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving.” He pats your butt and walks into the kitchen. “Save me a seat, will ya?”

You smirk then flex in a pose as you head for the couch like you’re showing off your muscles on the Miami boardwalk. “You got it, champ. Put me in, cap, I’ll bring home the gold yet again! Airbud ain’t got nothing on me! Those Rooskies can’t defeat my hockey skills and–,” 

A hand catches your elbow halfway through a pretend hockey stick swing and you stumble back into his arms. You have a second to see his half-lidded eyes before he kisses you, your cheeks nestled between his palms. And you, predictable, go as weak-kneed as a dame on a tarmac. Your hands curl around his wrists, his cashmere sweater as soft as he is.

He nips at your bottom lip, almost a more affectionate squeeze than a real bite and you sigh, adjusting yourself to get closer to him. When he finally pulls away, you feel a little lightning-struck. You lift your heavy lids to his rich, dark brown eyes. The smile he gives you is a full on Pike smile, nothing dampened or dimmed about it.

“Thank you for being here,” he murmurs to your lips. You can’t wait to kiss chocolate off his later. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.” 

There is no silence with Marcus, only quiet contentment. Outside, the snow patters softly against the windows, piling up in the eaves of the house and the bends of the trees and the curves of the cars, the miles of road – a truly snowed-in Thanksgiving.

“Marshmallows with whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows with whipped cream.” You nod seriously. He lets you go and you kiss him once more on the cheek before going to find a good blanket to snuggle under. His heart so full it truly might burst, he turns back to the kitchen to start heating up the milk. 

So the weather ruined his plans this time around, the small black box remaining hidden in the bottom of his suitcase. Well, there is always Christmas to do it in front of his family. And if the weather continued to thwart his perfect proposal, he’d do it in the damn driveway if he had to. 

He didn’t want to waste another second with his ring anywhere but your finger.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #thanksgiving 2023

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Kinktober Day 22

Day Twenty-One | 🌹Kinktober Masterlist🌹 | Day Twenty-Three

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OlderVirgin!Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only. Any minors interacting with ANY of these Kinktober prompts will be blocked

Warnings: Reader is an older virgin; fingering; oral sex; loss of virginity; vaginal sex; safe sex

Marcus doesn’t laugh when you tell him. He doesn’t even flinch. It’s stunning. You feel like folding in on yourself, but Marcus just looks at you as if you’ve just told him about the forecast for the week. Maybe that should make it better, but it almost makes it…Worse. You’ve gotten no reaction; Marcus’ face is almost pointedly flat, as if he’s masking what he thinks, what he feels. 

You groan softly, scooching away from him, even as he murmurs, “Hang on—” 

You don’t hang on, but you don't run away from him like you’d like to, either. You tug the sheets up around your bare chest before you cover your heating face with your hands. You can feel the bed shifting beside you before Marcus’ hands gently curl around your wrists. He doesn’t try to pull them back from your face, he just waits for a moment. You draw in a few deep breaths, trying to quell your embarrassment before you lower your hands to your lap. Marcus’ hands lower to your thighs, the heat of them bleeding through the sheets.  

“It’s normal,” He soothes. 

“I know.” 

“Everyone moves at their own pace—” 

“I know.” You can feel your defensive irritation building, and shut your eyes, trying to steady yourself. 

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head, resting your hands atop his. “It’s…I’ve never told anyone that I’m a virgin and had it…Go well.” 

Marcus turns his hands over in yours, and bless him, he waits again. You draw in a deep breath, hold it for a few beats, and push it out slowly, giving Marcus’ hands a small squeeze. 

“Can we slow down?” You ask. 

“Of course we can.” He answers without a single hesitation. 

-- 

He doesn’t ask. For a while, he doesn’t even mention it. You’re not sure which is worse: talking about it, or not talking about it. You can’t help but wonder if he has questions that he’s just keeping to himself. You can feel him watching you now and again, but when you glance over questioningly, he just smiles. It puts you at ease. 

You still don’t jump right into it. 

You spend nights together, the two of you both fool around and get each other off, but you notice that he lets you lead. You’re certain he’s doing it on purpose, even if he won’t tell you. 

--  

“...Have you just never…Had the urge?” Marcus finally hedges one afternoon. You’re not sure what’s brought it to his mind. Maybe he’s thought of you—wanting you. Maybe he’s held back. You just keep your gaze set stalwartly on the television, watching Bogart and Bergman skillfully dance around what they really want to say. Maybe Marcus has been doing that for weeks; maybe he doesn’t have the patience for it anymore. 

“I have,” You admit. “But no one’s ever…Wanted to.” 

It feels shameful, and uncomfortable. No one’s ever wanted you like this. No one’s ever shoved their hands up under your shirt, murmured against your sweat-slicked skin that they need you—

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Marcus soothes, and by the slightly stunned tone, you’re certain that he really means it. Still, you shrug, looking at your lap as you try to ignore the way your stomach twists with discomfort. 

“Well,” You mumble in concession, “If it is, they’ve never said anything.” 

Marcus lets out a soft hum of sympathy, his hand smoothing over your arm. 

“People don’t always ask for what they want.” 

“I guess.” 

You can’t help your smile as Marcus presses his face into your neck, dotting the skin with kisses. 

“For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you.” 

Your smile widens, and you squeeze your eyes shut to quell the wave of relieved tears that spring up in your eyes. 

--  

Marcus gives you the time, and the space, and you decide that since the ball is in your court, you oughta do something with it. It’s a gamble, and it terrifies you, but as the two of you makeout lazily on his couch, you push yourself to straddle his lap. Marcus slides his hands over your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze as his tongue sweeps past your lips. You cup Marcus’ cheeks, drawing back to get a good look at him. 

“Marcus?” You murmur. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“Can we go to bed?” 

“Sure,” Marcus nods, shaking back his sleeve to eye his watch. “I didn’t realize how late it had gotten—” 

“No, Marcus, I…” You swallow thickly, summoning all of your courage and steadying yourself. “I want to go to bed.” 

Marcus’ brow furrows and he nods. “Yeah, I know. We can…” He trails off, searching your rapidly heating face. You watch as it dawns on him, his brows raising and his lips puckering into a small, surprised o. 

“Are you sure?” He presses. You nod, leaning in and brushing his lips gently along yours. 

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” 

--  

We can stop if you want to. 

He reminds you as he takes you apart, just before he lowers you onto the bed; just before he makes you shake apart with his tongue, and his fingers, and the sight of his pretty, dark eyes fluttering closed as he tastes you. 

We can take our time. 

Marcus says that over and over again—as you take him into your mouth; as he eases and curls his fingers to help stretch your throbbing, needy pussy. 

You’re in control. 

He murmurs it against your neck; against your thigh; against your sternum as he presses reverent kisses to the space between your breasts. 

He makes you feel in control, too, smoothing his hands over your head as you roll the condom onto his cock and lightly stroke him. You tip your chin up, brushing your lips against his, and smiling as Marcus bows closer to give you a warm, sweet kiss. 

“Are you ready?” He asks softly. 

“Yes.” 

You lay back, stomach fluttering with nerves as Marcus leans over you, grinding gently against you. You shiver at the feeling of his cock grinding against your slick folds. You bite your lip as the head of his cock nudges your entrance. His gaze flickers up to yours, and you nod. 

“Please, Marcus,” You reach down, grasping his cock and guiding him closer. Marcus braces himself over you, slowly pressing deeper inside. You let your head fall back, your eyes sliding closed as you savor the sensation of him filling you. It’s a little uncomfortable in its unfamiliarity, but he’s taken so much care to stretch you that the feeling isn’t unbearable. He goes still once his hips are flush against yours, and you manage to just catch his stifled groan as your cunt throbs around him. 

“Is that—” He sighs as you slide your hands up over his arms. “How do you feel, sweetheart?” 

“I…” You sigh, fumbling for your words, “It feels so…Mm, god, it feels amazing.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You feel big, Marcus.” You open your eyes, smiling up at him as he beams at you. He presses his chest against yours, catching your lips in a kiss. You curl your arms around his shoulders, sliding your feet up to bend your knees. The shift makes your pussy pulse, and you whimper against his lips. Marcus lifts his head, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Marcus?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart.” 

“Move? Please?” 

Marcus nods, sliding a hand down to your thigh to steady himself. He draws out, then eases his hips again. The sensation makes your breath catch in your throat. Your hips seem to tip up against his of their own volition, chasing the unfamiliar stretch of him. You can see him holding back. It’s in the tightness of his jaw, and the slow, steady way that he thrusts into you. You take in the sight of him—of his biceps as he holds himself over you, the furrow of his brow, his hazy eyes as he peers down at where you’re connected. 

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Marcus pants, “Fuck, you feel perfect.” 

The praise makes you shiver, your mouth falling open. You dig your nails into his shoulders as your pussy ripples around him. 

“Marcus,” You plead, “More.”

He hikes your leg up around his hip, thrusting with more force. The bed creaks a bit, your headboard whacking lightly against the wall in time with the slapping of your hips. You grasp the back of his neck, drawing him down for another kiss. His hand snakes down, swiping across your throbbing clit. You can feel him smiling against your lips as you whine into his mouth. 

“Is this what you needed?” He goads. 

“Yes, Marcus, yes—” 

“How does that feel?” 

“Good, it feels so good, you—Oh god, oh god,” You gasp, hips pressing up into his cock and his fingers. He murmurs encouragingly, fingers swirling your clit in small, concentrated circles with each thrust of his hips. You can feel your orgasm creeping up, your toes curling in the sheets as you fist a hand in Marcus’ hair. 

“Marcus,” You warn softly. 

“Yeah—Oh, I know, fucking look at you,” He presses closer, hips sawing with long, slow thrusts. “I want you to cum for me, sweetheart. You’re so fucking perfect, taking my cock like this.” 

Your mouth falls open with a moan as you raise a hand, toying with your breast and thumbing your aching nipple. Your eyelids flutter, back arching as you press your hips up against his, whimpering and moaning as you fall apart around him. Marcus keeps his thrusts steady as you cum, cunt tightening and throbbing around him.

It’s a few moments before you hear him before you hear him curse under his breath, and thrilling in the feeling of his hips rabbiting, then stilling. You listen to him panting, feel him gently draw out of you before he climbs off of you, leaving your sweat-sheened skin to cool. You close your eyes, listening to him pad away from the bed. It’s followed by the hissing of the faucet, the plop of the condom being dropped into the waste bin, the burble of a washcloth being squeezed out, and the return of his footsteps. 

You open your eyes, watching him, and smiling as he gently cleans you off. He glances up, his eyes catching on yours, and you smile, stroking his chin gently. Marcus sets the washcloth aside, climbing back onto the bed properly and drawing you into his chest. You cuddle into him, sliding a leg over his and thrilling in the lingering throb between your thighs. 

“How are you feeling?” Marcus murmurs. 

“Mm…Sleepy,” You admit, smiling as he chuckles.

“I really took it out of you, huh.” 

“After you put it into me, yeah.” You laugh as Marcus does, grinning up at him as he tips his head back against the pillows, his belly rising and falling with laugh. You lean up, cupping his and gently guiding his head toward yours, giving him a tender kiss. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” You murmur. 

He shakes his head, giving your side a gentle squeeze. 

“Thank you for trusting me to.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @recklessworry ; @amneris21 ; @ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @lorecraft ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; @millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @wild-rose-35 ; @daisyslibrary ; @informally-liz ; @andrastesflamingtitties ; @muchacha-encabronada ; @nerdygirl0414 ; @elen-aranel ; @ohbee-whatcanyoube ; @kmc1989 ; @quietpainter ; @thedreadandthefugitivemind ; @kaletastrophes ; @nyx2021 ; @thatesqcrush ; @shanimallina87 ; @adarasforest ; @s-u-t ; @silversprings-mp3 ; @senawashere ;

#Marcus Pike x Reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike/Redear #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike imagine #Kinktober #Kinktober 2023

[thetriumphantpanda]

i work from nine to five; hey hell, i pay the price | Marcus Pike

Summary | You use the office halloween party as a way to prove you can push yourself out of your comfort zone. You didn't expect that to mean that the apple of your eye, Marcus Pike, would take an interest in you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Plus Size F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

Warnings | Explicit smut, workplace 'romance', negative talk about bodies, body issues, plus size reader, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex, dirty talk, mention of food and alcohol, halloween vibes, costumes, pet names, but nothing else.

Authors Note | I told myself I wasn't going to do halloween writing, and then I had a very vivid image of Marcus Pike bending me over his desk at a work party.... So I did some halloween writing. As a woman who lives life in a bigger body, this one goes out to everyone else who has felt the way reader has felt. These are MY OWN experiences, attitudes I've had given to me, and given to myself, they aren't universal, we all feel differently about ourselves, but if you've ever been made to feel less than because of the way you look, just know I see you and that Marcus Pike would absolutely take you apart regardless of how thick your thighs are. If you liked this, please consider supporting me through my Ko-Fi.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You tug at your skirt a little, trying to pull it down over your thighs. It seemed like a good idea at the time, to choose something skimpy for the office Halloween party. A way to challenge yourself, finally start to work through the years of bullying at school, and the off-hand comments from your almond-mom who had always told you things like, ‘you could stand to lose a few pounds’, or ‘surely a salad would be a better idea?’. 

It had been such a relief when you’d gotten this job two years ago, finally earning enough on an FBI salary to move out of your family home and into your own space. A space where you weren’t judged for how many fries you had on your plate, or how the pair of trousers you’d chosen to wear made your belly look. It had been good for you, and ever since, you’d been trying your best to challenge yourself to do things you never thought you’d ever have the confidence to do. 

Things like standing in the office, in a pair of fishnet tights, with a skirt so short that if you bent over, Dave from Finance would get a complete eyeful. Looking around though, you couldn’t help feel like it had been a terrible idea. Amy from HR looked absolutely phenomenal in her devil outfit – a red bodycon dress that looked like it had been painted on, showing not a single imperfection on her body – and Jessica, who worked reception, in a Catwoman jumpsuit that hugged her figure perfectly. You don’t think it would ever go away, the comparing yourself to everyone else, even though you knew that Amy and Jessica would totally have their own insecurities about things. 

You were trying to make yourself at small as possible, crowding yourself into the corner of the room, hand clutched around a plastic cup full of ‘spooky punch’, that Hannah, the office manager had put together, which comprised of mostly vodka, some orange juice and what looked like a whole bottle of green food coloring, with some eyeball candy floating around in it. She’d put together a Halloween playlist, which was currently blasting The Monster Mash at a decibel you think should be illegal, and everyone had contributed to her spooky buffet, which was just normal food cut into shapes – like your addition of frozen pizza that you’d cut out with a ghost-shaped cookie cutter. You know you should go and mingle. Adam, on your team has already tried twice to get you to join their little group, so you relent, and walk over, giving everyone a warm smile. It’s all going well, until Alison, nods her head in your direction and stats speaking. 

“Did you work late?” She asks, to which you shake your head. 

“No, why?” 

“Oh,” She grimaces, “I just didn’t think you’d dressed up, is all.” 

And you know it’s mainly because she’s oblivious to mostly everything, but it smarts. Sure, the orange turtleneck is something you’d worn to work before, as are the black platform heels, but the skirt that ghosts the bottom of your ass and the fishnet tights that are still probably one size too small are not something you usually wear, nor are the fake glasses, with thick black frames, or the fucking magnifying glass you’re clutching. You sigh, make your excuses and walk over to the buffet table, picking up one of the slices of pizza you’d brought. Once you’ve eaten that, you reach for one of the cupcakes at the back of the table. It’s iced like a pumpkin and the cake looks to be chocolate, which is your favourite. You’re peeling off the wrapper and about to take a bite when someone interrupts you. 

“They’re delicious.” 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. Marcus Pike. Head of Department. Not your boss, but your boss’ boss, and the most beautiful man you think you’d ever laid eyes on. You’d sat in on meetings that he chaired, supposed to be taking notes but instead focused entirely on him and how he commanded the room. The way he talked with his hands, and how much you wish you could have him run those over your thighs. Or the way he would chew on his bottom lip when he was concentrating, wondering whether he’d like it if you did that if he were to ever kiss you. 

“Oh.” You exhale softly, suddenly uber aware of the fact he’s probably just watched you eat the ghost-shaped pizza, and now, not a minute later, getting ready to bite into the cupcake, you go to set it down on the table, but he stops you, hand gently holding onto your wrist. 

“Please,” He says softly, “I made them, so I need the ego boost.” 

You smile a little, finally meeting his eyes, “You just said they were delicious, what do you need my opinion for?” 

“I remember the raspberry muffins you made last week,” He smirks a little, “And the apple turnovers the week before those, and everything else you bring in, I need to know what the office star baker thinks about my effort.” 

You’re going to refuse, say you’re already full, despite the pizza being the first thing you’d eaten that evening, that you’ll take it home with you and report back on Monday, but his beautiful brown eyes are soft, almost pleading, so you sigh, peel the rest of the wrapper off and take a bite. It’s actually delicious. He’s put some kind of orange flavouring in the icing, and the cake itself is really good. 

“You were right,” You smile, “It is delicious.”

He smiles, like he’s won a prize and it makes you feel a bit fuzzy inside, that this man next to you has been affected by your praise. 

“Great costume, by the way.” He compliments, and you don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body. 

“You mean you don’t think I ran out of time and came in my office clothes?” You tease. 

“You’d wear that skirt to the office?” He’s smirking at you, and also offers you a wink, which has your hand dropping to the table, holding yourself up, why on earth was Marcus Pike flirting with you? “It’s good, Velma, right?” He motions to the magnifying glass abandoned on the table. 

You chuckle a little, “First prize, got it first time,” You then take a moment to take in his costume, he’s wearing a brown jacket over one of his usual shirts, a brown satchel is draped across his body and he’s got a hat on, but it’s the whip that really gives him away, “Indiana Jones?” You say quietly. 

“The one and only.” He smiles, opening his arms a little. 

You think it must be the amount of vodka that Hannah put in the punch, but even so, your next question shocks you, “Do I ask where you got the whip from?” 

He looks around dramatically, “Just checking Amy from HR is out of earshot,” Then he leans in a little closer, “It’s from my own personal collection.” 

You reach your hand out, letting your fingers run over the material where the handle is holstered in his pocket. It feels expensive, although it’s not like you have much experience with them to pass judgement on what’s expensive and what isn’t.

“Feels expensive,” You hum, “Guess that head of department salary has to get spent on something.” 

He reaches down and takes your hand in his gently, running soft circles over the skin on the back of your hand, “You really do look lovely tonight,” He speaks softly, “Enjoy the rest of the evening.” 

And then as quickly as he was stood in front of you, he’s gone. You let out a breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding in, focusing on the way your chest is heaving and you can feel your pulse in your head. You pick up your plastic cup and down the liquid that’s left in the bottom, wincing at the strength of the vodka, then deciding you need a top up. 

You mill about for a little bit longer, but still feel like a bit of a spare part. You’ve shown your face, spoken to everyone you should have, and now there’s a glass of wine and a bubble bath with your name on it back home. You pick up your coat from the back of a random office chair, grab your bag from your own desk, and sneak out as quietly as you can. You’re halfway down the hall, almost to the elevator, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

“Running away?” 

You turn around, Marcus Pike is leaning against the doorframe to his office. He’s taken the satchel off, and the whip is no longer in his pocket. He’s crossed one ankle over the other, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Feeling a little like a spare part,” You shrug, “And there’s a glass of wine calling my name at home.” 

He nods in understanding, “You drink whiskey?” He asks. 

“If I have to.” You answer back. 

“Well, how about you stay and have one with me,” He offers, “Leave that wine for another day.” 

You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, because why on earth would Marcus Pike want to have a drink with you? It feels like someone somewhere is having a good old laugh at your expense, but you feel your feet leading you towards him, brushing past him and into his office. 

You’ve been in here a handful of times before, mainly to drop of reports and papers, and only once whilst he’s been there. It’s been a very professional relationship up until now, no flirting, nothing inappropriate. You drape your coat over the arm of the small couch he’s got there – you imagine he sleeps on it when he hasn’t got time to go home during crunch time of investigations.  Your bag sits on the floor next to it. 

He leaves the door open, giving you an out if you want it. He points to the couch, tells you to sit down, which you do, pulling once again at the tiny skirt, trying to cover the way the skin of your thighs bulge through the holes of the fishnet tights, ultimately failing, as Marcus reaches into one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out two crystal tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. He fills them both equally, handing one to you, but he doesn’t sit next to you, he just leans against the edge of his desk. 

“I always thought it was a myth,” You muse, “Agents with whiskey in their desks.” 

He smiles at you, “It’s in there for big wins,” He explains, “Cracking cases and that kind of stuff.” 

You nod your head, taking a small sip of your drink, wincing as it drags down your throat, “What’s tonight’s big win?” You ask, fluttering your eyelashes and then cringing a little at yourself. 

“You looking that sinful.” 

You’re taking a sip when he says it, so you end up spluttering quite unattractively at his words. Is he serious? You dab at the corners on your mouth, setting your glass down on the floor, “Sorry,” You mutter, “But are you for real?” 

He smirks, “As real as you and I.” 

He pushes himself off the desk, puts his drink down on it as he moves. He takes three wide strides until he’s stood in front of you. You look up from where you’re sat, hands folded in your lap. He reaches out, drags the fake glasses from your face, throws them absentmindedly onto the couch next to you. You’re breathing heavily as reaches out with one of his hands. The flat of his palm cupping your jaw, whilst his thumb traces along your bottom lip. 

“Do you want me to close the door?” He asks, voice lower than you’ve ever known it. 

You have no words, your tongue refusing to work, so you nod instead, because as much as you’re still thinking someone is going to come in and tell you you’re being pranked, you also want to know what he’s going to do next. He’s back to you in moments once he’s closed the door and turned the lock. The light above is harsh, but it’s needed, because the blinds are closed. 

He's standing in front of you again, this time both his palms are cupping your cheeks, and he’s leaning down, ever so slowly, until his lips are a hairs breath from yours. God, you want him to push the last few millimeters and kiss you, but he’s stopped. Waiting. And you don’t want to break first. You’ve done it before, gone to kiss someone, and then felt them laugh just before you can, because why would they want to? 

“You gonna kiss me, pretty lady?” 

“I want you to kiss me first.” You admit on a shaky breath. 

You’ve got your eyes closed, so you can’t read his eyes, look for the sense of regret in them, so it’s a shock when you feel his lips on yours. It’s so soft, barely there, before he’s pulling away, still close enough to feel his hot breath over your skin though. 

“There,” His thumbs are moving across the skin of your cheeks, “Now you.” 

So, you do. You reach your hand around to the back of his neck, pull him into you and really press your lips to his. His bottom lip slots between yours and you suck it gently into your mouth. You smile a little at the sound that comes from his throat, then he’s opening his mouth against yours and you’re following, doing exactly the same, letting his tongue behind your teeth as it melds with your own. His hands are dropping from your face, trailing down your shoulders. He leans forward into you a little, his hands under your arms to tug you up. 

You drag your mouth from him to stand up, his hands dropping to your hips to guide you behind his desk. There are nerves bubbling under your skin because you know what he wants as he pressed your ass into the wood. He wants you to sit on it. To be fair to the department, it’s a sturdy looking desk, but the thought of the way it’s going to creak under your weight makes you want to crawl into a hole. Marcus doesn’t push though, just brings his mouth back to yours, letting his hands wander a little, dragging them back up your body to palm your tits through the layers you’re wearing. 

“I think you did this on purpose,” He speaks against your mouth, “Like you knew this woman had always driven me wild.” 

You don’t mean to, but it makes you laugh, “Don’t tell me Velma from Scooby-Doo was your sexual awakening?” 

He laughs back, doesn’t confirm it, but doesn’t deny it either. He’s looking down your body, having pulled back a bit, “Fuck,” He mutters, “Every time I look at you, it gets better.” 

“The magic of a slutty Halloween costume.” You shrug. 

He nods his head, but speaks again, “It’s not just that though,” He’s speaking softly now, “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, wandering around the office all the time, driving me mad.” 

This would normally be the time that you’d try and fight against the compliments being thrown your way. Tell them they must be lying, or joke that they need to get their eyes tested. But somehow, it doesn’t feel like you should do that here. There’s something about Marcus that makes you think he wouldn’t lie, wouldn’t string you along this far just to have a laugh at your expense, so you don’t do it, for the first time in your life. 

You reach up to his shirt, undo two of the buttons, “You know,” You hum, “I think exactly the same as you, with your whip or not.” 

He breathes out, taking hold of your wrists to stop your movements, “Let me make you feel good?” He asks. 

You meet his eyes, feeling heat rise across your face, but you nod anyway, because you’ve come this far, and you can already feel wetness pooling in your panties. He drags his hands down your body, grips your hips and forces you to sit on the edge of the desk, dropping to his knees in front of you. He’s looking you straight in the eyes, as he pushes the material of your skirt to gather at your waist. Your legs open further, and Marcus groans when your movement reveals the see-through black lace of your panties. It hadn’t felt right to dress as a sexy Velma and wear your normal underwear, is how you justify it. 

You’re expecting him to tell you to lift up so he can drag your tights off you, but instead, he hooks a finger through the material at your groin and fucking rips them apart. It makes you gasp. You’d chide him for ruining them, but at this point you don’t care. They were cheap, and if it means you’re going to have his mouth on you quicker, then you’re not going to complain. 

Marcus leans forwards, you can feel the heat of his breath splaying across the lace material, and then he drags his tongue across the length of your folds over the lace of your panties. Even with the material barrier between your skin and his mouth, you’re tipping your head back in pleasure, letting out a breath as he repeats his movements, dragging his fingers just behind his tongue on his last pass of movements. It’s not enough. 

“Please, Marcus.” You beg quietly. 

“What do you want, pretty lady?” He asks, looking up at you with angelic eyes, as if he couldn’t possibly think what it is you want from him. 

“Your mouth.” 

“You already have it.” He points out, proving his point by licking another stripe up your panties. 

“Marcus,” You sigh, “Move the… fuck… move the damn material out of the way.” 

He lets out a huff of amusement, “See,” He says, doing exactly as you ask, hooking his fingers under the material and moving it to the side, “All you had to do was ask.” 

He doesn’t waste any more time now. Letting his tongue dip between your slick folds, dragging the wetness that’s pooled at your entrance up to your clit, where he flicks softly with the tip of his tongue. You feel his thumbs spreading the lips of your cunt, baring you to him so he can really start to work you up. He presses the flat of his tongue to your clit, working it gently as your hand settles into the curls on his head, anchoring him there. He’s doing all the things you love, moving between wide stripes of the flat of his tongue, and quick flicks with the tip, until your hips are grinding against his face and you’re biting down onto your bottom lip to keep quiet. 

“You taste so fucking sweet, pretty lady,” He speaks against your skin, surprising you a little as he pushes not one, but two of his fingers into your soaked cunt, “Feel good?” 

“Oh God,” You breathe out as he hooks his fingers inside you, pressing against a spot you had no idea even existed inside of you, “Don’t stop… don’t fucking stop.” 

He doesn’t, the obedient man that he is. He starts dragging his fingers in and out of you, whilst his lips wrap around your clit, pulling it into his mouth, laving it with attention from his tongue, which sends you over the edge. 

Your thighs are clenching around his head as your body convulses. All you want is to cry out, call his name into the room, but even though you can hear the music from the party down here, anyone could be walking past, and it would be just your luck that it would be Amy from HR. His mouth is working you through those aftershocks as your thighs ease the pressure around his head. 

He's breathing as heavy as you are when he stands, slotting himself between your open legs. You can feel the hard length of him pressing against your silken center, as he dips his head to kiss you again, your taste intoxicating on his tongue. 

“Can I fuck you?” He asks, almost desperately, “You gonna let me?” 

“Please.” Is all you can get out, as he drags you off the desk, flipping you around so your front is pressed against the wood of the desk. 

He’s got his hand on the nape of your neck, pressing you down. You can hear him undoing his belt, dragging the zipper of his jeans down. You shuffle a little, widening your stance as he takes his place behind you. You can feel him dragging his cock through your folds, gathering the slick he’s pulled from you, before he’s plunging into you in one go. It takes everything you have not to scream. He’s big. Stretching you like no-one has before and it feels so fucking good. 

Marcus is still gripping the back of your neck as he starts moving, his other hand gripping the plush cheek of your ass, spreading you open even more as he slowly drags himself in and out of you. He’s going slowly, and you think that the way his breath is hitching in his throat means he’s struggling to keep his composure, so you decide to have a little fun. 

When he’s pulled almost all the way out of you, you turn your head as much as you can with his hand resting there, looking over your shoulder at him as you wiggle your ass, slowly backing into him, letting your cunt suck him right back into you again. 

“Baby, you can’t do that,” He pleads, his fingers digging into the skin of your ass, “Carry on like that and this will be over before it’s begun.” 

“Don’t care,” You mutter, “Harder, please.” 

He starts pounding into you now, the sound of his skin slapping against yours is obscene. You’re both trying as hard as possible to keep the moans and groans as quiet as possible, and you can’t help but wish he wants more, that he’ll take you home sometime, unwrap you and let you scream for him, but you decide to focus on the here and now. 

“Touch yourself.” You hear demanded from behind you, “I want to feel you come on my cock.” 

You snake your hand underneath you, pushing the discomfort of how your arm is trapped between your body and the desk, and start tracing quick circles over your clit. You’re already sensitive, hanging on the edge from his mouth, so you press harder, move your wrist faster. 

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Marcus groans behind you, “Close, ain’tcha?” He asks, “Go on baby, let go for me, let me feel you.” 

And it’s his voice that does it, that finally tips you over the edge, has your cunt clenching around him, walls fluttering and teeth biting into your bottom lip as your knees give way. Thankfully, Marcus is gripping at your hips, which helps to keep you upright. 

“Where, baby?” He asks, voice strained, and you don’t catch what he means, “Quick baby, where do you want me?” 

“Anywhere.” You groan out, “I don’t care Marcus, just come for me.” 

You think for a moment he might stay inside you, which would be fine, you thank the implant under the skin of your arm, but at the last minute he’s pulling out of you, feeling the hot slick of his cum on the skin of your ass as he lets out a low groan out of his mouth. He’s breathing heavily behind you, pulling his jeans back up. You try and move, to push yourself up, but you’re worried if you move further you might collapse. 

“Stay there.” He says gently, leaning over you to pluck a few tissues from the box on his desk, gently wiping away the mess he’s caused, pulling your panties back into place and letting your skirt cover as much of your ass as it can in your position. 

“You okay?” He asks softly, helping you to stand, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear. 

You nod, because you are, you’ve never been fucked so thoroughly, never been made to come so hard in your life, but there’s an anxiety settling in your stomach. What always happens now is they’ll tell you they had a great time, but don’t think they want to see you again, which is going to be even more embarrassing because you have to work with this man. 

It's almost as if he can sense your anxiety, because he’s cupping your cheek again, leaning to give you a soft kiss on the lips, “Would you maybe want to go out sometime?” He asks, “I know we’ve done things out of order, but I’ve wanted to ask for a while.” 

You smile, because it does make you happy, that the man you’ve fancied for the best part of a year actually wants to take you out, “As long as you promise to take me back to yours after and let me see you naked?” 

He blows out air from his mouth, but his eyes are twinkling, “You drive a hard bargain,” He muses, “But you’ve got yourself a deal.” 

He’s moving from you now, over to the couch, picking up your coat and your back, motioning you over so he can help you into your jacket, hooking your bag onto your elbow, then moving to gather his own things, “Wait, right now?” You ask, sounding surprised, as he shrugs his jacket on. 

“I know a great diner just down the road.” He shrugs, picking up his satchel. 

He’s walking back to you, but you put a hand on his chest, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” You ask, watching a confused look fall over his face, you dart your eyes to his desk, where the whip from earlier is lying abandoned, “I’m only coming back to yours if you bring that.” 

You watch as a smirk splays across his lips. He snatches the whip from his desk, shoving it into the satchel, “Well, pretty lady, lead the way.” 

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Pedro Pascal #The mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #plus size reader

[pedropascalsx]

An Unexpected Confession {Marcus Pike x F! Reader}

Summary: Marcus Pike is dreading returning home for the holidays. Dreading the inevitable questions about his non-existent and frankly sad love life. But an unexpected confession from his best friends little sister changes things.

Info: Reader has no physical descriptions other than having hair please note that she as referred to Bunny - her childhood nickname - multiple times throughout the story.

Warnings: Legal age gap, fluff, Oral (Fem receiving), Some flirty texting, Phone sex, Masturbation (M&F), Unprotected sex, Creampie, Mentions of food, Eating, Little bit of controlling parentage, Mentions of terrible Hallmark movies and a VERY cheesy ending.

Word Count: 10,000+ (Yeah this one got away from me a little).  

A/N: Marcus Pike might be my kryptonite. I absolutely struggled with this one. I love this character, I love canon Marcus and Fanfic Marcus and trying to do him justice and failing absolutely terrified me. This is the first time I've successfully finished writing a Marcus Pike fic and I really hope you all enjoy it.

Thank you to my gorgeous beta @wheresarizona​ for beta’ing and being so wonderfully supportive.

Thank you to @whataperfectwasteoftime​ @honestly-shite​ @theewokingdead and @ezrasbirdie for being so lovely and supportive and keeping me motivated.

He sat for a few minutes, rubbing his palms against his jean-clad thighs. The sound of his fellow passengers scrambling to get off the plane made him roll his eyes. Four days. Just four days at home. He could do this. 

 Before he knew it, he’d be back on the plane and ready to return to DC, he just needed to get Thanksgiving at home over and done with. 

 He stood slowly and pulled his backpack from the overhead compartment before swiftly exiting the plane and making his way into the airport and down to collect his rental car.

 Four days at home with his parents and siblings, their partners, and their kids. It would be nice, he reasoned with himself, he hadn’t met his youngest brother's new baby yet, and it would be lovely to spend time with his newest niece.

 He’d barely gotten into his rental when his phone began to ring, and he grinned at the name flashing up on his phone.

 “You keeping tabs on me?” he chuckled into the phone as his best friend Mike instructed him to meet him at a bar instead of going straight to his parent's house.

 “A beer sounds great,” Marcus says as he buckled his seatbelt, “Text me the address, and I’ll come straight over.”

 *

 The bar was new, sleek, and modern. It was situated in the same spot where Marcus’ parents took him shoe shopping for years as a child. It seemed that every time he returned home, more and more had changed and became even more unrecognizable.

 “Pike!” He heard from the corner of the bar, and he couldn’t stop the huge grin from spreading across his face, “Get your ass over here.” 

 He quickly pulled his friend in for a hug and greeted a few others he hadn’t seen or spoken to in a while. Marcus took the time to catch up and chat quietly with each of them, and before he knew it, one beer had turned into several.

 After a while, they had been joined by Mike's dad, who was thrilled to see Marcus again, and he’d suggested they take it back to his house for a few more beers and some takeout pizza. An idea that went down very well with all the guys.

 It was dark by the time they made it back to the Anderson household. All cars were left in the bar parking lot as they scrambled into the back of a few cabs after coming to the sensible conclusion that they were all too drunk to drive.

 *

 Snuggled up in your bed, you heard the commotion downstairs and rolled your eyes. With your container of Chinese food comfortably nestled in your lap, and an oversized glass of wine in your hand, you giggled at what would most definitely be a messy evening downstairs and resumed your Netflix marathon. 

  Blissfully unaware that the man you’d harboured a massive crush on for years was having the time of his life in your kitchen - the man that had no clue that you were madly in love with him and still referred to you as your childhood nickname, Bunny. 

 *

The next morning rolled around quickly, you’d slept better than you had in weeks, and you quickly dove back into the same routine you’d lived for years.

 The first few weeks were tougher than you’d imagined they’d be, returning home after graduating college. You’d studied Criminology and Criminal Justice at A&M University, and the only job offers you’d had so far were out of state, and your parents weren’t happy about you leaving Texas. You missed the freedom you had living in your own apartment and being able to come and go as you pleased.

 But you knew you had the next few hours to yourself, the rest of the house still sleeping soundly, you climbed out of bed and made your way downstairs. Stomach rumbling with excitement for the pancakes you were about to indulge in. 

 Slipping into the kitchen, you switch the radio on before turning your attention to preparing the batter. Grabbing it all out of the pantry and placing it on the countertop. You took a large handful of chocolate chips and start to pop them into your mouth whilst beginning to measure out the ingredients.

 *

 The soft humming of the music pulls him from his slumber, his head pounding as a consequence of the countless beers he’d consumed the night before. 

 “Fuck,” he mumbles as he pulls himself upright, still dressed in the same clothes as the day before. He stands up and follows the music in his search for a much-needed glass of water.

 He stumbles, almost choking on the air at what greets him in the kitchen. 

 You’re still leaning over the counter, measuring out some milk as he enters, the music drowning out his footsteps. He’s greeted by the sight of your barely covered ass, wiggling along to the music as your too-tight t-shirt continues to rise up over your hips.

 His cock throbs in his pants at the sight of you, feeling himself growing harder and harder and having to pull at the front of his jeans to readjust himself. Guilt rises from the pit of his stomach as he realizes that he’s growing hard over his best friend's sister. 

 His best friend’s not-so- little sister.

 You took a step back, and he clears his throat to announce his presence, the gasp that left your throat was much louder than you could have expected as you spun around to see Marcus standing awkwardly in the doorframe.

 Your cheeks heat with embarrassment as you start apologizing profusely.

 “Hey,” he soothed, putting his hands up in a placating gesture, “I should have said something sooner. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

 “I didn’t know you were here,” you say a little too quickly back.

 “Yeah. I uh-” he scratched at the back of his neck, “Met your brother and your dad for a few drinks, and they turned into a few more.”

 “Oh,” you reply, pulling at the threadbare t-shirt you’re wearing and immediately realizing just how exposed you are, “Shit. I didn’t..” 

 “It’s okay,” he says with a slight chuckle, “I didn’t know either. I’ll let you finish up.” 

 “Do you want some?” You ask as he turns on his heel.

 He raises an eyebrow, and you push again, “Some pancakes? Chocolate chip?” You ask as you force down a giggle.

 “I love chocolate chip,” he says with a grin. “Sounds great.” 

 “Cool.”

 You pop down to the guest bathroom and pull on the robe hanging from the back of the door before bouncing back into the kitchen, and you see Marcus setting the table. Pouring out two glasses of orange juice as you start frying up the pancake batter.

 You place the large stack on a plate and grab the maple syrup from the pantry and butter from the fridge before taking a seat in front of him. 

 “Help yourself,” you say with a shy smile before bouncing back up and out of your chair. “I almost forgot.” 

 You rifle through one of the drawers and pull out a small bottle of Advil and place it in front of him, seeing him blush pink before offering you a smile of gratitude.

 “So how’s college, bunny?” He asks with a wink after taking two pills, and you groan in response.

 “Bunny? Really?” You ask, and he laughs back at you.

 “It suits you. Always has. Always bouncing around like a little bunny, it’s cute.”

 “It’s childish,” you say before shoving a forkful of pancakes in your mouth and swallowing quickly. “You know I’m not a child anymore?”

 He swallows at your admission and fights back the urge to tell you he knows. Instead, he just takes a few more bites of his pancakes and sips his orange juice.

 “I graduated,” you say before taking a small sip of your own drink, “Got a few job offers. One in California, was offered something in Montana, and uh, I've been invited to interview for a position in DC.” You say with a slight shrug of your shoulders. 

 “Shit! That’s fantastic,” he says before reaching over and giving your hand a squeeze, “DC is incredible. Are you going to do it?”

 “I’m not sure. My parents are not keen on me leaving the state,” you say with a sad smile, “But I’d like to. I mean, I doubt I’d get it but starting off my career in DC would be kind of perfect.”

 “You gotta think about what’s best for you, bunny. Think about what you want.” 

 You nod in agreement, and you both sit in silence for a few minutes, occasionally sharing a soft smile and a fleeting glance before he breaks the silence.

 “What do you want, bunny?” He asks as his eyes meet yours. Those gorgeous brown orbs burning into yours as his question floats in the air.

  You , is your first thought, and you blush at the thought of accidentally letting that escape from your throat - the thoughts flashing up in your head making your panties dampen. 

 “Freedom,” you whisper quietly, “Being able to do what I want to do without fear that I’m letting everyone down. Being able to go wherever is best for me and not for everyone else.”

 “Agree to the interview,” he says before wiping his mouth and hands on the napkins he laid out. “Even if it’s not for you, you’ll get to see how beautiful DC is.”

 He stands up and takes his plate and glass to the sink, washing them up and popping them in the rack to dry.

 “I better be getting home, and I've got to pick my rental up from the bar.”

 “Do you need a ride?” You ask as you take your dirty dishes to the sink, dumping them in but deciding they can wait until later, “I need to pop to Target anyway.”

 “You sure?” He asks before scratching the back of his neck, looking unsure.

 “Positive,” you say with a smile, “Just need to get dressed. Give me ten minutes?”

 “Perfect.“

 *

 The drive to the bar is quicker than you anticipated, you’d both engaged in a little small talk, and he teased you about the first time he saw you drive a car, making you want to melt with embarrassment.

 “Don’t know how you didn’t see that mailbox, bunny,” he needles with a loud roar of laughter, and before you had a second to register the words falling out of your mouth, they did.

 “I was distracted by you.” 

 An awkward giggle forces its way out of your throat as you attempt to change the subject, a look of pure confusion painted across Marcus’ face as you do so. 

 “We’re here,” you say, looking down at you the steering wheel, “Have a—”

 “You were distracted?” He asks quietly. “By me?”

 “Marcus, I-I,” you sigh loudly before a small fit of giggles starts to fall out from between your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanksgiving at the Pike’s, right?”

 He hums in response, eyes still fixated on you as he unbuckles his seat belt and starts to climb out of your car. “You bringing that world-famous apple pie cheesecake thing?” he asks as he steps out onto the sidewalk.

 “Of course,” you say, looking up at him with a small smile. “See you tomorrow, Marcus.”

 “See you tomorrow, bunny.” 

 *

 You’re not sure how long you sat in the parking lot outside the Target for, rerunning that day over and over in your head.

 It was many years previous, and you’d barely had your driver's license a month, seeing your brother standing on your drive talking loudly to someone out of your eyesight, and you’re not sure how you did it, but the sight of Marcus Pike walking out of your house and towards your brother made your breath hitch, and you somehow took out your family’s mailbox. 

 The sound of your brother's laughter still rung in your ears when you think about it now, Marcus looking across at you with those big brown eyes filled with worry as you climbed out of your car, drowning in embarrassment, the embarrassment being pushed away by ugly jealousy when you looked back over at him and saw his new bride (now ex-wife) wrapping her arms around his waist, all of them giggling at your predicament. 

 “Ugh,” you growl before stepping out of your car to head into the store, “Baking supplies and other shit that Target tells me I need to buy,” you grumble to yourself.  

 *

 The rest of the day flies by in a blur. You stocked your car with the sodas and beers ready for the next morning, prepared a few of the side dishes, and wrapped the gift your mother had asked you to pick up as a thank you for Mrs. Pike.

 You barely had time to fret over your little admission earlier that day and the look of shock etched across his stupid gorgeous face as he asked you if you’d really been distracted by him. How could you not have been? You think to yourself as you climb the stairs to your room, ready to settle in for the night. 

 Your phone had been charging the entire time you were downstairs, sitting idly on your windowsill and forgotten about. You pick it up to set an alarm, and a text from an unknown number lights up on your screen from almost an hour ago.

  Thank you for the ride earlier, bunny, and for breakfast. Not sure if this is still your number - Mom had it scribbled down in her address book. See you tomorrow - MARCUS PIKE. 

 You giggle at the way he typed his whole name at the end of the message, and a smile creeps across your face as you punch out a reply.

  You’re welcome, Marcus. Hope you didn’t get in too much trouble for not making it back home yesterday. Will see you tomorrow, getting up extra early to ensure you have plenty of pie. Goodnight 💕

  Looking forward to diving into your pie. Goodnight - MARCUS PIKE.

 You giggle again at his clearly unintentional innuendo before punching out your last text and setting your alarm.

  You don’t need to type your whole name at the end of every text, Marcus. See you tomorrow.

  Oh, good to know. See you. - Marcus ;-)

 “Dork,” you whisper out loud before putting your phone down and climbing into bed, “Oh, I’m so fucked.”

 *

 You stood quietly at the door, standing behind your parents, your brother, and his wife clutching three of the pie/cheesecake hybrid you'd created out of curiosity a few years back in your hand. You took a deep breath to steady your nerves.

 Of course, it has to be Marcus who whips open the front door, standing there with that gorgeous adorable smile, dressed in a tight grey t-shirt and comfortable jeans, scolding yourself internally for the way your breath hitches upon seeing him.

 “Come on in,” he says as he stands back. “Everyone has been banished to the living room. No one enters the kitchen without my Mom’s written consent,” he says with a loud chuckle.

 “Hello, Marcus Pike,” you say with a little grin as you stand in front of him.

 “Hello, Bunny,” he replies with a smile that matches yours before gesturing at your hands “Pie?” 

 “Two for today, one for you to take home or eat whenever,” you shrug. 

 You’re not sure what to expect, but you certainly weren't expecting his next movement. Without another word, he bent down and placed a kiss that slightly lingered on your cheek before pulling away and giving you a small thank you. Leaving you standing alone in the hallway as he whisked the pies out of your hands and took them down into the kitchen. 

 After a few moments, you slip off your shoes and made your way into the living room. Both families are engaging in general chit-chat whilst the kids are mesmerized by the Disney movie playing on the tv. 

 “Are you cold?” Marcus asks as he walks up from behind you and gently grabs at the sleeve of your coat.

 “Oh, no. It’s lovely in here, I-uh-I just forgot to take it off,” you say, skin heating a little as he stands in front of you, unknowingly taunting you with a flash of dimple, “I'll go take it off.” You murmur before heading back towards the hallway as Marcus goes to chat with your brother.

 You hang it up in the closet before stepping into the guest bathroom to take a quick look at yourself, admiring the dress you’d ordered after one too many glasses of wine. It was pretty. It was gorgeous, in fact. White with pink roses, a ruffled necklace, and a split that shows off a smidge of thigh. Innocent but with a hint of sexy. You’d worn it with one person in mind, and you take a deep breath before stepping out and wondering if he’ll even notice you in it.

 *

 He was pretty sure everyone in the room heard him gasp - the sight of you walking back into the room, wearing a dress that seemed tailor-made for you, and just about took his breath away.

 “Look at you,” Mrs. Pike gushed as you blushed in the doorway, “You get more and more beautiful every time I see you.”

 Marcus could tell you were a little embarrassed and noted the shiver of anxiety that seemingly ran through you as you stood there, fingers interlocking whilst staring down at the ground. 

 “So, who needs a beer?” He asked after clearing his throat and stepping towards you, giving you a small wink as he did so. “Think you can help me, Bunny?”

 You follow him into the kitchen and watch as he leaned into the refrigerator, seeing the muscles in his back and shoulders stretch under the material of his shirt. You hate yourself for being unable to look away, and it wasn’t until he turns back around to you and starts popping the beer bottles down on the countertop that you’re able to look away from him.

 “Bottle opener is in the top drawer,” he says before grabbing a few bottles of juice for the kids.

 “I know,” you say with a grin, “I’ve been here before.” 

 You start to pop open the bottles, dropping the caps in the little glass container on the counter that Marcus’ dad kept there for recycling.

 “You-uh, you look really nice,” he stutters as he scratches the back of his neck, “I mean, you always look nice, but yeah, you uh- you look beautiful. Really beautiful.”

 You giggle at the bashful look on his face as you feel embarrassment heat up in yours, “Thank you, Marcus Pike.”

 “You don’t have to use my full name, you know?” He teases back, both of you mirroring your conversation from last night.

 “Oh, good to know,” you quip back with a wink. 

 *

 You spent the next few hours chatting and catching up with the rest of Pike’s, stealing occasional glances at Marcus. Eventually, Mrs. Pike makes the announcement for dinner, and you just about skip into the dining room with excitement. 

 The table is set beautifully, and each dish is ready to be plated, making you just about drool in anticipation for the meal you’re about to feast on.

 “You’re next to Marcus, dear,” Mrs. Pike announces as you look around the room. 

 He’s engaged in conversation with your father, who’s sat to his left as you sit down next to him. Mr. Pike takes charge of cutting the turkey and makes everyone say one thing they’re thankful for, hearing the usual, family, friendship, good health, and so on until it gets to you.

 “What are you thankful for, bunny?” Mr. Pike asks with a charming grin, and it’s not hard to see where Marcus gets his from.

 “Family,” you murmur, “Friends…” and just as he’s about to move on, you surprise yourself, “The chance to interview for a position within the FBI in DC.” 

 Half the table responds with their congratulations, the other half with surprise, and some with obvious disapproval. 

 “DC?” Your mother splutters. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t interview for a position in DC.” 

 “I haven’t responded to the invitation,” you squeak back, “Just thought it was nice that they’re thinking about me.” You shrug lightly and turn to Marcus, who’s next to answer the big question, and he immediately steps in to take the heat off of you.

 “A new start, new beginnings, and the chance to see a wonderful new city,” he says before reaching down and giving your knee a reassuring squeeze. 

 Rest of the confessions over, you all dig into the seemingly endless supply of delicious food and chat amongst yourself. Purposely working hard to avoid your mother's glare as you eat your dinner.

 “Can I be excused?” You ask as everyone finishes their meal, “I would like to finish preparing dessert if everyone’s ready for it.” 

 After a loud smattering of yeses and people cooing over your much anticipated dessert, you slip into the kitchen and finish the last bit of decoration. 

 Making sure to pop the store-bought and freshly reheated pumpkin pies on the tray for those who want them. 

 Just as you’re reaching into the fridge to grab the whipped cream, you hear footsteps behind you.

 “Need any help?” Marcus’ voice calls out from the other side of the kitchen, “Thought you’d gotten lost in here.”

 “Avoiding the daggers my mom is shooting from across the table,” you say with a giggle as you get the ice cream from the freezer, “I think I’ve gotten just about everything needed for dessert… Do you know of any strong, handsome men that would consider carrying in one of the trays for me?”

 “I don’t know about handsome,” he blushes, “But I think I've got the strong part handled.” 

 “Eh, I think you’re doing pretty well in both departments,” you say with a giggle, “Let’s go eat.” 

 *

 “Holy shit, bunny, it gets more delicious every time,” Marcus whispers into your ear after he demolishes his third piece of apple pie cheesecake. 

 You hate the way your thighs automatically clench together at his choice of words, completely innocent but somehow laced with some filthy unspoken desire that you couldn’t help but wish to hear in a completely different circumstance.

 “Thank you, Marcus,” you glance over at him. “Hopefully, the one in the refrigerator will be just as delicious.”

 “I have no doubts I'll be licking the pan clean,” he winks. 

 *

 After dessert and football, your mom announces it’s time to leave the Pike’s in peace. You had spent the majority of the football game clearing up with your mom, listening to her rant about how interviewing in DC would be a silly mistake and how you’ll be crushed when they pick someone more experienced over you. Despite you informing her multiple times that it was entry-level.

 The drive home is completely silent, you curse yourself for not taking your own car and making an excuse to go somewhere and wait in a line for some Black Friday shopping you didn’t want to do.

 You practically skip upstairs to your bedroom, locking the door behind you and changing into a comfortable t-shirt and foregoing pajama pants. 

 You switch on some shitty holiday movie and get cozy in bed, trying to avoid thinking about the headache your mom is going to give you tomorrow when she inevitably grills you more and more about the interview.

 The buzz from your phone makes you jump, and you groan as you roll over to pick it up.

  Marcus Pike (1) new photo message.

 A photo of the empty pie tray makes you giggle as you type out your reply.

  Y: Wow! Someone was a hungry boy. 

  Marcus: Can never get enough of your pie. Would eat it every day. So good. 

  Y: You are aware of how filthy that sounds, right? 

  Marcus: Shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t. I am so sorry.

  Y: Marcus, I’m playing with you. You’re adorable. No apologies needed.

  Marcus: Meany. Thank you again, though. It was truly delicious, as always. 

  Y: You're welcome. Glad to see you’ve learned how to text a little better… No more signing your name?

  Marcus: Oh, sorry ;-) - Marcus 

  Y: Ha ha. Thank you for your help today. Appreciated it.

  Marcus: Anytime, bunny. 

  Y: Marcus, you do not need to keep calling me bunny.

  Marcus: I like it.

  Y: Ugh, I don’t. I’m not a little girl anymore, Pike.

  Marcus: I’ve noticed.

 You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, taking a large gulp of wine, and punch out your reply.

  Y: Yeah? What have you noticed? 

  Marcus: You.

 *

 Marcus gulps as he types out the last text. You. He had noticed you. For the past 24 hours, he hasn’t been able to think of anything but how much he had been noticing you.

 *

  Y: Anything specific? 

  Marcus: Bunny…

  Y: Marcus…

  Marcus: You. I’ve noticed you. Everything about you. You’re different than before, still shy… but a little more confident. Looked gorgeous in that dress today too.

  Y: You really think so?

  Marcus: Yes, you’re gorgeous, bunny. 

  Y: You're gorgeous too. I’ve always thought so.

  Marcus: Sweet girl. 

  Y: You think I'm sweet?

  Marcus: I know you are… thinking about how sweet you are right now.

  Y: You wanna find out? 

  Marcus: Bunny… this is a dangerous road for us to be going down.

 You can’t ignore the disappointing feeling that starts to rise in your tummy.

  Y: You don’t want me?

  Marcus: I didn't say that. You’re a lot younger than me… you’re my best friend's little sister, and I just don’t want you to do something you might regret.

  Y: I could never regret you.

  Marcus: Sweet girl.

  Y: You touched my knee earlier, and I thought I was going to melt, Marcus.

  Marcus: Yeah? Fuck. Did I really affect you that much?

  Y: Yes. You drive me insane. You have for years… Marcus, you don’t even know… you called me sweetheart at Christmas, and you have no idea what that did to me… what I did afterwards.

  Marcus: Tell me.

  *

He watches the text bubble pop up and disappear over and over again, and after the seventh or eighth time of watching the bubble disappear, he decides that he needs to check you’re okay. His finger hovers above the call button for a few seconds because pressing on it and slowly dragging it to his ear.

 *

  INCOMING CALL: MARCUS PIKE

  “Fuck,” you groan as his name flashes up on your screen. With a tentative push of the button, you bring the phone to your ear and breathe out a breathy hello.

 “Are you okay?” He blurts down the phone, “I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” The worry clearly dripping from each and every word and makes your whole chest clench.

 “I’m fine,” you whisper back, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. You could never make me uncomfortable, Marcus.”

 “Good. You-uh- you had me panicking there for a moment, sweetheart.”

 He must have heard the shaky breath you exhaled the second the word left his lips, a silence lingering between the both of you for a few moments.

 “Sorry,” he says barely above an audible whisper, “I didn’t think.”

 “Please stop apologizing, Marcus. It’s fine, I’m just… I… I’ve had a bit of a crush on you for ages, and I just… I don’t want you to think of me as Mike’s silly little sister with a stupid little crush when it’s not just a cr—” you cut yourself off with a sigh, and much to your surprise, he responds with a small chuckle.

 “I think we’ve both established you’re not little anymore,” he says, and you can almost hear the grin that’s splashed across his face.

 “Yeah,” you purr back, “Good.”

 “I’m not going to pretend you don’t have me intrigued as to what you did, though, sweet girl, but I won’t press you for an answer.” 

 You giggle down the phone, and it’s like music to his ears.

 “I don’t think your mom would ever let me in her house again if she ever found out.”

 “Can't say I was planning on sharing, sweetheart.”

 “You’re doing that on purpose now, aren’t you?” You say with an exaggerated sigh.

 “Mhmm, maybe…”

 “Marcus…”

 “Yes, Sweetheart.”

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m talking to you.”

 “Oh.”

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m talking to you.”

 “Bunny, do you not want to tell me?”

 “I do. But I think you’ve already guessed.”

 “I have an idea, but I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

 “What do you think I did?”

 He lightly scoffs, and it’s almost like you can hear his thoughts churning in his head; you’re certain he goes to speak a few times but stops himself each time.

 “I think… fuck .”

 “Do you think I snuck off and made myself cum to the thought of you calling me sweetheart?”

 His voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you feel like you might just explode as he replies the deepest, “ Yes ” you’ve ever heard.

 “That’s what I did.” You feel heat rise in your cheeks as you admit to it, a new bravery sweeping through you as you admit to the man that’s managed to unknowingly invade every thought you’d had for the past few years that you fucked your fingers in his parent's house whilst thinking of him.

 “I bet you looked so fucking pretty,” he breathes out in response, voice still low, and somehow every word seems to be going straight to your pulsating core.

 “Marcus,” you rasp out as you fight the urge to do something about the arousal creeping through your veins.

 “Do you want to do it right now?” he asks, and a needy moan escapes through your lips, “Do you want to play with that pretty pussy, while I stroke my cock thinking about you? Thinking about how good you looked bent over the counter the other morning?”

 “Yes,” you moan out as your fingers twist the bed sheets beneath you, “I want to hear you.”

 “ Fuck ,” he grunts, and the sound of his phone dropping to his chest and his pants being kicked off floods through the speaker, “I’m so fucking hard for you, sweetheart. Can't stop thinking about how fucking pretty you are, how soft and so fucking sweet.”

 The sound of him spitting into his hand makes your pussy clench as you reach into your panties and gasp at the amount of slick that’s coating your pussy. You smear a little across your little bundle of nerves and breathe out a moan of relief as you finally give your clit the attention it’s been screaming for - pulsating steadily under your hand as you rub perfect circles into it. 

 “Fuck,” Marcus grunts, “Feel good, baby?”

 Another moan slips through your lips at the new endearment, and you want to beg for him to call you it over and over, “So fucking good, Marcus… Wi-wish it was you.” 

 “Yeah?” he growls as the sound of skin slapping against skin grows louder. “You want to feel my fingers in that tight little pussy?” 

 “Oh fuck , yes, yes,” you moan as your orgasm steadily draws closer, and you increase the pressure on your clit, rubbing harder and faster. The combined sounds of your moans and his groans coming together like the filthiest symphony ever created.

 “Marcus, I’m gonna, I’m gonna come,” you gasp.

 “Do it, baby, let me hear, fuck, I bet you look so pretty right now,” he rambles as he continues stroking his cock, wishing it was your warm heat clamped around him, bouncing up and down as he fucks up into you. 

 You come hard and fast with a moan of his name, and he quickly follows suit, the sounds of his grunts and groans being ripped through his throat with every pump and squeeze of his throbbing shaft, his bare stomach laced with ropes of his pearlescent spend. 

 “Holy shit,” he mutters as he reaches over to grab some tissues from his nightstand, “You okay over there?”

 You giggle at his immediate concern for you as you slowly come out of your pleasure-filled haze.

 “I’m good, really good. Are you okay?” you ask, and you shudder at the nervousness that had seeped in at the end of your question.

 “Yeah, I’m good. That was uh— that was fucking incredible, baby.” 

 “It was… Holy shit, Marcus,” you blurt out as you fall into a fit of giggles, “That might have been my favourite Thanksgiving yet.” 

 “Yeah, I, I can’t say I was thrilled to be coming back,” he says before clearing his throat, “But you’ve certainly made it a nice homecoming.”

 “Good, I'm glad I made the trip a little better… We should probably get some sleep,” you say after glancing at the time on your watch, “Speak tomorrow?”

 “Shit, it’s late. I didn’t realize. Yeah, I’ll text you in the morning. Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

 “Goodnight, Marcus Pike.”

 That night you dream of him. Remembering pieces that you can’t quite fit together the next morning but enough to make your heart flutter with anticipation.

 *

 The house is eerily quiet as you make your way down into the kitchen, robe wrapped around you as the autumn chill makes itself known in every corner of your childhood home.

 Your phone perched comfortably inside the pocket, waiting for a text from Marcus to light it up.

 It doesn’t take long, you’re pouring the milk into your cheerios as it quietly vibrates against your hip. 

  Are you free for lunch today? 

 You abandon the task at hand and hastily type out a yes and wait impatiently for his next message to buzz through.

  Pick you up by the playground at 12:30?

 Your chest starts to pound with excitement as you type out your reply. 

  Sounds perfect. See you then, Marcus Pike.

 His reply comes seconds later. 

  See you soon, sweetheart - Marcus Pike ;-)

 *

 The morning flies by in a tizzy, anxiety, and excitement bubbling up in your belly as you purposely avoid your Mom and her inevitable amount of questions about whether you want to interview in DC or not. 

 You ate your breakfast in a comfortable silence, but left the dishes in the sink as you heard her and your father make their way downstairs. Just narrowly missing them as you sprinted upstairs and immediately jumped into a slightly too hot shower. You style your hair as you usually would and put on minimal makeup before pulling out a sundress that’s definitely a little too short for the chilly weather.

 You take the stairs two at a time after noticing your clock displaying 12:22, and just as you finish buttoning up your coat you hear your Mom call you into the next room.

 “Where are you going in such a rush?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, “I didn’t know you were going out. You never said anything?”

 “Seeing a friend for lunch, last minute plans. Won’t be more than a few hours.” You say with a halfhearted shrug.

 “Who?”

 “What?”

 “Which friend?”

 “Mom…,” you say with a slightly petulant eye roll, “Claudia. She’s home for thanksgiving. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

 “Don’t go letting her fill your head with ideas about following suit and abandoning your hometown,” she calls out after you as you slam the front door just a fraction too hard.

 *

 He’s already waiting as you jog down towards the playground, the chill in the air making you curse yourself for not bringing a scarf. As you approach his car, the butterflies in your tummy seem to explode into three dozen more, but it doesn’t stop you from reaching out for the door handle the second it’s in reach and pulling it open.

 “Hey,” he offers gently as you slide into his rental.

 “Hey, yourself,” you offer back with a smile.

 “Options are a leftovers sandwich made by yours truly at my house, everyone is out until the evening, so it’ll be pretty relaxed or if you’d prefer, we could find somewhere that’s open and eat out.” 

 You tap the bottom of your chin as if you’re really thinking about it before biting down on your bottom lip and slowly letting it roll out through your teeth, “Mhm. Rosa’s bakery is open until one. I vote for the first choice as long as we can swing by and grab a fresh loaf of her sourdough.”

 “Sounds perfect,” he quips back before making his way toward the small town. 

 *

 With a fresh loaf tucked up under your arm and two cream cakes nestled in a box under his, you follow him into the kitchen.

 Few words had been spoken on the drive, the radio providing a comforting soundtrack to the already comfortable silence between you both.

 “I’ll heat up the leftovers if you slice up the bread?” he asks whilst handing you a glass of wine.

 “Sounds like a plan,” you murmur as you take a sip before setting it down on the counter.

 “Thick or thin?” you ask as you pull out the chopping board and reach over to grab the bread knife from the block.

 “Thick.” 

 *

 Sandwiches made, wine glasses topped up, and a random Hallmark movie blaring out on the screen you’re both comfortably nestled in front of. 

 “So, we should probably talk about last night?” Marcus finally slips out as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

 “Do you regret it?” You ask a little bit too quickly.

 “No, of course not. No. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t?”

 “I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

 He hums a content mhmm before diving into the rest of his sandwich. You both eat in silence and watch the shitty movie playing out in front of you.

 It’s like it happens in slow motion, plates gone and forgotten about, the part of the movie where the girl realizes the boy was right there in front of her the entire time; Marcus’s hand slowly reaching around the back of the sofa and resting on your shoulder. 

 You turn to look at him, and he’s already staring at you, neither of you really sure who made the first move, but before you can register it’s really happening, his mouth is pressed against yours, breathing you in and silently begging you entry, his tongue licking your bottom lip like a silent prayer that promises salvation at the altar that would only exist when the two of you finally slot yourselves together.

 It doesn’t take long until you’re straddling him, mouth wrestling with his as your tongues fight for dominance. His hands trail down the expanse of your body as yours tangle up in his hair. 

 He forces his lips off of yours and whispers, “Are you sure you want this?”

 And after a rather enthusiastic ‘yes,’ you’re being led up to his bedroom, your fingers interlocked with his. 

 He walks you into his room and sits down on the edge of his bed, pulling you onto his lap, “We don’t have to do this. We can just talk or watch a movie, sweetheart.”

 “Marcus, I'm in your room. I'm pretty sure I've ruined these panties, and I'm saying yes.” 

 “Fuck,” he grunts as he pulls you in for another kiss before laying you down on his bed, his hands slowly rubbing up your thighs before suddenly stopping and pulling away from you, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking soaked.”

 You can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment as his hands swipe back up and through the slick that had slowly been dripping from the moment he first picked you up, “I’m sor-” you attempt to choke out, but he silences you with a quick kiss.

 “Don’t apologise. It’s fucking sexy,” he murmurs as he pulls your panties down your legs and throws them to the side, “Can I taste you?” He grunts out as you feel him press his clothed rock-hard cock into the meat of the thighs.

 A little anxiety rises in your stomach as you play back his question, “Oh, you don’t have to! I know men don’t actually like doing that…”

 His laugh throws you, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat, “Boys maybe, but men, men fucking love eating pussy… Do you not enjoy it?” He asks as he tucks a finger under your chin and pulls your face up level with his.

 “I-uh-I, I don’t actually know,” you admit quietly.

 “Sweetheart, have you ever…? Had?” 

 “I’ve had sex,” you say bluntly, “With my college boyfriend, but he never wanted to do that. He said it’s just for porn.” 

 “Oh, sweet girl,” he says with a flash of annoyance, “He never got you ready before he fucked you?”

 You shake your head as he peppers a gentle kiss on your thigh.

 “Can I?” He asks again, “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop immediately.” 

 You nod your head in agreement and gently brush his cheek with your thumb, and he reaches up to grab your hand, “Baby, I'm going to need to hear you say it.” 

 Unconsciously you nod again before giving him the verbal confirmation he was asking for. 

 You can’t believe the gasp that escapes your lips as he slowly drags a finger through your folds, opening you up and praising your ‘pretty, pretty pussy’ and licking a stripe up from your entrance to your clit. He hums in approval at the taste of you, his tongue working magic on your clit as you adjust to the overwhelming feeling of pleasure being pulled from you with every flick of his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

 “Fuck, Marcus,” you whimper as your hands move into his hair, your hips beginning to roll on their own accord, chasing his tongue and your forthcoming orgasm, “Don’t stop,” you blurt out as you feel it threaten to rip through you.

 The sound of you begging drives him insane as he continues devouring your pussy, salivating at the taste and smell of you, whilst trying to ignore the way his cock is straining hard against his zipper. 

 He can’t believe it. Never in his wildest dreams could he imagine that you could have been wanting him this badly. He tries to ignore the way he can feel warmth rise in his chest every time you moan his name. His mind is running one hundred miles a second as you reach your crest, and he wants nothing more than to pull you close to him and keep you there for as long as he can, but he knows he can’t make the same mistakes as before.

 He doesn’t know what this is, you don’t know what this is, but what he does know is he wants to show you how you deserve to be treated, to be touched, to be fucked .

 He groans in delight as you soak his face with your arousal, breathing out the most delicious moans and whimpers he’s ever heard as he continues to lick at suck at your clit throughout your high.

 Your chest heaves up and down as your vision starts to become less blurry, the high of your orgasm slowly starts coming down, and you have to gently push his face away from your pussy to stop him from continuing the little kitten licks to your overstimulated bud.

 He brings his face up to yours, and you bite your lip, the sight of your arousal coating his mouth and chin makes you clench around nothing, and he makes no effort to clean it off as he brings you in for another kiss. Refusing to hold back, he kisses your mouth like he’s been deprived of your lips for years, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth and gently dragging his teeth over it. He swallows each of your moans as they stream effortlessly into his mouth. Your hands run down his back, grabbing at the tight muscles and slowly running your fingertip down it until you’re reaching the hem of his shirt. You slowly pull it up, and he begrudgingly breaks the kiss to let you rip it off of him.

 The heat of his body is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before as he envelopes you in his warmth, peppering the gentlest yet hungriest kisses down your neck whilst rolling the strap of your dress down and off your shoulders. He moves back off you, and a silent command is given to continue taking off your dress. You unbutton the few buttons on the front and roll the dress off of your body, and he rips off his belt and frees himself from his jeans.

 Your breath hitches when you see the little spot of wetness on his boxers from where he’s been steadily leaking precum.

 “I want to taste you,” you blurt out as he frees himself from his boxers, his thick cock swinging heavily between his legs - the tip almost purple with need, “Can I suck your cock?”

 “Oh, baby,” he grunts as he slots himself back between your legs and reaches around to unclasp your bra, “I’d fucking love to feel your lips around me, but I don’t think I’m going to last very long as it is. I’d really like to fuck you if that’s okay?” 

 “Please,” you beg in response, “Please fuck me.” 

 “I’ve got some condoms in my drawer,” he says before giving your lips a fleeting kiss.

 “I’m on birth control,” you answer back, “And I’m clean. Was checked at my last physical, and I’ve not had sex since… I’d really like to feel you.” 

 “I’m clean too. Got a physical when I started in DC, and I've used condoms on the two occasions I-uh- hooked up.” 

 You nod at him and bite down on your lip with the sweetest expression etched upon your delicate face, and it just about drives him insane. He gently runs a finger through your folds and slowly pushes it into your entrance just to check you’re ready. 

 “Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans as he lines himself up with you, kissing you once more before gently pushing the tip in, “Tell me if you want me to stop, sweetheart?” 

 He grunts as you clamp down around him. He’s barely inside, but the way you reacted to him calling you sweetheart was nearly enough for him to blow his load immediately. “Relax for me, honey,” he coos as you take a deep breath. He’s thick, much thicker than your ex and you can’t help but whimper at the pinch of him. “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” He immediately asks as your face contorts beneath him. 

 “No, baby, please, don’t stop,” you beg, and he has to internally tell himself not to tell you how much he liked hearing you call him baby, “Keep going.” 

 He inches himself into you, slowly letting you adjust as he’s completely sheaths inside of you, little grunts channeling out of his mouth as your walls flutter around the girth of him. The warmth and tightness of you is almost overwhelming, almost enough to milk him of his spend without him having to move. 

 His left hand moves up to your breast and gently rolls your puckered nipple between his finger and his thumb, bringing his mouth down to, sucking it gently for a few seconds before repeating his actions on the other one.

 It’s only when you start begging him to move that he grinds his hips, his lips engulfing yours as he kisses your mouth with fervor, slowly, he begins dragging his cock in and out of your heat, pushing hard enough to reach that spot that has you seeing stars. Never before has penetrative sex ever felt so good for you; the only clitoral stimulation is the coarse patch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing your bundle of nerves. “Faster,” you beg, and he grunts in response, his hips moving faster and faster, and eventually, your own start to move quick enough to meet his. The feeling of him buried deep inside of you sends you over the edge, and you just about scream his name as you clamp down around him hard, your arousal gushing and flooding his cock and thighs. White hot pleasure courses throughout your body, and you swear you can feel him everywhere. 

 “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises over and over until he can’t take it anymore, and he’s filling you up - covering your fluttering walls with his cum, the heat of him making you moan in delight.

 He collapses on top of you, making sure his arms bear the weight of him, his head buried into your neck, both of your chests heaving up and down as you try to regain your composure. 

 “Wow,” you eventually breathe out, “That was so much better than I’ve ever imagined.”

 He chuckles into the soft skin of your neck and slowly brings his face up to yours, “How often have you imagined it?” 

 “Shut up, Marcus Pike,” you giggle as you pull him in for a kiss.

 He pulls away and sits back on his haunches, looking down at you, hair tousled, skin glistening with a shimmering layer of sweat, “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know? You are gorgeous, bunny.”

 You bite your lip as he gets up and makes his way into the en-suite bag to grab a damp cloth to clean you up, biting down the urge to compliment how cute his butt is as he does so. 

 *

 The gentle way he cleans you up makes your chest fill with warmth. He took extra care whilst dragging it, wiping it against your clit, and then he climbed into bed behind you and held you as you both drifted off to sleep. 

 He held you tighter than you’d ever been held, and you slept more comfortably than you have in a long time. 

 *

 “Shit,” you hiss at the sight of his alarm clock reading 4:28 pm. “Marcus, baby,” you murmur as you shuffle around in his arms to face him, covering his face in little kisses to wake him up, “Baby, your parents will be back soon, and I’ve gotta get home.” 

 He groans before pulling you closer to him, and you giggle at his softness. “Could keep you snuggled up in my bed forever,” he says, kissing you between every word.

 You hum back, “And when you go back to DC tomorrow evening, and your parents find me in your bed, how do I explain that?” 

 “Well, I’d just have to take you back with me,” he says with a wink.

 *

You both dress in silence, stealing the occasional glance before continuing to straighten yourselves out.

 “Ready, sweetheart?” He asks whilst reaching his hand out for you to take.

 “Are you calling me sweetheart to get me back into your bed, Agent Pike?” 

 “Fuck,” he hisses, “Call me that again, and I drop to my knees right here, sweetheart.” 

 “Mhm, good to know what gets you going, Agent,” you wink. 

 *

 The radio hums quietly on the drive back, he’d agreed to drop you off at the playground again but said he wouldn’t move until you texted him once you’re back inside your house, and you rolled your eyes but agreed. 

 His hand rests comfortably on your thigh, squeezing gently every now and then. It isn’t until he pulls up to the spot he’d picked you up at that he begins to speak.

 “I don’t want you to think I’m saying this for selfish reasons or because of what happened between us, but I really think you should consider interviewing in DC,” he says before interlocking his fingers in yours. “You shouldn’t miss opportunities because the people you love are guilt-tripping you into staying close. But you also shouldn’t do things because other people are telling you to. I just think you should really think about it. Think about where’s best for you and for your career.” He brings your hand up to his lips, softly kissing the back of it. 

 You offer him a wide smile in response and nod a few times before giving him one last kiss, “Will I see you before you leave?” 

 “I was really hoping so,” he answers with a grin, “Breakfast?” 

 “Sounds perfect.” 

 “Text me the second you’re inside?” 

 “I promise,” you reply with another eye roll, “Tomorrow.”

 “Tomorrow.” 

 You skip back towards the house, only turning to give him a little wave once, and the second you’re inside and kicking off your shoes, you send him the text you’d promised.

 “Finally,” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “It’s after five.” 

 “You know I’m well into my twenties, Mom,” you shoot back as she gives you the once over, “I don’t need to be coddled.” 

 “No one is coddling you, bunny, you just need to be more mindful about coming and going while you’re staying in our house.” 

 You scoff at her words, anger boiling in your stomach as her insistence that you move back home after you graduate replays in your mind.

 “I moved back because you practically gave me no other choice,” you say as you start to walk back out of the kitchen, resisting the urge to groan as you hear her footsteps right behind you, “I’m not going to argue with you, mama, but I’m also not going to let you dictate my life. I said no to California and Montana because of you, but I’m not going to miss the opportunity to work in DC.”

 “He’s 12 years older than you, bunny,” she says with a raised eyebrow, “Let's not pretend that the job is the real reason you’re considering DC.” 

 “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 “I can see the playground from the kitchen window, I saw you get out of his car.” 

 You scoff and turn on your heels as you march up to your bedroom.

 You pace around for a few moments, not sure what you want to do, and then you’re doing it.

 Dialing the number that you’ve had written down on a post-it and pressed against your mirror for almost a week.

 “Hello, can I speak with Eleanor Smith?” You ask with a shaky breath.

 Within two minutes, you have settled on a date to interview, the following Monday at 10 am sharp at FBI headquarters in DC. 

 No matter what happens, no matter whether you get offered the position or not, you’re standing your ground and taking charge of your own career - without anyone else in mind.

 *

 Marcus texts you a few times throughout the evening, his family occupying all his time and dragging him out for dinner on his last night before flying back to DC. 

 You decide you’ll inform him that you’re interviewing at breakfast.

 *

 You meet him in the same spot he dropped you off, sliding into the passenger seat and greeting him with a kiss.

 “Hey,” you murmur against his lips.

 “Hi, baby.”

 He drives you to a breakfast diner, and you settle into the booth in front of him.

 “Excited to get home?” You ask as he skims through the menu. 

 “Excited to sleep in my own bed, I guess,” he says with a small shrug of his shoulders.

 “Mhmm,” you hum as sadness fills out across your chest, “Do you ever miss it here?” 

 He clicks his tongue before looking up at you, “Sure, I do. I mean, I miss the people, the familiarity and stuff… But sometimes, it’s nice to be away from it all. There is shit here that haunts me every time I come back, but there is also a lot of stuff that I'm really fucking happy to see as well. I know in my head and my heart that right now, DC is where I need to be.”

 You nod your head a few times before glancing down at the menu despite having already decided on blueberry pancakes.

 “Did you think about it at all?” He asks as he scans the menu again.

 “Yes,” you answer, unsure of whether you’re ready to tell him about the interview. 

 He talks to you about his job, his apartment, and about his partner at work. You hang off every word, asking questions, him countering with his own every time you hit him with a new one. 

 Before you know it, you’ve been there for over two hours, and he’s becoming more and more cautious of the time and that he needs to pack his stuff ready for his flight and pop around to his siblings and see his nieces and nephews before he goes home.

 He insists on paying for breakfast and refuses your offer of leaving the tip. He holds your hand as you make your way back to his car, and he walks around to the passenger side and opens your door for you, stealing a long and passionate kiss before you climb in and closes the door for you.

 An air of awkwardness haunts the ride back to your house, his hand rests on your thigh as it had done the last few trips in his car, and he gives you those reassuring squeezes every time he senses you need it, but it feels different.

 “I-uh-” you start to say as he pulls up to the bottom of your drive. He foregoes dropping you off down the block a little, and you lose your nerves and instead wish him a safe flight and hope to see him again at Christmas if he makes the trip back.

 “I’m going to miss you, bunny,” he admits with a slight smile, “Can't believe I've been so in the dark over all of this.” 

 You shrug your shoulders and lean over to kiss him, “Well, at least you know now. You can always give me a call on those lonely nights.” 

 “What about the nights when I just need to hear your voice?”

 Your heart stutters in your chest, you didn’t expect that, and you bite down on your lip to suppress the words threatening to spill out.

 “You can call me anytime.”

 He kisses you again, neither of you caring about the fact that you’re right outside of your house. 

 “See you, Marcus Pike.” 

 “See you, sweetheart.” 

 *

 Those scenes from those terrible Hallmark movies where the guy or girl runs through the airport play on a loop in your mind.

 It’s not quite like that.

 Instead, it’s your dad speaking up for you as your mom scoffs and tuts at you for taking your future into your own hands. Booking a last-minute trip that you barely had time to pack for and your Dad driving just a little over the speed limit to ensure you don’t miss your flight.

 It’s looking around the departure lounge for a sight of him that you never catch and spending the short time in the airport trying to work out if you’re even on the same flight as him.

 He told you that he turns his phone onto airplane mod the second he steps into the airport, being self-conscious that he’ll forget to once he boards his plane, so you aren’t surprised when all of your calls go straight to voicemail. 

 You board the plane almost last, scanning the aisles for him and breathing out a disappointed sigh as you reach your seat, and you’ve still not spotted him. 

 Anxiety rises in the pit of your stomach as the plane takes off, and you realize that you’ve yet to book a hotel and or a rental car in DC. 

 It eases about an hour and forty-five minutes in - once the seatbelt signs have been switched off and a movie you’re not really paying attention to officially bores you to the point of no return.

 He’s stalking down the aisle, staring down at the floor as he makes his way to his seat, which is four rows in front of your own. 

 You sit for about twenty-five minutes trying to work out what to say, and eventually, you give up, just unbuckling your seatbelt and taking a few tentative steps until you’re standing at the end of his aisle.

 He glances up, clearly thinking you're a stewardess, and he gets ready to politely wave you away before he does a double take and rips out his earbuds.

 “I-uh, I have a big interview for this incredible opportunity on Monday, and I completely forgot to book a hotel and a rental car… Any chance you could help me out?”

 Butterflies take flight in your tummy as that gorgeous dimple makes an appearance, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he nods, “Anything for you, sweetheart.” 

#marcus pike #pedro pascal #marcus pike smut #Marcus pike fic #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x oc #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist #my fanfiction #my fanfic #pedro pascal characters

[morallyinept]

THE GIFT - A Marcus Pike Christmas One Shot

Summary: Marcus buys you a naughty Christmas gift that you wear to his parents' Christmas lunch, and you both find it hard to stay composed at the dinner table.

Pairing: Husband!Marcus Pike x Wife!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. Images just for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)

Word Count: 5.1k

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral both M & F receiving/use of sex toys/slight edging

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.

If this story isn't for you, 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: I hope you enjoy your Christmas gift from Agent Pike... 😉

Tagging @secretelephanttattoo as Pike is her husband 🖤

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

She’s been more than accommodating with his indecisive dithering; showing him the full range, even the ones on sale, giving him recommendations. He’ll be sure to leave her a tip. 

“Would you like this gift wrapped, sir?” The assistant behind the counter asks him rather jauntily.

Her thick, fluttery eyelashes bat at him constantly, and he nods in response with a restrained, yet polite, smile fed back to her. 

Marcus fishes his wallet out of his back pocket, looking around the racy store carefully with darting brown eyes. He’s more aware of his surroundings than he’s been in a very long time.  

Watching over his broad shoulders and scoping out whether anyone would recognise him. Any of his colleagues from the FBI who happen to be in the mall Christmas shopping for their significant others too.

He’d skulked along the shelves of various intimidating dildos and vibrators with his leather jacket collar pulled up as far as humanly possible, as though he were incredibly bad at being undercover, despite years of experience behind him.

Although, that probably wasn’t the wisest idea; he imagined he looked more like some questionable miscreant with a penchant for phallic perversion, but he had little choice if he didn’t want to stand out.

He probably should have done this online, as he stood at the shelves looking incredibly out of his depth and sweating somewhat.

Marcus now hands the helpful assistant his credit card with two thick fingers, and she rings him up before handing him the bag containing the gift he’s purchased.

But the shop assistant got him talking - like they always do and you don’t realise you’re spilling intimate, sexy-time secrets about what freaky things you like to do in the bedroom, to a complete stranger as if you’re being subtly interrogated with some crafty questioning techniques - and then, she was handing him different contraptions and gadgets to press buttons on and watch whirl around and pump lewdly in his reddening face, until he found the perfect one. 

She even threw in a free cock ring and some lube. And he didn't really quite know what to say to that generosity, other than a muttered and sheepish thanks.

“Thanks for your help,” Marcus says as he leaves. 

“No problem. Have a Merry Christmas, sir.” She replies with a knowing wink before serving the person waiting patiently behind him.

Marcus keeps the gift covertly hidden in the house in the days leading up to Christmas, and when you aren’t looking, he sneaks it under the tree with the rest of the gifts, grinning like a madman who’s just discovered the Holy Grail of sexual weaponry.

Deapite the heat engulfing his face and neck, he’s excited about how you’ll react when you open it on Christmas morning, and admittedly so is his cock at the thought; it’s been hardening uncomfortably since he stepped in the adult store.

But he keeps himself composed and manages to slink out back to the car undetected. But not before another indulgent purchase from Victoria's Secret for you. The credit card has certainly been flexed.

On the morning of Christmas Day, Marcus rouses you awake in bed with warm, snuggly kisses. Soft and sleepy, his long limbs wrap your body up in a Pike web that you can’t, and don’t want, to untangle yourself from, as he slips his hard length inside you and gives you the first of many gifts today - a slow, intense love making session to start the day off with a bang.

Fucking you into the headboard as you both claw and grasp at one another as the chemistry between you ignites into a heat that suffocates you. You're kissing over his shoulders as he nips at your neck, buried deep inside of you and whimpering in your ear.

Your first Christmas morning together as a newly married couple, months after your memorable honeymoon in Antigua, and you still can’t get enough of one another.  

“Best present ever,” you pant into his hot mouth as he makes you see stars through a bed-head spinning orgasm that pulls you fully from your sleep and launches you face first into the sun.

"Just you wait..." He grins into your face.

After you’ve showered and gotten dressed ready for Christmas lunch that’s planned in the afternoon with Marcus’ parents - after struggling to keep your hands off one another in the process; he just looks so damn good with a towel wrapped low around his waist as he shaves - you walk into the lounge putting in your earrings.

You find Marcus on the floor reaching for the additional gift he’s purchased for you, from under the tree.

Marcus nods his head. “The dresser. In the ceramic bowl.” 

“Have you seen my bracelet?” You ask him as you fasten the earrings, your eyes scanning over the coffee table for it.

Another thoughtful and special gift from Marcus from early on in your relationship when you began dating. You rarely take it off, but when you do you’re always hunting for it.

You smile, remembering. “What would I do without you?” You swoon at him. 

“Crash and burn.” He stands up, holding the neatly wrapped gift out to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?” You ask him, stunned.

“It’s a Christmas present, d’uh.” Marcus smirks, rolling his richly cocoa eyes and chuckling.

“No, I mean this.” You say tugging gently at the hem of his sweater and smiling. The colour palette is reminiscent of the natural tones found in Nordic landscapes - cool blues, forest greens, and snowy whites. It has a slightly chunky knit to the wool, giving it a warm and substantial feel across your fingers, and he looks incredibly snug in it.

“It’s a Christmas sweater.” He says.

“Cute.” Smiling, you take the gift from him. “It even has reindeers.” 

“I like it.” He says, smoothing it down over his torso. “Apparently so did my mom.”

You snicker. “I thought we weren’t going to do gifts until we got to your parents?” You question.

You shake the box and raise your eyebrows at him curiously.

“I don’t think you’ll want to open this one in front of everyone.” Marcus remarks, tucking his hands inside his pants pockets, channelling an innocent, little boy aura about him.

His cheeks are already flushing pink under the crinkles of his eyes. 

“It’s not maracas.”

“Boo.” You mock pout.

“Open it.” Marcus gently instructs with a beaming smile.

You unpeel the gold wrapping paper with a matching curly bow, scrunching it up inside your hand, and a black velvet box is revealed to you. You pull the satin ribbon from around it and lift off the lid.

“Urm-” You start to smirk and then giggle, as you look up at him with wide, sparkly eyes.

His big brown peepers are glittery too; mischievous looking as he stares back at you.

“Well,” you say, astonished, as you pull out the contents; two shiny, egg-shaped balls attached together with nylon string. 

“Oh, you did, did you?” You’re failing to stifle your own devilish grin.

“I thought maybe you could wear them today.” Marcus says, stepping closer to you and running his hands up and down your arms.

A tingling sensation blooms when he does it, that starts at the nape of your neck and travels all the way down your spine to settle in your coccyx; your nipples wake up, stiffening inside your bra.

“Mhm.” His hands fall to your waist.

“How presumptuous.” Your eyes fall to his lips, shiny and pink when he licks over them.

“Very,” he nods, coming closer, “in fact I insist on it.” Marcus kisses your lips gently, but the kiss lingers and stirs up that wanton passion again as it flares through the slats in your rib cage and drips into your panties.

Moaning into his mouth, you wrap your hands around the back of his neck, dizzy by the intoxicating scent of his cologne; the velour box falling to the floor and the love eggs dangling precariously from your fingers.

He slips his tongue in and you groan, feeling how hard he is as he presses you against him, squeezing at your ass with some heated fervour.

“Put them in,” Marcus whispers in a heated gasp.

“Now?”

“Now,” he nods “let me.” He takes them from your hand; his long, thick fingers getting tangled in yours for a moment and stroking them fondly.

You smile, glancing at the platinum wedding band around his finger that matches yours, save for a tiny diamond, and wondering how you got so lucky to have this man keep surprising and tantalising you like this. 

His touch burns, heating the blood in your veins as it flows around your limbs; fanning the sparks between your thighs, and his fingers are soft and nimble around your own.

Marcus crouches down in front of you and pushes your skirt up and is presented with black, lacy panties that makes him salivate. Kissing slowly up your thighs, he runs his nose against your damp seam and inhales deep; the scent of you already beginning to turn him out.

You place your hands on his shoulders as he kisses you again, standing, and he walks you backwards to the sofa.

The tingles persist in flooding your spine, spreading into your core and making it throb and ache. You tussle gently with his tongue and the sound of his groans make you shudder and melt.

“Lean back, gorgeous.” Marcus pushes your shoulder gently until you’re laying back on your elbows.

You put your foot on his shoulder as he kneels down, his face level with your pussy. He plants gentle, delicate kisses inside your thighs again, eyeing you with those deep, rich browns as he smooches, trailing ghostly over your skin and eliciting streams of goosebumps.

His fingers pull the lace of your panties aside to reveal the wet flesh of your lips. He leans in and kisses you there; swiping his tongue up and down slowly, tasting that you’re exceedingly wet for him already.

“Mmm,” you drone, reaching for his head and running your hands through his hair and messing those styled spikes up. 

He tastes that sweet honey of you on the end of his tongue as he dives in a little deeper, teasing your hole before sucking gently on your clit.

“Marcus,” you whine, throwing your head back, your thighs already begging to shake. “God, if you start this now, we’re going to be late…” You groan, unable to contain yourself from fisting through his hair and pulling him closer to you now with a sharp tug. 

He doesn’t let up however, sucking harder as he slips his fingers inside of you, pumping in and out gently. 

“Oh God, baby,” you shudder as he curls upwards, stroking against your spot with precision. 

He can’t help himself but to taste you, tuning into your gasping, heated breaths. Despite your words about being late, you want it, you want him; your husband’s mouth on your pussy licking and sucking all over it. 

“Please, please, please…” you barely whisper, the words getting lost inside your throaty gasps. It feels so good, building and brewing as he licks and fingers you deep.

Marcus reaches up massaging your breast over your sparkly top as he flicks his tongue against your clit faster.

“Fuck, Marcus!” You cry.

“Right there, baby. Right there… Mmm, yeah!" The air above you seems to shimmer with some intangible energy as your eyes roll back; a lightheaded euphoria enveloping you like a gossamer veil.

Your hands grip onto the sofa cushioning beneath you as you squirm and buck into his mouth. 

The tingles are now millions of luminescent butterflies beating their wings against your skin, leaving trails of warmth and vivacious joy in their wake. Your body winds tight, centering in on your core, on the cusp of snapping back. 

“Come for me,” he murmurs to you, glancing up adoringly to watch you as he latches onto your clit again. 

“Yes! Yes!” You pant. Your thighs shake and he can taste you as you flood his mouth.

Marcus loves watching you come; enjoys that breathy giggle that puffs out of you when it gets a little too much as he licks softly around your overstimulated clit.

Loves the way your voice falters on a soft moan when he enters you, sliding deep. Loves the way you press your clammy forehead against his as you ride him, telling him how good he feels inside you.

Loves how his own voice whimpers, like he could just cry, before he comes; his brows furrowing, mouth open as he lets those little weakened pants pelt you face as he fills you up.

Loves how you’ll put on one of his shirts, pulling it out from the laundry hamper because it smells like him and you want to bathe in that scent, as you go about your business around the house doing chores.

He loves how you’ll let him lift the hem up and slip inside you as you do something mundane like wash the dishes up whilst he’s still in his suit from work, finding you sexy as hell in his crumpled shirt as he fucks his beautiful wife against the sink before you even say hello, how was your day to one another.

Marcus pulls his head back, lips shiny and smirks up at you.

“You’re incorrigible,” you say, catching your breath. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Marcus grins, wiping his lips with his thumb “but I didn’t hear you complaining just then.”

“Oh, I’ll never complain when you do that.” You giggle. 

“These’ll go in much easier now.” 

“Uh-huh, so that’s why, hmm?”

He simply purses his lips in a coy smirk. You watch keenly as he pushes the first egg against your swollen lips and slips it inside you. You moan out as it fills you, and he then pops the other one inside. 

“How do they feel?”

“Cold.” You say, smiling as he slides your panties back into place.

“They’ll warm up.” He remarks and kisses your cheek affectionately.

Marcus takes your hands and pulls you upright on your feet and you gasp as you feel them move and press against spongy parts deep inside you. 

“This is… new.” You titter as you smooth down your skirt of the creases. You don’t have time to iron it now. 

Marcus watches you go in search of your bracelet, but you suddenly stop and jolt, gasping out like you’ve been electrocuted on the stairs. 

“Oh my God!” You clutch your lower abdomen; pussy tingling on the inside and a deep pulling feeling can be felt as you feel the eggs vibrate wildly.

Marcus chuckles, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and waving it at you. “They’re wireless too.”

“Oh, you play dirty, Agent.” 

He presses the screen again and a delicious buzzing is felt deep emanating through your core as you groan.

“We’re going to have a great day!” Marcus croons devilishly, through a wide grin.

Inside the car on the way to his parents’ house for Christmas lunch, you’re driving - offering to do it so he can have a few wines if he wants to - when you feel that yummy feeling zap through you once more.

You swerve a little, completely not expecting it at all.

“Are you trying to kill us?” You muse to Marcus who's grinning and laughing like a man who holds all the power. 

“How does it feel?” He asks through a side glance and rubbing your thigh affectionately.

“Frustrating.” You say, biting down on your lip and wanting nothing more than to pull over and straddle him.

Marcus simply smirks as he looks out the windscreen as you both approach his parent’s home, pulling up on the large driveway.

Inside, the house is already bustling with his family crowded in. His father is well on the way to being fully inebriated, and his booming voice greets you both as he bundles you through the door into the hall. 

He leans in to kiss you on the cheeks and you almost jump out of your skin as Marcus does it again, sending your body erratic with jolts from the vibrations inside your pussy.

You narrowly miss headbutting his father. 

You clench your thighs together, trying to greet his father like a normal person and not one who is on the brink of screaming out X-rated curses.

You shoot Marcus a frantic look, but he simply grins back as he follows you into the lounge, but not before giving your butt a quick, naughty slap. You feel the eggs jostle around inside you as he does it.

Holy shit!

Lunch is long. Really long. Never ending and incredibly hair-pulling and frustratingly long.

You’re digging into your plate when you jerk or kick out suddenly like your limbs are being pulled in odd directions. You throw Marcus a heated glance opposite you and he’s smiling as he brings his fork up to eat.

Oh, he thinks he’s so fucking clev-

You knock your wine glass off the table and cringe when it smashes all over the floor when he sets it off again.

It’s met by rowdy, drunken cheers from Marcus’ father, but you shoot an embarrassed and somewhat uneasy look at Marcus, who is simply sat back in his chair, seated next to his mother, in very similar Nordic festive sweaters, sipping from his own glass casually, with his hand in his pocket on that infernal phone.

Even your thoughts are cut short by the continuous zapping and buzzing that makes you jump and flinch further.

He lets it buzz for short bursts and then follows with a drawn out long one, like Morse Code inside your pussy. You’re in the midst of a deep conversation with his mother later, when he leaves it on inside his pocket.

He catches your wide-eyed, panic stricken face as he puts both his hands back on the table and they’re void of any phone.

Please no!

“Are you alright?” His mother asks you tentatively, putting her wispy hand on your shoulder, and you nod quickly.

“Uh-huh. Too much, uh wine,” you brush off shakily. “I’m driving. Shouldn't have any-m-more.” You stutter, feeling the heat lick at your collarbone.

“I’ll get you some water.” She offers.

“No! No… I’ll go,” you all but squeak, and excuse yourself into the kitchen, biting down on your lip so hard it could burst and bleed.

Running your hands under the cold tap, you pat them around the back of your neck to cool yourself, working through the vibrations inside you that are unrelenting.

You breathe in and out slowly, eyes rolling back into your head at how good it feels.

Oh fuck, fuck...

You feel hands snake their way around your waist; the scent of Marcus’ familiar cologne fucking you further up as he plants a sensuous kiss on the side of your neck.

Lips trailing up towards your lobe before he sucks on it, his breath warming the conch of your ear. 

“Marcus... I... can’t... please,” you beg; your head in a tizz, legs buckling and your pussy on the cusp of a complete meltdown.

“Having fun?” Marcus whispers.

“Ah...” you whine, nuzzling into him as his arm wraps around your waist pulling you tight against him.

“I’m gonna… come,” your hands grip on the sink as your body shudders and your pussy clenches.

You can feel the eggs, all tingly, making your vision become blurry as you tumble and get dizzier in the process. 

“You wanna come?” Marcus husks. You feel his lips nip a little harder on your lobe.

“Yes… Oh God.”

Just as you’re there, about to take that leap off the edge and free fall into sweet, sweet oblivion, he turns it off. 

Your head snaps around to him quickly.

“Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, careful not to let anyone hear.

You can only watch him simply saunter out of the kitchen with a grin, leaving you about ready to murder him with whatever dirty ladle or pan you can reach for in the sink.

Fuck!

“Stop. I feel like my pussy has Tourettes!” You hiss at him covertly, and Marcus simply chuckles darkly at you. 

Marcus does it again a little later, winding your coil tighter until you’re about ready to snap.

He observes you wringing your hands and trying your best to stay composed as you flit around everyone; trying not to stay too long around them because of your constant mad flinching. 

You remove the eggs a little while later as you use the bathroom, staring down at them as they vibrate on the sink. Somewhat pleased with yourself that he’s pressed the app somewhere downstairs and doesn’t know that they’re not inside you at this precise moment.

You wonder whether you should put them back in; feeling wrought and severely wound up from him subjecting you to this all day, but then you rationale that it’s the whole point.

Surely he’s brought them for this reason and they’re a gift, after all. A teasing, edging gift.

Sighing and giggling, you put them back in, one leg up on the toilet seat, and slip them back inside; your fingers grazing against your sensitive and aching clit, and just as you think you’ll give yourself a little touch - relieve yourself of some of the tension - they buzz again and you almost fall backwards onto your ass, clattering against the towel rail.

Shit!

As you open the bathroom door, Marcus is standing on the other side smirking at you.

You push him against the wall and kiss him, trying to distract him whilst you fish inside his pocket for that infernal phone of his.

He laughs and grips a hold of your hands, stopping you from finding it.

“No you don’t.” He teases as he pushes you against the opposite wall. Your back hits it with a gentle thud.

“Marcus!” You gasp, whining and struggling against him as he clamps around your wrists with ease.

You try to latch onto his lips desperately again, but this time he denies you, realising your sly distraction techniques

“Please. I can’t bear it anymore.” You growl, your hands fumbling against his. 

“Look at you, all wound up.” Marcus teases with that pert, pink grin splayed across his mouth.

“Please, baby. Let me come!” You plead, pulling at his festive sweater desperately, and with actual tears threatening to spill as they glisten in your lined eyes.

“Look at you, so needy,” he exclaims with a husky growl, holding onto your arms as you try to rub yourself against him.

He’s inherently proud of his purchase, because it’s reduced you to this - begging - and he decides instantly he likes this. He’s so incredibly aroused by it; his cock is straining out of his slacks to get to you.

“Please, Marcus... I need you.” You mewl again, on the verge of howling. “Fuck me. Please. Please!" You whine with a choked sob.

Marcus looks up and down the hall and then grabs you by the hand pulling you along hurriedly. He opens up a door further down the hall and bundles you inside.

“Beg me to fuck you again,” Marcus hisses, before he grazes his lips against yours. “Tell me you want me. You want my cock.” He gasps against your lips.

“Fuck me, Marcus,” you breathe “please, I need you!” You splutter.

“Beg for my cock, baby.” He licks into your mouth. He thrusts his hips against yours making you feel it. 

“Please, give me your cock,” you say, pelting his lips with yours and gasping. “I want it. I need your cock, baby.”

“Hard?” He suggests to you with a grunt inside his voice.

“Oh, you better fuck me so hard!” You warn, excitedly.

Marcus wrenches up your skirt and takes a handful of your ass inside his hands as he kisses you clumsily. Both your lips mash together in a messy, rabid tussle as you grin and giggle.

You feel him tug down your panties as you unzip his pants frantically with shaky hands. 

You can feel his fingers reaching into your sopping pussy, pulling out the love eggs. He plops them on the bed and circles your clit with his thumb.

He pushes you on the bed; you pull off your top, revealing your bra and he goes for the straps freeing your breasts to topple out and into his mouth. He sucks and bites on your nipple making you yelp.

You run your hands through his hair, messing it up again before you tug on it, making him groan.

“Marcus, please…” you pant as he lines himself up with you. “Please, fuck me.”

Groaning, he pushes his cock up inside of you, hard like you want, in a deep shunt. It takes your breath away. He does it again, settling into a heavy pace as you squeal into the thick wool of his sweater, practically a mouth full of it. 

“God, you’re so wet... soaked, baby,” he moans with glee as his cock is utterly coated with you, lewdly squelching into you. “You like your gift, hmm?”

You cry out in agreement, a little louder than he would like, and he places his swamping hand over your mouth, chuckling.

“Sssh,” he smirks at you as he works his hips.

“I don’t care if they hear us!” You muffle at him. “You’ve been teasing the hell out of me all day.” 

“I have. I’ve enjoyed seeing you squirm.” He shunts upwards again, deliberately; his cock hitting all the right spots. 

“Oh God, you sadist.” You groan, gripping onto him. 

He chuckles as he thrusts faster. "Ah shit... you feel so good."

“Oh, Marcus!” You whine into his face as you release; your legs shaking and your neck straining.

Your cunt is already squeezing around him and it doesn’t take much to bring you to a quick, hard orgasm after keeping you on the cusp of it all damned day.

Drunk on that sweet, heady glow with a gritty dance into exhilaration and rebellion at finally getting what you so desperately want as your fingers twist and gnarl at his sweater.

“So beautiful when you come for me like this,” he grunts. 

Marcus watches in awe as you pant and grapple at him; your head lolling and eyes rolling into the back of your head as you flop further into the mattress beneath you after epically shuddering like you’ve had a seizure; tingling with an ebbing numbness that hints at the untamed energy coursing through your veins.

He places his hands on the bed either side of your head and slows his pace down after he gets you off, enjoying the feeling of you pulsating and ribbing around him during the crackled aftershocks of your big O moment.

“Ride me,” Marcus whispers salaciously to you.

He rolls, taking you with him and still inside you, until you’re on top. He unclips your bra, leaving you fully naked. You push his Christmas sweater up and run your hands over his stomach and toned chest, raking your nails over his tan skin.

His mouth parts, plush and full as he pants and bucks up as you wind your hips around him.

You push onto his chest with your hands and let your ass and hips do all the work as you ride him quicker and faster.

“Yeah baby, like that.” He grits, feeling your pussy pump him.

“You like that?” You grin. “Maybe I should just stop… give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Marcus leans up into a biting kiss as you bend fully over him, riding his cock deeply as he pushes his hips up, meeting your rhythm.

“M-marcus...” You gasp into his face.

“God, I love you deep inside me like this,” you groan, finding your strength again.

“That feel good?” He asks you, knowing full well it does.

You love the feeling of him like this. After how he’s toyed with you all day so far, he wants to see you enjoy this, enjoy what he’s giving to you right now.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. So good.” 

“So deep inside my beautiful wife.”

“Oh!” You groan. 

He strokes your face and kisses you before grunting out. “I’m close, baby.”

“I want it in my mouth."

“Yeah.” He agrees with a strain. 

Shuffling off of him quickly, you take his slick, wet cock inside your mouth and suck him hard.

“Shit!” Marcus pants, scooping your hair out of the way so he can watch you take him deep. You can taste yourself all around him, succulent and sweet. 

“Oh, you’re so good at that.” He breathes out with that brewing tremor in his voice. "Oh shit, I'm gonna come, baby."

You suck around him, pumping him with your hand as you feel him inflate and pulse before he shoots inside your mouth in quick, hot bursts.

You swallow it all down, moaning in satisfied delight.

“Jesus...” Marcus sighs out with a breathy chuckle, head flopping down onto the bed. His face is all red and sweaty.

He pulls you into his arms and lays back with you on the bed that you only now realise is a single bed.

You look around the room, listening to his heartbeat slow inside his rib cage as he winds strands of your hair around his fingers.

Inside the room is a small, single bed and shelves with old models and books on. There’s a desk and an old TV set, and various cans of deodorants and aftershaves adorn one of the shelves.

In one corner, there's a corkboard displaying a mix of academic achievements; sports medals highlighting achievements in various competitions at racquetball. 

“Who’s room is this?” You ask curiously.

“It’s mine,” Marcus replies, his hand stroking up and down your back leaving shuddery, cool goose pimples to birth. “Or it was back when I lived here.”

You sit up. “You’ve never shown me your old bedroom before.”

“I stayed here when I was training at the academy too.”

“How many girls did you sneak back in here?” You ask giggling.

Marcus chuckles. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Smooth.” You tease, winking and he laughs again.

He’s so inherently beautiful when he laughs; that dimple on show and an astonishingly natural ease spreads over his face. He looks the most comfortable he’s ever been in his whole life when he laughs. It changes his face; makes him beam brighter than the sun.

You reach up to his face and kiss those soft, pink lips of his with affectionate vigour. He wraps his arms around your back, crushing you into him as he whines softly into the kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper as you pull away, your mouth still inches from his.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” Marcus replies before swallowing you up once more in another lengthy, passionate kiss.

He wants nothing more than to stay right here, hidden away in his old bedroom with you, his stunning wife, naked and spread all over him.

But you’re both probably being missed downstairs and will face some questioning if you don’t re-appear soon.

You nod, smirking at him as you slip your shoes back on and straighten up your skirt, which will be evidence enough with how creased it is now, at what you've both been doing.

“So, did you like your gift?” Marcus enquires with a smirk as you dress a few minutes later.

He refuses to give you your panties back, and you watch as he slips them in his pocket cheekily. 

He scoops up the love eggs from the bed and puts them in his other pocket with his phone.

“I’ll wear them again.” You reply, nodding.

“Absolutely. I can think of a place...” He smooths down your crazy, fucked-out hair; his hands cupping either of your face. 

“Where?” You query with a brewing smirk.

“At the FBI’s New Year's Eve Ball next week.” Marcus states, winking at you.

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike the mentalist #pedro pascal #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x female reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fic #christmas stories #jett's writing

[undercoverpena]

milk and cookies

marcus pike x f!reader

summary: milk and cookies go well together. just like you and marcus - as a halloween costume.

word count: 2.5k warnings: fluff, established relationship. marcus is in love with you, bcus of course he is, you're amazing. dedication: a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for being there for my insane thoughts, for reading this, and also agreeing this outfit is so marcus coded

As soon as Marcus scans eyes over the paperwork on his desk, he knows his evening has gone up in flames. It torched, practically set alight right in front of him.

The warmth from it licks at his skin as he slowly begins to pull out his phone, closing his office door—needing privacy, a semblance of being alone with you.

He hates this. The disappointment that he brings. That he has to explain, again, that he needs to rearrange, change things—uproot a plan he’d been excited to put into place.

“Hey, I was just about to reply to you—”

It almost falls from his tongue, cutting you off—the simple, short apology. When he does it, he’s purposeful with how he laces it with affection. Wanting—needing—you to know that he means it, that he’d rather be with you than anywhere else.

Even if he loves what he does.

Even if what he loves also means letting you down, it practically comes with the job title.

He swallows it, as best as he can. Allows it to crawl back down his throat, lets it remain there—in the pit of his stomach, swirling with all the other things he hates that he has to tell you. Like I’ll be back in a few days, I wish I could lie in bed with you.

Because, even if the two of you have said those three magical words, he still braces for them to be retracted. For his job to the thing that yanks the two of you apart, rips them both down the middle.

“—I just got caught up, and oh, I managed to find that syrup you liked—the one you told me about—so I’ll pop that in my cupboard for the next time you stay here.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, he realises (quickly) that it isn’t going to be today.

“I may have to rain check tonight, baby.”

He waits for the disappointment, a sharp tone—a sigh, all littered with frustration and sharpened by annoyance. But as always, it doesn’t come.

Marcus did not hear anything close to that. If anything, words flow from your tongue, all calm, genuine—all full of understanding: It’s okay, I know you wouldn’t cancel if it weren’t important. Is it a new case?

“I’m really sorry.”

He’s sure he hears you smile.

Sighing, he runs his hand over his face, finger sliding down the bridge of his nose as he slumps himself into his desk chair. Not sure how he can articulate how much he had wanted to see you, had craved nothing more—the thought had been getting him through the day’s meetings and bullshit casework.

The thing—all key-shaped, wrapped in little pumpkins—has been burning a hole in his wallet for the past two weeks while he waited for a moment such as tonight.

Because, fuck you’re so nice. So kind. So understanding. To the point, a part of him worries. Just a little thrum. It there, being plucked like a string, in the moments where he can feel himself falling—all set to slide his foot over the ledge and tumble—what if he chose the wrong time to ask, and broke it—what the two of you have. What he thought he’d found with others, but now he realises had just not been you.

“Plus, I mean, you’d be really upset if someone stole your art,” you add, voice closer to the phone, likely halting whatever it is you were doing to talk to him.

A thought that pulls at the corner of his smile, a thing you do more and more as the weeks turn into months.

Shifting in his chair, he faces himself at the window—the car lights twinkling as they make their way wherever they fancy.

Smirking, he drops his hand to his lap. “There’d be another team involved if someone stole my art.”

“Oh. Well, I mean, still, you’d be needed, wouldn’t you?”

His lips twist further, teeth showing—a smile so large it almost fucking hurt. Because, shit, you’re adorable, funny, beautiful—

“There’d be another team because you’re my art. I don’t really deal with missing people, baby.”

“Oh.” It’s different than the one before—to the point he swears he can feel the heat from your cheeks through the phone. “Well, I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t… you don’t have to say anything. Just tell me when I can next see you—give me something to look forward to.”

He hears the phone move, likely from one ear to the other.

“It’ll be Friday—at the party.”

“Friday it is then. Can I still call you later?”

He hopes you’re mirroring his smile from where you’re standing. Marcus hopes he’s not alone in this feeling, the one which has come from nowhere, and makes him worry—more than he has before—because he’s not sure he has it in him to fall, crash and burn all over again.

“I’ll look forward to it, Pike. Especially seeing you in your outfit. Now, go and do good. In the meantime, I’ll count down till we’re reunited in the kitchen, which is everyone’s midnight fantasy. If you can make it, that is.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Don’t worry, if you can’t. Your job is important,” you say. “I’ll… find someone else to dunk myself into.”

Your laugh fills his ear, and he smirks in his chair as he sees the time. “Respectfully, baby. No.”

“Go be a hero, and call me when you land.”

“𝙳𝚘 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢?” 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠. “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖?” “𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝙰𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 ���𝚒𝚔𝚎.” 𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. “𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸’𝚖 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚍.” “𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢, 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢.” “𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝙻𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝙸’𝚖 𝚕𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.” 𝙻𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙, 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚙𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚠. “𝙾𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸’𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎?” “𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎,” 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚎, 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍.

It had begun as a joke.

You mindlessly scrolling for costume ideas, nestled between his side and the sofa, showing him ones to gauge his reaction. And then you had landed on it.

A grin so big, it could rival the sun with how bright it was—a little kick of your feet that made his chest fill with warmth, happiness and unfiltered joy.

Marcus Pike, will you do me the honour of being the cracker to my cheese?

His finger, though, had scrolled, moved to the next pairing down, grinning—thinking of all the times you’ve found him getting crumbs over the counter.

Rather be the milk to your cookies, baby.

He hadn’t regretted it. Not even when his half arrived, when he had to slide it on in his car—almost getting stuck on the exit of his vehicle as he straightened up outside the address of your friend's home.

Because all he wanted to do was reunite with you.

The days had dragged, and the hours had slumped slowly by. Even the nightly phone calls and occasional texts did nothing to speed it up.

If anything, it just made the question—the one that’s been swirling in worrisome-bile in his chest—more important to ask. Even if the last few times he’d asked a bold question with someone he thought was the one had gone wrong, crumbled away, withered until nothing but weeds were left. h

But then, Marcus supposes, none of those people were you.

As he’d been previously told, he hadn’t needed to knock—the door was unlocked. Immediately greeted by music, by flashes of orange and purple lights as he pushed the door back into the frame behind him. A smile already desperate to cut into his face, the week fading from his shoulders, from his muscles and bones, quickly being replaced by giddiness—a usual symptom of knowing he was going to see you.

Where he’d find you, he wasn’t sure.

A part of him wondered if you really were cliché, and he’d find you in the kitchen, or if you’d be with friends—in the thick of the hustle and bustle, even if you’d told him you didn’t know half the people attending.

People always seemed to like you.

Your kindness shining, practically illuminating—glowing. It’s why he hadn’t really tried to fight falling for you, not at first and not after the first time he sat knee to knee with you at a restaurant table. Because, you were charm, brilliance and captivation, all wrapped up in a person with a stunning smile and a heart of gold.

His thought is cemented when he walks through the open door to his left, and his eyes land on you. You, who is standing nursing a red cup, eyes trained on the window—likely looking for him. Not sure which way he’d have walked up to the house, not realising he’d parked the entire other way—having overshot the house when he’d driven down it.

He’s grateful. Selfishly steals the seconds to just admire you, take you in. Because even if he’s seen you dressed to the nines, bare in his sheets and standing in one of his tees at his kitchen counter, the fact he gets to admire you standing in a costume that matches his, makes his heart skip.

Even more so when your eyes slide across the room, landing on him.

Fuck. He’s sure his heart stops, then.

It’s why he’s grateful time slows. Allows him the chance to restart it as he gets to bear witness to the realisation he’s here, flickers over your face. It absolves the worries and doubts which had been etched into your brows; it vanishes away any nibbling of your bottom lip, that he’s sure you’ve been doing. Instead, it replaces each part of your tinged frown with relief and gratitude.

He should hate it, but it feels like a movie. Not at all factual or sensible, but rather unexplainable and life-altering.

Something he’ll replay when you’re asleep against him, unsure how it is he got to find you in the sea of everything he’d already been lucky to experience.

“You made it,” you say, voice carrying just over the music—standing in front of him.

His lips somehow (between the edge of his milk carton and your inability to twist) manage to find yours, finding they taste a mix of salt and sweetness, spotting the mini-pretzels in your hand. “Of course. Couldn’t leave you here to fend without something to quench your thirst.”

“My hero.”

“You know it.”

Your body curls into him, trying to anyway. Eyes unable to tear themselves away, staring at him, as though he’s hung the stars for you. The two of you silent, admiring—lost entirely in the other until the song changes, snapping you back, reminding you that the two of you aren’t alone.

Even if he wishes you both were.

“C’mon, I need to introduce you to people.”

Before tonight, he’d met most—the ones who matter, you’d explained. But, there were others. Some hidden, disguised too well, behind makeup and SFX that he did wonder if he’d spot them so easily tomorrow when the evening was over.

What he hadn’t banked on, was that you were doing so, to try and carve a place for the two of you to be more secluded, more alone. Moving from room to room, stealing bits of food, cheers’ing your cup, until the two of you were on the back porch—mist blowing from your lips, your sigh heard, loud in the quiet compared to the party inside.

“You having fun, baby?”

Turning your head, you nod—sliding yourself closer to him. “Yeah.”

With minimal awkwardness, he manages to press a kiss on your forehead. Getting a glimpse of your perfume and shampoo, finding it unlocks something—an idea, a thought bubble. Having spent so long looking for perfection, he hadn’t known tonight had been blooming itself to be one.

“Just thinking,” you add.

Sliding his arm around you, he fans his finger out over your back, Humming, resting his head against the top of yours.

“Just that… maybe we can host one of these. You know, one day?”

He feels it hook into the edges of his mouth, a smile growing, sliding up into his cheeks. “Together?”

“Together.”

“Think we should enforce people to dress up as pairings.”

“Oh, for sure. I think we could do better thought—maybe be a piece of art and a paintbrush. Make everyone else be food or something—or their jobs. Otherwise, we’ll just get loads of cops and robbers.”

His laugh rumbles out, feeling you try to move closer next to him—the cookie edge and his carton edge making it difficult.

“Maybe we can do it next year.”

“The outfit? I mean, I think I can make a paintbrush outfit… would need to get on it soon—”

“The hosting,” he adds, cutting you off.

Smirking, you lift your head, tilting it up to see him as he lifts his head from yours, spotting your narrowed eyes. “Is this you asking me to live with you, Marcus Pike?”

Holding up a finger, he fights a laugh. Because if only you fucking knew. His hand slides, shifting under his costume, into his pocket—his wallet emerging, your eyes following his movement.

“So, I’ve been walking around for the past few weeks with this,” he says, undoing the pocket, pulling out a key—one wrapped in pumpkins and little ghouls. “Just... waiting.”

“Oh my…”

“So, baby, if you want to, I’d love you to move yourself and that syrup into my place. I’ll let you decorate my home—our home—from top to bottom and host the most cheesiest party ever.”

“Marcus...”

He licks his lips, turning the key in his finger and thumb. “I really want to keep a close eye on my art, baby.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, baby. More than anything…”

Misting up, he watches your eyes shimmer more under the flashing lights coming through the window, and the bright moon in the sky, before you’re nodding. Softly at first, then enthusiastically, little glitter tears sliding down your cheeks, accompanied by an I love you; I’d love to move in.

Your body tries to move, almost knocking over a plant pot as you try and throw your hands around him.

Clumsy, he thinks, steadying you, cupping your cheek and holding what he can of your side in your costume.

“Weeks, ay?”

Snorting, he swipes his thumb against your cheek. “Trying to find the perfect moment.”

“I think you achieved it.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you take the key from his fingers, turning it, before looking back up at him. “I’m so lucky to have you, Marcus.”

I’m lucky to have you, he says. Not with his words. But with his lips against yours, pressing your lower spine to the porch fence—because fuck he loves you.

an: ily all.

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #pedro pascal characters x reader #pedrostories #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fanfiction

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 27- Food Play

Marcus Pike x fem!reader

Word count- 1k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), food mention (syrup, whipped cream), body worship, nipple/breast play, teasing, implied oral, no use of y/n

Notes- This is very cliche for Marcus but I couldn't resist writing it lol! And this is more of a tease than any of the other ones for this month but I like it this way honestly. Prompt list made by me! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is myupdate blog so please follow that too and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on my new fics!

~

“Hey babe, can you pass me the syrup?” you asked Marcus. The two of you sat side by side on the touch, your takeout food on the coffee table in front of you. It was date night in, and it was the best night of the week for both of you. 

“Sure thing honey,” he replied with a wink, proud of the food pun he made.

You rolled your eyes as you reached for the bottle, but a jolt of electricity ran through your veins when your fingers brushed against his. No matter how long you were with Marcus Pike, his touch never got old, and you craved him more than the delicious food on the plate. You licked your lips as your eyes trailed up his bare arm and your heart melted when you saw the smile on his face.

“Thanks,” you breathed as he reluctantly let go.

But, as he did so, a few drops of the syrup fell from the bottle and splashed his finger, “Aw damn,” he muttered as he moved to lick it off.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist and launched yourself at him, “Let me,” you purred as your tone dropped. 

Never breaking eye contact with Marcus, you brought his hand to your face and darted your tongue out. Tracing along the length of his finger, you ran your tongue up until you reached the tip and wrapped your lips around it. You let out a soft moan as you savored the sweet taste of the syrup mixed with the salty unique taste of his skin.

Marcus gasped as he watched the display, and the mood suddenly changed in the room. He groaned as he watched you work his finger with your tongue, licking the syrup clean off and then some. He knew what you were doing, and it was working.

“Holy shit,” Marcus gasped as you sucked on the tip of his finger, sending a pulse of need right to his cock.

You smirked around his finger as you gently guided one more into your mouth. The way Marcus murmured your name made you clench your thighs together. You moaned into him as you bobbed your head up and down his fingers, mimicking the way you would work his cock.

“Fuck… Baby…” Marcus groaned as he grabbed you and yanked you off of his hand. The two of you stared at each other in a tense silence for a moment before he smirked, “Let me have a taste too.”

“Marcus,” you laughed softly as he reached for a can of whipped cream.

“Lean back,” his voice was gentle, but yet had a commanding air about it at the same time, “And take that off.” He motioned to your shirt.

“Yes sir,” you grinned. But you let out a whine once you were topless and noticed the way Marcus’ gaze bore into you. “Marcus…”

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he murmured as he cupped your face and kissed you desperately. He swallowed the moan you let out as you clung to his shoulders and tilted your head to allow him to deepen the kiss. Marcus savored the taste of you as his tongue tangled with yours, and it made his cock twitch in his pants.

Without breaking away, Marcus shook the can of whipped cream and sprayed it on your chest in little drops. You only broke away to burst into laughter as you found yourself covered in whipped cream. And Marcus immediately joined your laughter.

“You are too much, Marcus Pike,” you said with a giggle.

“You like it,” he snickered as his eyes roamed across your chest. He managed to hit your nipple perfectly with a dollop of whipped cream, but the rest was a mess across your skin.

“I do,” your tone dropped as you watched him devour you with his eyes.

This was silly, it was ridiculous, it was messy. But it was perfect. Marcus whispered your name as he grabbed your hips and yanked you closer. He dipped his head down and wrapped his lips around your breast, letting the whipped cream cover his face while he tasted both you and the dessert. The laugher dissipated as you let out a loud moan when you felt his tongue trace across your skin.

“Marcus…” you breathed as you buried a hand in his hair, tugging as he flicked his tongue across your nipple.

He groaned into you, not wanting to break away for even a second. Marcus tightened his grip on you as he lavished you, worshiping your body and pulling every sweet sound he could from your lips. He nodded his head up and down, licking away every trace of the whipped cream from your breast until nothing was left but a sticky residue.

Marcus finally came up for air, releasing your skins with a loud pop. He looked at you with glazed over eyes and breathed heavily. Drops of cream dripped from his lips as he ran his eyes over your body.

“Enjoy that, Marcus?” you asked with a breathless laugh.

“My favorite dessert,” he quipped back, “Delicious,” his tone dropped as he dove back into you, licking at the mess he made with the can.

You erupted into a fit of moans and giggles as Marcus tickled your skin with his tongue. You felt his laugh into you as his hands caressed your body while he devoured you. The laughter dissolved more into moans as Marcus’ tongue grazed over more sensitive spots. He huffed with pleasure into you as he bit down on your skin, tasting you even more.

“Are you gonna let me have my ultimate favorite, baby?” Marcus asked, his eyes blown dark with desire.

You let out a few deep breaths before you even realized Marcus had asked you anything. Blinking your eyes open, you gasped when you saw the need in his eyes. His usually neat hair fell in his face in soft waves and his mouth hung open.

Smirking, you caressed his face, “And what’s your ultimate favorite, babe?”

His grin matched your own, “I think you know what I mean,” Marcus said in a low rumble.

“I think you’ll have to show me,” you replied with a challenge in your eyes.

The food on the coffee table was long forgotten by the time Marcus was finished with you. But he was satisfied nonetheless.

#fawktober2023 #kinktober #marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike fic #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic

[atinylittlepain]

PART TWO

marcus pike x f!reader

no masterlist for this man, good luck to this man - read part one tho it's fun

warnings | 18+ smut, sucking and fucking and also angst, mentions of sex work, marcus is a freak ass sugar daddy with a cunty lil blackberry and a bmw vroom vroom

note: this is OLD, this is from the ARCHIVE, leave me alone and also i love you muah kiss for you

@idolatrybarbie come get your juice

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

People are staring. Backpacks held in slack hands, necks craned around to catch a glimpse of the beemer pulled up at the curb outside the library, sleek silver rims glinting in the afternoon light. But it’s the man leaning up against the side of the car that’s really piquing people’s interest. 

“Hey, baby, you ready to go?” A kiss to her cheek before his lips catch hers, a quick smack that she doesn’t let deepen under so many watchful eyes.

“Hi, Marcus, thank you for picking me up, but you could’ve just met me at my apartment, it’s no big deal.” He scoffs at that, his aviators slipping down his nose as he squints at her.

“You know I don’t like you riding public transportation, it’s not–” She cuts him off with another kiss, rubbing her palm up and down the lapel of his suit jacket.

“Not safe, I know. But I’ve been getting around just fine on the bus for a while now and I’ve yet to get murdered. So I don’t think you have to worry about it.” He chuckles, pressing his sunglasses back up before opening the passenger side door for her, all ease as he leans over the top of the door to steal one more kiss as she ducks into the BMW. 

​​Things have been different, and good, since she met Marcus. She had been a bit surprised when he called only a few hours after he dropped her off at her apartment that morning.

“Do I look like a complete dope calling you this soon?” 

“I kinda like it actually. You aren’t one to play games, huh?” A laugh crackling over the phone and a sigh.

“I guess I have a bit of a one-track mind. When I want something I gotta go after it– and I just sounded like a total tool saying that, didn’t I?” 

“Coming from anyone else, I’d say yes. But I think you’re a little too sweet to really be a tool. So, are you gonna ask me out or what?” Another laugh, her smile broadening at the sound.

“You’re gonna be the boss here, aren’t you?”“Count on it, babe.”

It’s been a little over a month since he called, and they’ve been seeing each other a lot, enough for her to have learned a considerable amount more about Marcus Pike. First and foremost, he’s a romantic, almost painfully so, flowers and good morning texts, dates to the arthouse theater to see classic movies about love triumphant, followed by meals at restaurants that could wipe her rent money for the month with one main course. That’s the second thing she’s learned about him, he likes to take care of her. It had started innocently enough, after the first time he took her to one of those aforementioned swanky restaurants and she expressed concern that she had stuck out like a sore thumb in the upscale space, it feeling impossible for her to dress nice enough to fit in. He had her in the BMW and on the way to a trail of boutiques before she could even protest, and she ended that day with an overwhelming number of shopping bags, tufts of tissue paper stamped with the names of brands she had never dreamed of buying for herself. And it had only escalated from there, from meals out to fresh sets of paint and easels to jewelry dripping in silver and gold, infamous powder blue boxes with satin white bows that always reveal something fit to make her head spin it’s so dazzling. And today is no different, a gift waiting for her on the plush leather of the passenger seat, Marcus glancing at her as he weaves through DC traffic, trying to catch her reaction when she opens it.

“Oh my god, Marcus. It’s– it’s so lovely. It must have cost a fortune, though. I couldn’t possibly–” He cuts her off with a light squeeze to her thigh where his palm is curled, lips crooking in a grin though he keeps his eyes on the road.

“Don’t worry about that. Just wanted to get you something nice. And I was thinking you could wear it tonight to dinner, if you like it?” How this man manages to thread confidence with his shyness is still beyond her, an endearing combination that only makes her want to figure him out more. She leans over the console, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before settling back down in her seat.

“I love it and I’d love to wear it tonight. Thank you.” She holds the bracelet up, letting it catch the fading afternoon light, a perfect string of diamonds glinting and glaring in the sun. It’s the same dance every time, she says she couldn’t possibly, and he tells her she absolutely can, and then she ends up with something shiny and expensive around her wrist, her neck, dangling from her earlobes, or flickering on her fingers. All she can figure is that whatever higher-up government type he is, he must be really really high up to be throwing money around like this. 

“I’ll be back down in a minute, just need to grab my bag and then I’m all yours.” It’s Memorial Day weekend, three whole days off for the both of them, and Marcus has asked her to spend it all with him, something she was more than happy to agree to. 

She pauses for a moment in her bathroom, swiping quick knuckles under her eyes, her week of exams showing in the dark circles resting there, and the late nights at the club certainly aren’t helping either. It’s a touchy subject for them, for him, and she knows it. She tries to reassure him that it’s just business, good money, but it hadn’t been just business with him, and she understands why he always gets a bit stiff when she mentions that she has a shift. 

“All set?” She hums an mmhmm, Marcus taking her bag from her to tuck into the trunk before they get on their way to his place. 

Logan Circle, one of the trendiest neighborhoods in DC, beautiful brownstones framed by sleepy-looking trees and winding parks. It had caught her off guard the first time he brought her over to his place, leading her by the hand up the steps of one of those brownstones, all twining ivy and high-arched windows, all his. He had offered her a sheepish grin and a shrug when she had quirked her eyebrows at him, explaining it away as one of the perks from the Bureau. 

She still feels a bit out of place amongst the sleek, dark wood, though he’s quick to distract her from it with a warm palm on her back and an easy smile.

“Reservation’s at seven so we have a little time to rest up if that sounds good to you?” His hands thread together around her waist, pulling her close enough to lay a kiss to her forehead.

“Is this your very nice way of telling me I look tired?” That’s another thing she’s learned about him, just how easy it is to throw him off, make him blush, a nervous laugh bubbling up in his chest.

“No, I just know how hard you’ve been working lately to get your school year wrapped up and– and at the club–” She gives him a look that he knows means don’t start. He had brought it up last week over the phone, when she couldn’t say yes to dinner plans because of a shift at Pandora’s.

“Well what if– what if you didn’t have to work anymore?” 

“That’d be amazing, and while we’re at it, I’d also like a unicorn. It’s just not a possibility for me right now, Marc, I’m sorry.” 

“But what if it was a possibility? I mean, what if I–”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I have a pretty good idea actually. And my answer is no. Thank you, Marcus, really, but I’m not letting you spend any more money on me than you already are. I’m a big girl, baby, I can handle myself.” 

He had let out a huff at that, but had begrudgingly let it go, though he has been dropping hints all week about his discontent with how much she’s still working, subtle, but prickly. But he holds his tongue now, smile simpering beneath his scruff as she slips her palms from his chest up to twine behind his neck.

“What I really want right now is a long shower. I feel like I’m covered in goo from the kids I was working with today.” His smile broadens at that, one of his hands slipping up to ghost along her collarbone

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but–” He gently scrapes his thumbnail along the top of her sternum, bringing away flecks of dried paint that she groans at.

“Oh my god, how did I miss that? I swear, these practicum hours make me rethink my career choice every time.” It’s an easy moment, a sigh and a smile shared that’s abruptly interrupted by his phone ringing, shoulders slumping as he reaches into his suit pocket to pull out his thrumming Blackberry, offering her a sheepish smile when he checks the caller ID before answering it.

“This is Agent Pike.” She presses a kiss to the corner of his jaw before slipping out of his hold as he starts talking quietly to whoever it is on the other end of the phone, showing herself upstairs with her bag in hand. She knows her way around by now, padding into his bedroom, only a little surprised by the garment bag laid out on his bed, shoebox resting on the ground next to it.

Just a peek, she unzips the garment bag, letting her hand run over the fabric inside, and quickly realizes that wherever they’re going to dinner tonight must be fancy, black silk slipping underneath her palm. She’ll have to scold him for it later, but for now, she’s too focused on washing off whatever little kid shmutz she managed to pick up during the day, making a beeline for his bathroom to get the water warmed up. 

She groans when she steps under the warm water, sore muscles unraveling with the heat. There had been a few clients this week who had been particularly physical, and she’s certainly feeling it now. It’s rare for her to have to end a session early, most clients respectful and happy to follow the club’s rules, but one man in particular had obviously not been interested in being compliant, so much so that she had to call her boss in to escort him off the premises. She hadn’t been too phased by it though, just pissed more than anything else. But she’s been doing this for long enough to not let these things affect her, letting the majority of her good, easy to work with clients drown out the rare rotten one. And it isn’t like she’s going to be doing this for much longer either. One more year of school and she’ll be able to trade in her time at the club for a teaching license and a much different life. 

“Did that happen at work?” She all but jumps out of her skin, Marcus’ voice startling her out of her thoughts as she turns to find him slipping into the shower with her, his bareness still sending her mind into a sweet haze. But she’s quick to snap out of it when his hand brushes over the bruise blooming on her thigh, his brow furrowing even more when she winces at the sensation.

“Oh, that? Um, yeah, but it’s no big deal, someone just got a little too worked up, that’s all.” He doesn’t like that one bit, his jaw shifting in a grind as he looks at her.

“Is it– are you ok?” She offers him a smile, tugging him closer so she can slip her palms over his chest, his hands settling on the curve of her waist.

“I’m fine, Marc, I promise. No harm, no foul.”

“Looks like harm to me.” He says it absentmindedly, his eyes still trained on the bruise, words a low murmur, his nostrils flaring as he takes a sharp inhale. 

“Hey, I said I’m fine, alright? Let’s get cleaned up, babe, don’t worry about it.” She knows it’s a bit of a move, leaning in for a kiss that she easily deepens, trying to steer his mind away from worry and succeeding when she coaxes a little groan out of him with the way she tugs at his hair. But he’s not interested in pulling away too soon, licking hotly into her mouth, swallowing the gasp she lets out when her back meets the cold tile of the shower, a heady contrast to the way his body presses against her, slick and warm in the rising steam. He’s certainly gotten more confident with her, and while she likes this side of him, wandering hands and hard kisses, it’s the shyness that still peeks through that makes her heart flip in her chest.

“Wanna taste you. Can I, please?” She slicks his wet mop of hair back out of his face, a smile crooking across her lips as she nods.

“Mmhmm, I’m all yours. Want you to make me feel good.” She hadn’t been expecting him to drop down to his knees right then and there, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up in her chest when he does, his hands holding her firm and steady by her hips as he lays open-mouthed kisses across her stomach. But that laugh fizzles out when he dips his head lower, letting his mouth drag over the bruise on her thigh, making her cry out when he presses a hard kiss to it, like he’s trying to stamp it out with his lips. He doesn’t linger there long, laying a much sweeter kiss over the mottled skin before letting his mouth slide up to where she really wants him.

…

“Can you do me up?” She watches him in the mirror as he steps behind her, a low hum in his throat as he slips the zipper of her dress up. It’s perfect, classy, a smooth, simple slip that rests just at her shins and practically drips off the curves of her body it fits so well. He always gets it right, and she’s always surprised that he does. 

“You look beautiful. And I have one thing to add.” She catches the glint of it in the mirror, his hands arcing over her head to bring the delicate necklace to rest against her clavicle. A string of diamonds that matches her bracelet. Before she can say anything, he presses a kiss to the side of her neck, his hands dropping down to smooth over her hips.

“Look like a million bucks, baby.”

“I better not be wearing a million bucks right now.” She says it jokingly, but when he doesn’t respond, only quirking an eyebrow at her, she turns in his hold with a scoff.

“Marcus, I swear to god, if you–”

“I’m kidding. Don’t worry about the cost, huh? Just think of it as a little– end of the school year gift, that’s all.” All she can do is let out a sigh, getting to work on his loose tie as he looks down through his lashes at her. He looks like a million bucks too, sleek, black suit over a crisp button-up, the scent of his cologne wrapping her up as she shimmies his tie into place.

“Well, thank you for the gifts. If your goal is to spoil me completely rotten, I’d say you’re succeeding.” His smile turns into a grin at that, stealing a quick kiss as she smooths down the collar of his shirt.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now c’mon, knowing you, you probably worked right through lunch and are starving right now. Let’s get some dinner in you.”

…

“Please follow me this way, Mr. and Mrs. Pike, your table is ready for you.” She nearly chokes at what the waiter calls them, though Marcus takes it in stride, offering her a smile and shrug as he guides her further into the restaurant with a palm on her low back. 

She was right, it’s fancy as hell, all dim lights and rich, wood tables, men in suits and their wives decked out in their finest. And it only dawns on her that they fit right in once they’re actually seated at their own table, her eyes glancing around at this strange game of adult dress-up. 

“We’ll do a bottle of your Riesling and one of your Shiraz as well, thank you.” White for her, red for him, he doesn’t even have to look at the menu to put in the order, and she can’t figure out just why that’s so hot. 

“Did you hear about that new installment coming downtown? They’re calling it a revival of abstract expressionism meets modern minimalism. Apparently it’s hot.” She grins at the dramatic wag of his eyebrows as he speaks, leaning in closer to respond.

“I hadn’t heard about that, no. Sounds like whoever it is, they’re trying to do it all. We’ll have to go check it out, huh?” An outsider looking in on their relationship would be hard pressed to figure out just why they mesh well together, a decade apart and coming from two completely different worlds. But they come together well in peculiar ways, art being one of them. Marcus could talk for hours about the history, styles and forms rising and falling with time, and she can too, while also applying it all in her own work as a painter, something that he loves to hear her talk about, her process and projects. She’s still not sure why he’s so well-versed in it all, with such a keen eye, especially given her very vague understanding of his work as some sort of big wig FBI boss, but she loves that they can talk like this about something that bores most of her friends. They’ve gone out gallery hopping a few times together and, grand gestures and fancy dinners aside, it’s probably her favorite thing to do with him, wandering around downtown and seeing whatever art they can find.

Dinner starts to pass languidly by as they slip into conversation about the new gallery opening, unfurling into her own projects that she’s hoping to submit for showings once they’re finished. But as dessert is laid before them and her attention is drawn away from Marcus for a moment, her eyes land on someone across the restaurant, and her stomach sinks. While Marcus thanks the waiter, she can’t take her eyes off the man across the room, sitting with his wife, wearing the same suit he had on when he came into the club earlier that week, the same suit he left in when her boss kicked him out for not following the rules. And in a sickening twist, his eyes meet hers, an all too clear flash of recognition behind the smug grin that spreads across his face. 

“Are you ok?” Marcus’ voice snaps her attention back to him and she tries to coax a smile onto her face, though she can’t help the way her eyes jerk over his shoulder and back to the man who’s still staring her down. And when she gives him no answer, Marcus finally cranes his neck around to see just what it is she keeps looking at.

“Do you– do you know him?” He looks back over his shoulder at the man who has finally stopped staring now that it’s caught Marcus’ attention. But before she can make some sort of excuse up, Marcus’ face falls in clear realization.

“Oh, I see. He’s one of your clients, isn’t he?” 

“Fortunately, not anymore, he’s not.” It comes out before she can even think to stop herself, something dark flashing across Marcus’ face at her words.

“Are you telling me he’s the one who did that to you?” She doesn’t need an explanation to know what he means when he says that, her hand subconsciously going to rest over her thigh where the bruise lies beneath her dress. She feels frozen in place, her mind going blank as Marcus stares at her, his jaw hard-set and his eyes swimming. And when she gives him no response, he scoffs, turning in his seat, clearly ready to get up and march across the restaurant to where the man and his wife are just getting up to leave.

“Marc, don’t. Just– for me, please, don’t.” She wills him to stay in his seat with her hand placed over his on the table, letting out a sigh when he ultimately turns back around with a huff.

Total silence and downturned eyes, he’s quick to get the check and get them on their way back to his house. A cold prickle runs up her spine as they drive when his hand that normally rests easy and warm on her thigh remains on the wheel, not even a glance her way, his jaw ticking with what she can only assume is anger. And when they do get back to his place, and the silence continues, Marcus going into the kitchen to fix himself a drink without so much as looking at her, she assumes that it’s finally become too much for him, that she had been stupid to think this could work. She quickly and quietly slips into his bedroom, first placing her shoes back in the wrapping-paper-lined box before unfastening her bracelet and necklace and laying them on his dresser, though she figures they were never really hers to begin with. Her bag next, tucking back inside the things she had already unpacked before getting to work on the zipper of her dress. 

“What are you doing?” She turns to find him standing in the doorway, lips parted and brow furrowed, and suddenly a thick heat creeps up her throat, stealing any strength from her voice.

“I thought I should probably go.” His face scrunches up at that and he steps further into the room, closing the distance between them, though he hesitates to reach for her, his hands flexing by his sides. 

“What do you– what do you mean go? Where are you going?” 

“Home, Marcus, I’m going home. I understand if this is too much–” 

“That’s not– it’s not too much. I just– I hate it, ok? I really fucking hate it.” His tone is sharp, clipped, an edge of frustration that she hasn’t heard from him before and it makes her pause before asking him the only thing she can think of.

“My work? That’s what you mean? You hate my work?” He drags a hand through his hair, letting out a hard exhale as he shakes his head.

“I mean– yes. I hate that you have to put up with shit like that, with men like that. I hate that I lie in bed at night wondering what you’re doing and what person you’re doing it with, or to– fuck, I hate all of it. But I think what I hate the most is that you feel like you have to do it. And you’re too proud to let me get you out of it, something that I would be beyond elated to do, by the way.” Finished with his rant, he lets out a bitter laugh, the sound only fueling the anger she feels rising like bile in her throat.

“Oh, so what? Your solution is for you to just swoop in and– and play the fucking hero? Are you gonna put me on retainer, Marcus? Is that your plan? Just throw money at me so I’ll fucking stick around?” It’s awful, poison on her tongue that she doesn’t even mean, not really, and when he looks at her, face stricken and eyes glistening, any fire fizzles out into a sad whimper in her throat. 

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’m just, what? Trying to buy you?” She keeps her mouth pressed in a thin line, afraid of what might come spilling out if she doesn’t, watching him slump down on the edge of the bed with a tired laugh.

“I just want to take care of you, that’s it. And I have the means to do it and fuck, I’m sorry if that comes across as me throwing money at you. But this is what I know how to do. I can take care of you, and I want to, and I wish that you’d let me.” Silence settles between them, thick and formless. Looking at him, his face tilted down to his hands in his lap, the curve of his frown, she feels herself being tugged toward something that, deep down, she knows is a terrible idea. 

Barefoot, her half-unzipped dress hanging loosely on her shoulders, she pads over to him, standing between his legs, though he doesn’t look up until she coaxes him with her palm tucked along his jaw. 

“I’m sorry, Marcus. That wasn’t fair, what I said. I just– I need you to try to understand this from my perspective. If I did– if I let you take care of me like that, I couldn’t help but feel trapped, and I’m sorry, I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it has to be said. I’d feel like you’d have this– this thing hanging over my head and–” “I would never hold anything against you. That’s not how I work, and this isn’t some game to me. Fuck, I think you’re brilliant, alright? And I want you, so badly. I want you safe, and not having to worry about all this shit. I want you with me.” 

“But what happens when you don’t want me anymore? What happens when I’ve quit my job and I’m dependent on you and one day you decide that you’re done with this, with me? What happens when the floor falls out from under me, Marc?” 

“I’m not going to let that happen.” She can’t help the scoff she lets out, her hand falling away from his face as she takes a few steps back. 

“That’s really easy to say right now, but one day this isn’t all going to be so new. What happens–” He cuts her off, standing up and taking her face in his hands, his eyes clear with a confidence that makes her shiver.

“If that time comes when either of us want to walk away, you have my word that I will make sure you land on your feet. I wouldn’t let you fall like that, I wouldn’t do that to you.” They’re nice words, words she wants to believe, though she can’t shake that feeling in her stomach like she’s about to go into complete free-fall. 

“I’m asking you to trust me, that’s all.”

“That’s a lot, Marc.” His thumb is a soothing arc along her cheek, and she feels that same pull toward whatever this brink is that she’s about to tip over with him.

“I know, fuck, I know. But if you let me, I will give you everything, anything you want, anything you need. I just need you to trust me.” There’s nothing but certainty in his expression, and although there’s a part of her that wants to step away, to get out before she’s tangled up, she chooses not to listen to it, instead stepping over that edge and sending them both spiraling as she closes the space between them and presses her lips to his. 

Where he deals in diamonds and dresses and dollars, care of a particular kind, she holds sway in sweat and skin and sensation, a delicate balance of power held in each other’s palms. Here, now, in the dim light of his bedroom, she holds dominion, no permission needed for the way her hands coax his tie undone, his jacket off, layer upon layer removed as she wills it. And when he finally stands before her in just his briefs, she guides his hands to the straps of her dress, letting him do the rest as the sleek fabric slips into a puddle around her feet. It never gets old, the way he looks at her, how his eyes darken, flickering heavy and hooded over her body, the way his throat bobs when his gaze finally finds hers.

“Could you– will you, um, will you wear those, for me?” He nods his head over to his dresser, to where she had laid out the jewelry he gave her, and she finds herself smiling at his timid request.

“Why don’t you put them back on me, baby?” He does, first clasping the bracelet around her wrist, laying a kiss to the jump of her pulse before delicately laying the necklace against her sternum, the cool bite of the chain causing her to shiver as he takes a step back to look at her, now dressed in nothing but a pair of panties and those glittering gifts.

“Lay down for me.” His eyes don’t leave her as he does, catching every move as she slips her panties down her legs before crawling up the bed to settle in his lap, her thighs framing his hips. It’s smooth and simple, a call and response in the way he tilts his chin up to meet her dipping down, open mouths willing and receiving of what the other is giving, a hot press of tongues and teeth. She grinds her hips down hard, letting the slick heat of her cunt drag over his boxers, his cock already straining against the fabric. 

“Tell me what you want, baby, and it’s all yours.” She seals her words with a nip of her teeth over the hinge of his jaw, smiling against his skin when he lets out a long sigh as she continues to roll her hips with his.

“Just want you, fuck, wanna feel you, wanna be inside you, please.” Her smile goes cheshire bright at his breathless words, and she lets her hands slip down to drag along the waistband of his boxers.

“Always so polite for me, Marcus. Love that about you, gonna give you what you want.” A tap of her fingers to his hip is all he needs to shift so she can shrug his boxers down his legs, his cock resting flushed and heavy against his stomach as she settles herself back in a straddle over his hips, hovering just over where he really wants her. She can only tease him so much when she wants him just as bad as he wants her, so she wastes no time in bringing her palm to his throbbing length, dragging the tip of him through her dripping cunt before sinking down on him in one, languid, stretch. They both let out sighs that slip into moans as she stills with her hips seated against his, his fingers tensing and flexing into the curve of her ass where his hands are splayed. Still settling into the feel of him, a fullness that makes her head swim, she lays a smattering of kisses into his hair, coaxing his face up from where he had his forehead pressed against her sternum, his lips finding hers in a hot drag as she starts to move her hips. 

It starts slow and sweet, finding an easy rhythm of riding him that has them both sighing at the slick drag. Marcus dips his head down, mouthing at the tops of her breasts, making her gasp when his teeth graze over the peak of one of her nipples, her back arching into his touch. But she snaps that sweetness into a snarl all at once, dragging her fingers back through his hair, tugging harshly to tilt his head back, a groan breaking in his chest as she starts to bounce on his dick.

“Want you to listen to me while I fuck you, baby, can you do that for me?” He nods his head as best he can with her fingers still tangled in his hair, holding his gaze steady on her.

“Yes, fuck– I can– can listen, just, please keep doing that.” She grinds her hips down on a particularly hard bounce, his eyes rolling back in his head as she continues to ride him.

“I’m gonna trust you. I’m choosing to trust you. But let me make a few things very clear to you.” She tries to keep her voice steady, stern, though it still comes out a bit breathless with the way she’s working herself on his throbbing cock, biting back a whimper as he grazes that just right spot inside her.

“I am not going to be your pet, do you understand me? That’s not what this is going to be. If you want a kept woman, find someone else.” He lets out a slurred chant of ok and I understand intermixed with a few choice curses, his blunt fingernails digging half-moons into her ass, hips canting up to meet hers with each bounce.

“I like you, a lot. And I want to be with you, fuck– and I’m grateful for what you’re giving me–” A broken moan keeps her from finishing her sentence, sensation starting to make her thoughts swim when he plants his feet into the mattress to start thrusting harder, their hips mashing together every time, pleasure settling heavy and tight in her spine.

“But I’m still going to work– not at Pandora’s– but a more, christ– normal job. Making my own money. I’m not going to be some– credit-card swiping– spoiled little– trophy girlfriend.” Each phrase is said with another pass of her hips, both of them letting out sharp gasps with each thrust, and she holds it together just long enough to get out what she wants to say, finally letting go of her grip in his hair, instead pressing her palms into his chest to get him to lay down fully as she seeks out that snapping point of pleasure. Marcus brings a hand around, his thumb finding her clit in a hot drag that sets a moan loose in her chest, her cunt spasming around his cock.

“I understand, I do, I swear. Please, baby, wanna feel you– want you to come so bad. Let me have it– let me have it all.” She unravels with his rasped-out pleas, back arching in a perfect curl of pleasure as his hands guide her in a close grind, following after her with a clipped groan of her name, the warmth of him making her shudder as she slumps down against his chest. They lay like that for a while, skin sticking slick, their heaving chests pressing against each other in a shared rhythm as he runs his palms up and down her spine. A silent understanding sealed in sweat and salt.

“So you’ll– you’re gonna stay?” She could laugh, it’s such a ridiculous question for him to ask after she just all but rode him to hell. But when she lifts her head to meet his gaze, seeing the very serious scrunch of his brows, that laugh dies in her throat with the realization that he’s genuinely asking, and genuinely worried about the answer. Ducking down, she first presses a kiss to his chest before leaning back up to slot her lips with his, simple and sweet.

“I’m not going anywhere, Marcus, I promise.”

…

“Are you gonna get that?” Marcus looks at her over the rim of his coffee mug, brow quirking at her question. 

“Why don’t you go see who it was?” She snorts at that, watching his eyes flicker as he takes another swig of coffee.

“Uh, I’m not wearing pants. And also, I’m not the one who lives here.” He’s putting on a show, she knows it, humming as if in thought at her statement, the corners of his lips twitching in a stifled smile.

“It’s early, baby, no one’s gonna see. Just go take a look for me, huh?” He can no longer hold back his grin, going all crooked with whatever scheme he’s got cooked up for her. 

“Alright, fine, I’ll play along. But you’re cheesy, you know that, right?” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” She huffs at him, finally getting up from the kitchen table to pad over to the front door. She figures it’s probably flowers, or maybe another garment bag for whatever he has planned for them today. Not wanting to give Marcus’ neighbors a show, she cracks the door just enough to peek her head out, her jaw dropping at what she sees.

“Oh my god.” Silver, glossy, and gleaming in the early morning light. A sleek silhouette, and that unmistakable hood ornament perched right over the front grille, the Mercedes Benz insignia shining proudly. And on the roof of the car sits the biggest, gaudiest red bow she’s ever seen. 

“What do you think?” She turns around to find Marcus standing behind her, a set of car keys dangling from one of his fingers, grinning from ear to ear. 

“I think you’re lucky you’re cute. Seriously, Marcus, this is– this is–” He cuts her off with a smacking kiss, pressing the car keys into her hand as he does.

“This is me taking care of you. No more metrorail, no more bus. You’re gonna be a woman who drives from now on.” 

“I– you– you’re not gonna take no for an answer, are you?” He tilts his head at her, eyes crinkling up as he slips his arm around her waist, pulling her away from the door and into his chest.

“On this? No, no I’m not.” It’s just a touch of arrogance, in the slant of his smile, the way he hums a laugh when she shakes her head at him, giving a half-hearted smack to his chest. 

“Hmm, well aren’t you something else.”

“Oh baby, I’m just getting started.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fic #marcus pike angst #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike au #whatta man

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Unfinished - Part One: Love is Like Ghosts

A/N: Happy Spooky Season, friends! This story has been marinating in my brain for the last few months, and I am super excited to share it with you. It's my first stab at something truly spooky, and though this part is mostly set up, the next few should hopefully bring the scares. If anyone is curious about the inspiration for this story, please please please feel free to ask because I have LOADS to say about it! I hope you guys enjoy my ghosties!

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, illness, murder, infidelity (not Reader and Marcus) mention of loss of parent, language

Word Count: 4,723

Summary: Maplewood Manor has a long history, not all of it pleasant, and not all of it known. You and Marcus also have a long history, and when you reunite for a few days, both of those long histories become intertwined.

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 1868

Henry Ashford stood at the window of his wife’s sickroom with a decision to make. 

His hands gripped the wood that framed the panes of glass as he watched three bright orange leaves swirl through the chilly autumn air on their way to the ground. Ever since he was a child he had been fascinated by the colorful display of the changing fall foliage, the leaves seemingly celebrating their own impending demise by turning as bright and beautiful as they could before departing from the branches they were born to. Once they’d fallen, he would traipse through the grounds in search of the right one - one with perfectly shaped edges or the most vivid golden hue. Bringing it back inside he would take it to his mother, the woman pressing it under glass to preserve it through the colorless winter. Henry would hang the glass encased leaf in his window like a suncatcher, marveling at the ghost of autumn he’d captured until Spring came again with its buds and blossoms. And then the leaf would be discarded, the glass awaiting its next specimen until he outgrew the childish hobby. 

Or perhaps outgrew was the wrong word for it. The fascination with preserving the beauty of things that had died stuck with him, stoked and fed by his father’s work in the burgeoning field of photographic technology. James Ashford was the owner of the largest camera company on the East coast, and the invention of the daguerreotype took his sales to new levels, solidifying the Ashford fortune for generations to come. At the same time it solidified Henry’s interest in a new method of preservation - postmortem photography. 

It was a strange thing for a young man to be interested in, and as such, Henry himself was regarded as a bit strange. Nevertheless when the time came to marry, a suitable match was made for him in the form of Eliza Cutwright, the daughter of a wealthy banker from Philadelphia. It was not a marriage of romance, nor was it one of shared interests. Though she was wed to one of the most influential men in the photography industry, Eliza preferred the majesty of oil based portraits and pencil sketches to the cold reality of anything caught by a camera lens. It was rendition, interpretation, that she found fascinating - the way an artist would paint their version of the truth, the world as it was through their eyes, with emotion and passion. Not the scientific chemical process of taking and developing photos. 

The Ashfords though, like any respectable family of the time, functioned as they were meant to. They hosted and attended high society events, Eliza playing the role of the ever-devoted wife, always a smile on her face, her arm always linked with Henry’s while they laughed and hobnobbed with investors and socialites. They had two children - a son, Edwin, and a daughter, Josephine - ensuring that their family legacy would live on for future generations. On paper, Henry and Eliza Ashford were an enviable couple. 

Behind closed doors though, they hardly had anything to do with one another. Each year that passed seemed to widen the gap between their mindsets, every bit of growth that Henry’s company saw driving Eliza further into her love of the traditional arts. He spent more and more time in their townhome in the city, giving the excuse that he was busy with running his father’s company and leaving Eliza on her own at Maplewood, only returning when decorum called for it. It kept both of them happier and made it easier for Henry to stomach his wife’s obsession with fighting against modernity. 

In turn, Eliza felt freer in her husband’s absence to commission artwork for their home, to visit galleries and meet with artists. In the Spring of 1868, while at tea with a friend, she was reacquainted with one of the first artists she had ever met - Calvin Harper. 

Cal was the son of the artist that Eliza’s parents had commissioned to create both individual and family portraits of the Cutwrights, and he would tag along with his father when he came for sessions. While the rest of Eliza’s family had their turns sitting for Cal’s father, she and the boy, roughly the same age, would play in the gardens or else in one of the house’s many rooms. The only time Cal would be at his father’s side, watching each painstaking stroke of the brush, was when Eliza was his subject. Mr. Harper would later credit Eliza for Calvin’s interest in art. Their friendship, though not one of equal social status, was allowed to continue even after Cal’s father had completed his work, but it was terminated the minute Eliza was betrothed to Henry. It wasn’t proper for a married woman to keep company with bachelors. 

Especially bachelors that same married woman had always harbored affection for. 

But when she saw a piece hanging in her friend Grace Felton’s parlor, the same movement and light present in every brushstroke and the familiar C.H. signature in the corner, she knew at once that it was Cal’s work. Grace had purchased some of his paintings and had taken his information so that she could hire him to do portrait work. At Eliza’s request, she put the two old friends back in touch, and though it had been nearly a decade since they’d seen each other last, nothing had changed between them. Their friendship was rekindled as though it had never been dampened, Eliza inviting Cal to Maplewood and commissioning him for the same work that her father had hired his for. 

He started with portraits of Edwin and Josephine, the children taking an instant shine to their mother’s childhood friend, running to greet him when he arrived, stuffing little bouquets of wildflowers or interestingly shaped rocks into his hand as gifts. Josephine had even made him a drawing, once, the girl beaming as he heaped praise upon it. He reciprocated with sweets and the occasional small toy. By the time both of their portraits were finished, Cal had himself two little shadows that sat and watched in awe as he painted, just as he used to watch his father. The way that they interacted only made Eliza’s heart grow more fond of him, and he more so of her. She began to imagine what it would have been like had she and Cal never been separated, daydreaming a life where they’d been together the entire time, where Edwin and Josephine were his and the four of them were a family. Where she’d never met Henry Ashford and never had to pretend to be anyone other than who Cal Harper knew her to be. 

The affair seemed inevitable, largely because neither party did anything at all to stop it. It began while Eliza sat for her portrait, the little willpower that either of them had to keep things plutonic vanishing entirely once Cal’s eyes studied every detail of her face, once she watched the lick of his tongue against his lips as he concentrated. They were careful not to let the maid or the butler see, and they never shared more than a brief embrace in front of the children, not wanting to drag any of them into things should Henry arrive home unannounced. But during the week or so that Cal stayed at Maplewood while he worked on a painting of the house and grounds, he and Eliza took every chance they could to slip away to the meadow at the edge of the property, or else up and away into one of the many spare rooms. 

The one that ended up being the last room either of them ever set foot in, actually. The room that eventually became Eliza Ashford’s sickroom. 

Just as the affair itself seemed imminent, so too was Henry catching wise to it. He met Cal on a visit back home, the artist taking the opportunity to start Henry’s individual portrait while he was available, setting Eliza’s aside to finish once he was gone again. Nothing happened then to tip him off about what happened while he was away, the two men saying very little to one another but remaining civil. Despite his affinity for photography, Henry was actually quite pleased with the outcome of Cal’s work, bestowing a handshake on him. It wasn’t until all four Ashfords were sitting as a family that Henry picked up on the attraction humming between the artist and his wife - and between the artist and his children. 

It wasn’t as though he remained loyal to Eliza while he was away. Henry had at least two women in Philadelphia that Eliza knew about. But a man of his stature was almost expected to have a mistress, and so long as there were no bastards involved and no one important caught wind of the man stepping out on his wife, it was like it never happened. 

What enraged Henry about Cal and Eliza’s tryst was the fact that it occurred in their home. It was the fact that Eliza had allowed Cal to become close with the children. It was the idea that Edwin or Josephine might slip and mention their mother’s good friend who spent long weekends at Maplewood while their father was gone. It was the ramifications of a leader in the camera industry’s wife spreading her legs for a common artist. It was pride, more than anything. 

He knew for certain that something existed between the two when Eliza fell ill and Cal still came to Maplewood. He’d given the excuse of needing to refine the painting of the house - more detail in the cornices or better color matching to the stained glass windows - but that hadn’t kept him from making a stop to see her. The final nail in the coffin had been the sketches Cal had brought to show Eliza, hoping that they would lift her spirits - sketches of her, not a stitch of clothing to cover her body, sketches of the two of them together in positions he dreamed of during their ten years without contact. Sketches that included birthmarks that only Henry should know about on Eliza’s body. Sketches that fell out of his bag and that Henry found on the floor of the hallway outside Eliza’s room. 

The doctors said it was consumption, but the medical world would likely later redefine her condition as a type of lung disease, non-infectious, which was why no one else caught what was killing her. She may even have survived her illness given a few more weeks to recover. But those sketches became her true cause of death. Cal’s, too. 

Edwin and Josephine had been sent to stay with their governess at the townhome in the city while their mother was sick since no one knew that it wasn’t contagious. The staff had been pared down to just the housekeeper, who had gone into town to go shopping, so there was no one home to hear the gunshot that tore through Cal’s skull, and there was no one home to stop Henry from aiding Eliza’s death with a pillow over her face. 

Which led Henry to the decision that he needed to make. The way he saw it, he had three options. 

The first was to turn himself in for the murder of his wife and her lover. He would go to prison. His father’s company, his company, would be dragged through the mud, and Edwin and Josephine would likely never speak to him again, let alone have anything of his to carry on which was the whole point of their births. This was the option he gave the least amount of thought to. 

Option number two was to follow Eliza and Cal by swallowing a bullet of his own. In his eyes it was preferable to prison. There was even the possibility that when the three bodies were discovered, authorities would assume it was a murder-suicide committed by Cal. The children would grow up traumatized by the story of their parents’ murders, but Henry figured that would already be the case after losing their mother so young. The company would survive, and nothing of the estate would be liquified. Henry didn’t want to die, though, so he put that one out of his mind, too. 

That left the third and final option - disposing of Cal’s body before anyone returned, and passing Eliza’s murder off as a natural cause. Because he hadn’t shot her, there was no wound. It would be easy to say she’d died in her sleep. Cal had fallen in the center of an area rug, which meant that the mess was contained and would be simple enough to bundle up and drag into the cellar. The floorboards were removable, and there was plenty of space for a 5’11” corpse to never be found. 

Turning from the window pane and back to the gruesome scene in front of him, he made his choice. 

It wasn’t until both bodies had been dealt with that Henry noticed the easel in the corner of the room, Eliza’s half-finished portrait staring through him from an otherwise featureless face. 

–  –  –  

Maplewood Manor - October 30, 2023

You sat at the long elegant dining table going over the notes for your lecture and listening to the murmur of the crowd as people shuffled into the next room to take their seats. 

Sounds like a full house out there. 

As a member of the Society for the Restoration of Maplewood Manor, you were obligated to host one fundraising event that was open to the public a year, and whenever you could, you chose to do something that had a Halloween spin on it. Other members chose things like tea parties, dinner dances, or summer barbeques on the sprawling lawns. People from the area - and even some from further away - would purchase tickets, and then whoever was in charge of the event would round up sponsors to donate whatever was needed so that 100% of the profits could go back into the maintenance and repair of a two hundred year old estate. 

Maplewood had been in rough shape until the fifties, the deed falling into the township’s hands when the last owner had passed and there was no one looking to move in. It was turned temporarily into an art gallery, which had done severe damage to the walls and floors, not to mention the botched job that some electrician had done with the wiring of overhead lights. Eventually the property was purchased by a local university and that’s when the serious repair work had begun and the Society formed. Years later you would end up attending the college, which was how you got involved with the restoration, and though you’d graduated almost twenty years ago, you were still an active member. 

The event that you were hosting was entitled Unfinished Business: Ghosts Caught on Canvas. You’d decided to go with something that combined your interests and skills. You were an artist by trade, but your focus was very atypical. Though you did also create your own original works, you’d made your name in the art world by completing works that had been left incomplete by their creators’ deaths. Sometimes the families of the artists would commission you, other times you were contacted by museums, universities and private collectors. In a way, you felt like you were bringing closure to the people who hired you, and to the actual pieces of art themselves. Your lecture didn’t include any of the pieces that you’d worked on, all of the ones you’d chosen to highlight still unfinished and baring all of the sketchy lines and over-painted areas that showed how their artists were still unsure or undecided about how that portion of the piece would look when it was done. 

To your surprise, the event sold out in under a week when normally tickets for these events would still be available at the door. You were glad that you’d been able to contribute something so beneficial to the restoration society. But an even bigger surprise came in the form of one of the attendees on your guest list - Marcus Pike. 

You smiled to yourself as you recalled the message you’d sent him as soon as you saw that he had purchased a ticket. This really you? You’d sent it along with a screenshot showing his RSVP, and within seconds he had responded. Do you know any other Marcus Pikes? It had made you roll your eyes and snort, but at the same time it filled you with excitement. You hadn’t seen much of Marcus in the past few years while he was in Texas, and hadn’t spent a Halloween with him since the year after the two of you graduated college. 

Which sucks, because he’s so much fun around this time. And… and I miss him. 

Though you’d remained as close as you could from so many states away, nothing beat the few times you’d visited one another when he had time off from work. But none of those visits had been in the month of October. Another smile climbed your cheeks - along with a splash of heat - as you thought back to the first Halloween you spent with him, and the night that the two of you met. You and Kelly, your roommate, were hosting a costume party, and you were meeting her new boyfriend for the first time. Though their relationship wouldn’t last, you had formed a friendship with the cute guy from 2E who showed up in an impromptu sheet-ghost getup that would at times border on something more but never truly solidified into anything official. You’d kissed a few times, even slept together once, and more than a few of both of your friends had assumed that you would end up together. 

But then Marcus had moved south to start his career, and the will they won’t they question seemed to be answered with a won’t. And then he met and married Erin, and even when the marriage quickly came apart, you never really considered that the two of you would shift gears. 

And then there was Teresa. 

You wrinkled your nose at the thought of the woman and the bullshit that you knew she put Marcus through. In a way, you were glad that they hadn’t worked out, because you didn’t think you could stomach being nice to someone who had toyed with your best friend the way that she had. But at the same time, you felt for him, because you knew that when Marcus went in on a relationship, he went all in. He fell hard, which made it hard for himself to get back up sometimes. Moving back East to D.C. was good for him in that regard, and selfishly, it was good for you, too, because him being only two hours away meant that more regular visits were back on the table. 

Your phone chimed on the table next to your notes, and you couldn’t help the way your face broke into a grin as you read the text displayed on the screen. Just got here. Place looks great, can’t wait to hear your lecture! Another text bubble popped up that made you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. And to seeing you. 

Before you could respond, Xander, one of the grad students who was part of the restoration society, poked his head into the room where you sat to let you know that you were all set to start. 

“Thanks, X.” You smiled at him and gathered your note cards before heading into the next room. 

Thanking everyone for coming - and honing in on Marcus as you said it - you launched right into your presentation. 

“Real quick, before I start, how many of you all have been on a supposed haunted tour? Of a house or a city or graveyard?” You paused to let people respond, counting the raised hands in the room. About half of them were in the air. Not surprised. You smirked. “Now keep your hand up if you actually saw a ghost on any of those tours.” A ripple of laughter went through the room as every hand dropped back down. “That’s what I thought. Now, show of hands, how many of you really truly believe in ghosts?” 

This time, only a few people put their hands up. Again, not surprised. But you acted surprised anyway. “Really? Almost everyone in here has paid money to go on a ghost tour, but only four of you actually believe in ghosts?” 

That got another round of chuckles, Marcus’ hitting your ear over the rest. “Well, don’t worry. I’m not asking you to believe in ghosts tonight. The word belief implies that I’m expecting you to put your blind faith in something without being able to prove that it’s true. But I have proof. Solid, physical proof of ghosts that exist here in our world. So I’m not asking you to believe. I’m telling you that ghosts are real. And now I’m going to show them to you.” 

You could feel the rush of anticipation in the room, everyone going from joking and laughing to scooting forward in their seats at your promises. For the next hour and a half, you went over the selected works, pointing things out and connecting each piece with its artist, sharing facts and stories about them when they were relevant or entertaining. 

“You can still see the sketches underneath, right here. In this corner of the image. It’s almost as though the artist hadn’t decided yet - should the wings be unfurled or folded? The pencil lines here and here would indicate that originally they were open, spread wide. But from the beginnings of the brushstrokes over here it seems like maybe he was considering a different pose. And we’ll never know which way it was intended to be, or if the wings would even still be there in the final piece. So in a way, the painting itself is haunted, full of the ghosts of the artist’s original intentions.”

You finished up your talk by briefly explaining how you did your job - how you tried to immerse yourself in the mindset of the artist by gaining access to their journals, letters, photographs or any information about their life at the time that they were working on the piece, and then do your best to match the different styles and color palettes to complete the picture. Wrapping it up by thanking everyone again, you let people know that refreshments were available in the dining room and that you’d be available for any questions for about a half hour. Most people made their way in for snacks, but a few lingered for your informal Q & A. You gave them your undivided attention, which was difficult knowing that Marcus was hovering just beyond the small group that had formed around you and the six easels behind you. 

But there was no urgency, no rush to finish up and spend time with him, because he had four days off and was planning to spend three of them catching up with you. When you were finally done and the last person had thanked you for your time, you turned to Marcus and blew out a huff. “Well that went well I think.” 

He grinned wide, the expression lighting up his eyes. “You think?” Without warning, he moved in to wrap you in a hug, arms winding around you and giving a brief, tight squeeze. “You did great.” 

Returning the hug, you laughed. “Thanks, Marcus.” The scent of his cologne hit your nose and you had to stop yourself from burrowing into his neck to inhale again. Instead, you pulled back to see the smile he was still wearing. “I’m so glad you could make it. Been a while since we’ve been in this building, huh?” 

Marcus glanced around the room and nodded. “It has. Brings back a lot of memories.” He looked back at you and winked. “Good ones.” 

It does. 

Marcus hadn’t been in the restoration society with you while you were in school, but there were a number of campus activities that happened at Maplewood Manor, so you’d both been in the old mansion plenty of times before that night. 

You kissed me in the parlor room junior year. Doesn’t get better than that, Marcus. 

You wondered if that was the memory that came to mind for him, but before you could get too caught up in that thought, he spoke again. “Not to rush you out of here or anything, but I’m starving. You ready to go grab dinner? On the way here I noticed that Michael’s Diner is still open and I’ve been thinking about those disco fries since then.” 

Your eyes widened. “Of course Michael’s is still open, that place is an institution, Marcus. And yes, I’m also very hungry. Let me just check in with Xander and the other student volunteers to  see if they need anything before we head out.” 

“Sounds good. I’ll be here.” 

Verifying that Xander had everything he needed to close up once the remaining guests had cleared out, you thanked the kid and rejoined Marcus. “Alright, all set. Let’s go pig out like we used to.” 

–  –  –  

You’d made it halfway through your meal and most of the way through listening to Marcus tell you about his latest case when your phone rang. Reaching to silence it, you noticed Xander’s name on the I.D. “Sorry, I need to…” You trailed off pointing at your phone and showing him the screen. “Xander probably forgot his key or something.” 

Marcus held up both hands, palms facing you. “Of course, go ahead. No need to apologize.” 

Nodding, you answered. “Xander? Everything o-” 

“You need to get back here. Now.” 

The young man’s voice was thin and shaky and it made your stomach drop. Something was wrong, very wrong. It wasn’t just a forgotten key or a lock he couldn’t figure out, and the fear in his voice made your stomach drop. Your expression must have given you away because Marcus’ eyebrows pinched together in concern as he sat across from you. 

“What happened, X? You okay?” Your pulse pounded in your brain as you asked. 

What could have happened? I haven’t been gone that long. 

“There’s… someone…” He gasped a breath and swallowed, saying your name. “I called the police already, they’re on their way and I’m across the street at the security booth, but… There’s a body - a dead body in one of the bedrooms upstairs. I… I was doing a sweep before I closed up and…” 

“Oh, shit.” You breathed the two words out, ice flooding your veins as the concern on Marcus’ face went full-blown. “Oh, shit, Xander. I…” 

“There’s… s-something else, too.” You heard him swallow again. “When I came back downstairs there was… You only had six paintings in your lecture, right?” 

Blinking quickly, you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Yeah, why? Is one missing?” 

“No. No, nothing’s missing. It’s… there are seven now.” He paused. “Where… how are there seven now?” 

“Okay, X. Alright, sit tight until the police show up.” At the mention of the police, Marcus shifted into law enforcement mode, eyes laser focused and hands already moving to pull his wallet out and drop cash on the table. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” 

How the fuck… a dead body? What the… how? When did that happen, I was up there earlier in the day and then the door to the staircase was locked and- 

“Hey.” You looked up at Marcus as you both stood from the table. He shook his head. “What’s going on?” 

“Xander said he… Marcus, there’s a body. At Maplewood. Someone was killed, and… and there’s another painting that I didn’t bring with me now. I… I don’t-” 

“Alright.” He reached for your biceps, taking a deep breath and letting it out to try to get you to do the same. “Okay. Leave your car here. I’ll drive. Let’s go.” 

You nodded and tried to calm yourself down, the task made easier by the fact that Marcus was with you, and then you let him steer you out of the diner and into his car.

-- -- --

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