The Wedding Date
Marcus Pike x fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Warnings: angst, smut, PinV sex, oral sex (f receiving)
Everything/Marcus Pike Taglist: @sergeantbannerbarnes @princess76179 @daffodin @writings-of-a-hufflepuff @hypnoash @noz4a2 @ladykatakuri @spideysimpossiblegirl
Notes: I recently went to a wedding alone and this fic came out of that experience!
Masterlist Marcus Pike Masterlist
“What about this one?”
You stepped out of a dressing room and showed Marcus the formal dress you were wearing. It was your third dress and you liked it the most so far. You were dress shopping for your cousins’ obscenely fancy wedding next month. The first dress you’d tried was too puffy and princess-y. The second was skin-tight and low-cut. Even though you knew Marcus would’ve liked it, you didn’t want lots of people seeing that much of your body.
This third dress seemed like the best of both worlds. It was a slinky satin material with super thin straps. The cowl neckline dipped down to show a little cleavage and the thin material clung in all the right places, but it was light enough not to feel constricting. When you looked up and met Marcus’ eyes, you couldn’t help the sly grin that broke out across your face.
His eyes were wide and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Uhhh” he stammered, eyes raking up and down your body, “what do you think?”
You giggled and walked over to the mirror to look at the fit from a different angle. The back view was even better, you thought.
“I think it’s perfect,” you sighed, “and I can tell you like it.”
Marcus cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah it’s…you’re beautiful, honey.”
You grinned at him and walked over to pull him to the mirror with you.
“We can get you a tie to match then we’ll be set!” you declared, relief flooding your body. You had been dreading this shopping trip anyway and now it was done.
“I’m so happy I don’t have to go to this alone,” you told him while you were waiting in line to pay, “I’m always the sad single girl at weddings.”
Marcus’ hand on your waist squeezed gently and he smiled down at you, “Not this time you won’t be.” He leaned down and kissed you and you felt so happy that you didn’t think anything could spoil it.
The day of the wedding arrived and it all came crashing down. Well, crashing was a bit dramatic but it felt pretty awful.
Marcus had been stressed all week and barely home to eat and sleep before rushing back to work. His team was finally close to cracking a huge theft—one of the biggest of his career. A stone of worry had weighed down your gut the closer and closer the wedding on Saturday night got. Surely, he’d be able to step away for this one event.
But then you got the call. Marcus had left before you got up, attempting to get some work done before he needed to get ready for the wedding. It was a few hours away at a winery so you’d need to leave early and check into the hotel you booked so you wouldn’t have to worry about how much you drank.
It was about noon when your phone rang and Marcus’ name flashed across the screen. You knew what he was going to say before he said it.
“Hey sweetheart,” he sighed and you could practically see him rubbing his temples, “I have some bad news.”
You hated how quickly your eyes filled up with tears at his tone. This kind of thing was always a possibility with Marcus’ job and you knew it wasn’t his fault. That didn’t make it hurt any less.
“I’m not gonna make it home in time,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic, “I just got a call to go downtown and interview a suspect. We’re pretty sure he’s the leader of the theft ring we’ve been tracking.”
“Okay,” you said quickly, trying to keep the emotion out of your voice, “I understand.”
Marcus sighed again and you felt like bursting into tears. He must’ve been so tired and you were sure your expectations weren’t making his life any easier. There was a beat of silence and you held your breath to keep from sniffling.
“I’m sorry,” he started but you couldn’t deal with a big speech right now. It would either make you break down or make you angry, and you knew it wasn’t fair to project onto Marcus when it wasn’t in his hands to fix it.
“I said I understand,” you said, a bit sharper than you intended so you tried to soften when you continued, “it’s a huge case you can’t just drop it for me.”
“I promise I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” he tried to continue, “I put in all those hours so you wouldn’t have to go alone. I’m sorry.”
You couldn’t help the little sniffle that escaped but you got ahold of yourself to say, “I know. I’m not happy about it but I know it’s not your fault. I need to start getting ready.”
There was another bear of silence and Marcus sounded like he might cry too when he spoke again, “I’m really, really sorry, baby.”
“I’ll get over it,” you promised without any conviction, “don’t worry about me. Go do what you need to do, Agent Pike.”
He chuckled when you used his title. It made you feel a little better to end the call with a laugh rather than the tears that were spilling over your lashes.
“I love you. Send me pictures, okay?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light. You could hear someone calling his name in the background and you told him you would and you loved him too before you hung up.
You looked over at the clock as your lip trembled with the effort of holding your tears back, you could just go get ready at your hotel. No sense in staying here waiting for Marcus like you planned. So you grabbed your dress, overnight bag, and packed up your makeup in record time before leaving a quick note for Marcus and heading out. The note read:
Left early. See you tomorrow.
Marcus felt like the world’s biggest jerk as he got in his car after finishing up his questioning. He knew he couldn’t help it, but he still felt shitty. On the plus side, he’d gotten his confession and practically wrapped the case for his team. But all he could think about the whole time he was working was you at the wedding, sipping wine by yourself. He looked down at his phone and saw two texts from you, a mirror photo of you in the stunning dress you’d bought, a forced smile on your face. The second was your plate of food and some emojis indicating you were surprised by how good it was.
He typed back a reply, wanting to tell you again how sorry he was and how much he felt like he let you down. But he deleted it before sending it, instead settling for sending some hearts and making a turn into the grocery store parking lot near your shared home. He wasn’t sure he could make it up to you completely but he could certainly try.
A few hours later, he was packing up a cooler with the supplies he’d bought and throwing a duffle bag over his shoulder. It would take him an hour and a half to get to your hotel and he hoped he could make it in time to set up before you got back. He sent you another text telling you he was home safe and jumped into the driver’s seat, determined to make the end of your night at least marginally better.
It was almost 11:00 PM when you called Marcus from your Uber back to your hotel. The wedding party was still going strong, but you were ready to sleep. You just needed to talk to Marcus first, hear his voice, and then you could rest.
The wedding hadn’t been horrible, you admitted to yourself. But it still sucked to sit and listen to your college friends and their partners talk about buying houses and having babies and making plans while you sat alone. To make matters worse, none of them had ever met Marcus. So you could see the doubt in some of their eyes when you explained something had come up at work to keep him away.
“It’s okay you know,” Carrie had said, smiling at her girlfriend on the dancefloor leading the cha-cha slide.
“What’s okay?” you’d asked in a half-yell to be heard over the music. She gave you a sympathetic smile that made your throat close up. “We all know you’re a free spirit, your boyfriend probably can’t handle you anyway!” she laughed, throwing her arm around you and squeezing you. You knew she didn’t mean it in a bad way. But it still stung to hear that maybe you were too much for Marcus. It was something you’d worried about initially, but he was so kind, so caring, such a dedicated boyfriend that you thought you were past feeling like that. Apparently not.
Your friends had dragged you on the dance floor a few times and you’d had fun and several glasses of wine. Even though the food was good, you hadn’t eaten nearly enough and your stomach was growling by the time the DJ announced all the single girls should make their way to the floor for the bouquet toss. You weren’t going to go, but the bride pointed at you when you tried to squirm away and you had no choice. A young girl, maybe 20, had jumped in front of you to catch the flowers and you were happy she did it. You watched her run over to her boyfriend to show him and your heart sank.
All night you had made it a point not to text Marcus. You had a habit of sending a lot of texts anyway and you were determined to try to salvage the night by leaving your phone in your bag as much as possible. You snuck a look at 10:45 PM to see he had responded to your two photos with some emojis over an hour ago and you felt like if you didn’t talk to him soon you’d burst. The DJ announced a couples-only dance with your fucking favorite romantic song and you took it as a cue from the universe to get out while you could.
No one saw you wipe a few tears away while you waited for your car. It was silly, you thought, to cry because they played a song you loved and you had no one to dance with. It’s not the end of the world. Get it together.
The small black car pulled up and your driver confirmed your destination before taking off, thankfully putting on some quiet music and leaving you to call Marcus from the back seat.
“Hello,” he answered on the second ring and you had to swallow hard not to lose it on the phone.
“Hey,” you breathed, trying to be quiet, “I’m leaving the wedding.”
“Already?” he questioned and you heard something clang to the floor in the background. “Yeah,” you said, knowing you sounded sad, “Just tired. And hungry. And I miss you.”
Marcus sighed and you sighed back. “I miss you too, baby. I’m sorry.”
Your car was already pulling up to the hotel, so you thanked the driver and hopped out. “I’m gonna lose service in the elevator, Marcus, but can I call you again before I fall asleep?”
“Of course, honey,” he assured you, his warm, rich baritone soothing even from a distance, “you can call me anytime. You know that.”
You chuckled and ended the call after telling him you loved him and hopped in the elevator, intent on heading straight for a shower once you got into your room. All you wanted to do was clean up, maybe order a pizza if anyone was still delivering, then pass out in the king-sized bed and sleep.
The key to your room flashed green and you entered, expecting to see a dark room as you’d forgotten to leave a lamp on. Instead, the sight that greeted you made those tears you’d pushed down spring back to your eyes. There, on the bed, sat Marcus, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt and smiling at you cautiously, like he wasn’t sure you’d want him there. As if you’d want him anywhere else.
A small bucket by the tv caught your eye and you saw champagne and some water bottles chilling in the ice next to a bakery box topped with a bow. There were even little plastic cups to drink out of. Your favorite blanket from home was spread out on the bed and Marcus stood up, waiting anxiously for you to say something.
“You...you came all this way?” you asked, turning to face him fully, “just for me?”
Marcus tilted his head at you and said, “Yeah, of course, I did. I felt like a huge jerk for missing the wedding and I wanted to make it up to you.”
“You’re not a jerk,” you told him with a sniffle, “you’re very much the opposite of a jerk right now.”
Marcus’ big, soft hands came up to cradle your face and he thumbed one of your now-falling tears away with a sweet smile, one he reserved just for you. “I am sorry, though. I couldn’t stop thinking about you here by yourself.” He leaned down to kiss you and you gripped his shirt in your shaking hands, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered when you broke apart, though it was too late to stop it now, “I’m here now. It’s alright.” You nodded and gave him another quick kiss before there was a knock at the door and your head snapped up to give him a confused look. He squeezed your hands and gave you a gentle shove to sit on the bed.
“Be right back,” he said before answering the door and having a short conversation with the person on the other side before he turned around, holding a box up in the air. “I ordered pizza too! Figured you’d need some food to soak up the wine.”
You shook your head, laughing at the ridiculously happy feeling you felt in your stomach. “You thought of everything didn’t you, Agent Pike?’
“I’m off-duty now,” he said, setting the box down at one end of the bed and then kneeling in front of you, “so Marcus will do, ma’am.” He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs and you gazed at him, still a little shocked at what was transpiring right in front of you.
“I love you, Marcus,” you whispered, reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck. He hugged you back and said into your hair, “I love you too, so so much.” You felt him kiss your head and you buried your nose in his shoulder, inhaling his comforting scent and relaxing more than you had all night. Marcus stayed put until you pulled away, not wanting to let go until he had to.
“One more thing before we dig into that pizza,” he said and you looked longingly at the box before smiling back at him. He stood up and extended a hand to you, you took it and he twirled you back into his arms. With a few clicks of his phone, the same song that was playing when you left the wedding crooned out of the speakers and you had to swallow another lump building in your throat.
“Just one dance,” he said quietly, already swaying you to the music, “since I missed out tonight.” You didn’t respond, just rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat. His hands kept you pressed close to him and you listened to the words of the song.
Kiss me once
Then, kiss me twice
Then, kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time
Marcus started singing along softly and you pulled your head back to look up at him as he sang, “Haven't felt like this, my dear. Since can't remember when.” You joined him and you both sang, “It’s been a long, long time.”
He spun you both and you laughed and threw one of your arms out as you continued alone, “You'll never know how many dreams I dream about you.” Marcus jumped in and finished the verse, “Or just how empty they all seem without you.” You pulled Marcus’ to you for a kiss and he deepened it, clutching you to him as the last words of the song played over the tinny phone speaker.
So, kiss me once
Then, kiss me twice
Kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time
You and Marcus stumbled into the shower as soon as the song ended, mouths still fused as he fumbled to turn on the water. He managed to get it to the warmer side and then he was on you again, barely breathing except for the air he shared with you. One of his hands slid around the back of your neck to keep your head in place and the other grabbed a handful of your breast and squeezed, causing you to groan into his mouth. He kissed you firmly one more time and then slid to his knees again, looking up at you with hungry eyes.
“You don’t have to,” you started and he waved you off. “Been thinking about it all day,” he admitted, massaging your thighs while waiting for your go-ahead. You nodded and he propped one of your legs up on the side of the tub and ducked his head down, shuddering when his cock jumped to attention as he inhaled the scent of your dripping cunt. He gave your clit a few kitten licks, pleased when you gasped out his name and gripped onto his shoulder for support.
Marcus had never been shy when it came to sex, but he wasn’t loud about it either. He lived to please his partners and prided himself on his attention to detail, like how he knew you were close when he licked inside you and your walls contracted, flooding his tongue with your arousal. He licked a long strip from your entrance up to your clit and you keened.
Sometimes he liked to tease you and bypass the bundle of nerves, just to rile you up. But tonight he wasn’t teasing, he wanted you to cum. So he looked up briefly to see your eyes screwed shut and your mouth open, his cock was already leaking knowing he was bringing you to that state, that he was going to be responsible for your orgasm. Then he attached his lips to your clit and sucked, causing you to buck your hips against his face and his hands shot up to hold you still so you couldn’t shy away from your peak. Your orgasm crashed over you and Marcus shoved two fingers into you so he could feel you cum while he kept sucking and licking at your clit until you gently pushed him back.
He used his hands on your hips to spin you around and you felt one of his hands move to your back, pushing you to bend over in front of him. Your hands grasped a shelf on the shower wall for purchase just in time for Marcus to line himself up and slide into you, wrenching twin gasps from both of you as he filled you. He started moving immediately, too turned on to slow down and you were in ecstasy, holding on for dear life as Marcus fucked you with sharp, devastating strokes.
“Not gonna last,” he grunted out, not slowing down, and you could barely hear him over the sound of the shower and the slap slap slap of his hips against your ass. True to his word, he fucked into you for a half-dozen more thrusts before he buried himself inside you and held you still, coming deep inside you with a satisfied moan of your name. It took both of you a few minutes to catch your breath, then Marcus slid out of you with a soft apology when you winced audibly at the loss. He helped you stand up and pulled you under the warm spray with him.
“What are you smiling at?” he asked, looking down at the sleepy grin plastered on your face. “The best boyfriend in the world,” you told him, watching his ears turn pink at your praise.
He leaned down and pressed his forehead to yours and asked, “Do you feel lonely, baby?” You kissed him softly and promised, “Not anymore.”
It was nearly 2:00 AM when you and Marcus curled up in bed together. You’d eaten the pizza and the cookies, drank some champagne (and some water at Marcus’ insistence), and now you were warm and cozy, snuggled up together. You laid on your back and Marcus tucked his face into your neck with a leg thrown over your hips, the weight of him anchoring you to your spot on the bed.
You ran your fingers through his slightly damp hair and felt him grin against your skin. His hand rubbed up and down your side in a soothing motion and you felt like you could drift to sleep any second now. Marcus spoke your name and you peeked an eye open to look down at him.
“I promise I’ll be at whatever event you’re going to next,” he said, eliciting a chuckle from you. He hugged you to him and you rubbed your face against his hair. “If this is how I get treated when you miss something, I’m not too worried about it,” you joked and he snorted.
“I meant what I said earlier,” you told him genuinely, “you’re the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. None of them would’ve even been apologetic, much less come to see me.” Marcus seemed to think over your words, letting a comfortable silence pass between you.
“Maybe I can be your last boyfriend ever,” he said quietly, tilting his head up to kiss your cheek. You smiled even though he couldn’t see you in the dark and turned your head to give him a proper kiss. Both of you settled back down when you whispered, “I’d like that, Marcus.” He nuzzled your neck and both of you fell asleep curled up together, the lyrics of the song from earlier echoing in your head again.
Haven't felt like this, my dear
Since can't remember when
It's been a long, long time
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Kiss the Cook!
December Writing Challenge 2021
Day 1 - Baking || Vanilla, sprinkles, and chocolate flavored kisses.
Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Shy Marcus. Fluff. Flirting. Kissing.
A/N: Who better to start off the month than with the fluffiest of characters, Agent Marcus Pike? Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everybody :D
The sound of the front doorbell ringing makes you swear at the oven, and you quickly take out the two pans off the racks and set them on top of the stove before you make a run to the door. A quick glance at your watch lets you know that you still have time before everyone comes so you’re not sure who exactly was a whole hour and a half early. Your confusion only increases when you swing open the door and find Marcus smiling at you while trying to blink away the snowflakes from his eyes.
“Hey, sorry I’m late I was looking everywhere for these, and I guess everyone out there had the same idea.” He says as he steps in and clutches the large pot of Poinsettia to his side. You swallow nervously as you shut the door behind him and let him know where he can hang his coat. “I hope no one else brought red wine.” Marcus sets the gifts down as he swings off his coat and scarf, and you can’t help but marvel at how good he looks in the navy-blue cardigan.
“Well, I can assure you that no one brought either of those things.” You say as you nod at him so he could follow you into the kitchen, completely missing the way he looks around the living and dining rooms.
“Perfect,” He says as he brings the flowers and wine along with him, trying his best not to let his eyes roam down your exquisite form as you sway into the warm room again.
“Is everyone in the backyard?” Marcus asks as he sets down the wine near the other bottles you have out, and you push in the last two cookie pans and set the timer on the oven before you turn around and look at him. You shoot a curious eyebrow at him and notice the way he awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other while fiddling with his fingers.
“No one brought wine or flowers because no one is here yet. You’re almost two hours early Marcus.” You wonder what he’s trying to get at but when he starts looking around worriedly, you realize that he might not have known that. When he brings his phone out and scrolls through the screen, you walk around the island and begin to decorate the cupcakes with vanilla and chocolate whipped cream. You can tell from your periphery that he’s starting to feel out of place and when you look up at him and see him scratching the back of his head, you hand him the bag in your hand and reach for another one.
“Help me out with these then?” You smile at him, hoping that he could feel slightly more ease and not panic. When he nods and avoids looking into your eyes, you can’t help but chuckle at his obvious shy demeanor. You’re not sure how much time passes before Marcus clears his throat and apologizes for being super early. He explains to you that he was told by everyone that you get all the games going around four in the afternoon so he thought showing up a half hour later wouldn’t be so bad.
“Don’t even worry about it. Besides, you’re helping me out with all of this so I can’t really complain. I just feel bad because you’re stuck with me for the next hour or so.” You say as you begin to set the cupcakes around the fancy Christmas tree looking rack you bought earlier in the day.
“So?” The immediate response shocks you and you turn around and look at him for a few moments, hoping to find an answer among the unspoken words following that question. Before you can ask him what he means, the oven rings again and you move quickly to take the rest of the cookies out. When you set them down and turn around again, Marcus is standing right behind you, his soft brown eyes making you feel as warm as the scent of the cookies and cupcakes you’ve been baking all day long.
“Is it weird for me to say that I’m glad I came early?” The tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine, and you shake your head at him before your eyes shift down to look at his plush lips.
“C-care to elaborate Agent Pike?” You barely manage to ask as you slowly lean into him, and the sudden smell of his cologne and natural musk makes you dizzy. Marcus notices the way you sway back and forth, and he immediately grabs your hips and pulls you to the side away from the oven. You swallow the lump in your throat when you feel him step closer into your space.
“I think you already know the answer to that…Agent.” His smile makes your knees buckle and Marcus has to suppress his laughter as his hold around you tightens. He leans down slowly, eyes boring into yours to make sure that you weren’t uncomfortable by his advances. When he feels your hands reach up his arms and grab onto his shoulders, he licks his lower lip before descending down onto you like a starved man.
You always thought that Marcus would be a gentleman when he kisses, perhaps take his time mapping out your skin and tasting you as you surrendered to him. But the way he’s devouring you right now lets you know you may have been wrong about him. He was crazed, shoving his tongue deep into your mouth and swallowing your moans as you held onto him and melted in his arms. You feel goosebumps erupt across your skin when you feel how hard he’s squeezing you, and you gasp when he pulls away for a moment before molding his lips with yours again. Then he growls when you tug a little harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck and you swear you were having another one of your dreams that starred him claiming you as his.
When the need to breathe grows uncomfortable, Marcus pulls away but remains wrapped up in your embrace. The two of you are violently heaving and as soon as you make eye contact, you both begin to giggle like little kids who’ve just been caught kissing each other.
“I- I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” Marcus confesses as he pecks your lips one last time before he rests his forehead against yours.
“Me too…I always wondered what you’d taste like but, god, I never thought you’d taste like chocolate.” You bite into your lower lip when you see a familiar blush color his cheeks and run down his neck.
“As much as I want you to think that I naturally taste so sweet, I may or may not have stolen one of the chocolate chip cookies when you weren’t looking.” You break out into laughter at the serious tone he takes on at the ending of that sentence and you don’t think twice before throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for another kiss.
“You’ve committed a serious crime Agent Pike, I wonder what I should do with you. Such thievery will not be tolerated.” You playfully frown at him and shut your eyes when he leans down and kisses your cheek.
“Whatever you want sweetheart, whatever you want.” You get the sense that he means more by those words than he’s letting on and you stand on your tiptoes to touch your lips with his one last time. A hum of approval rises from his throat as he savors the slow, intimate kiss and you realize that you might have an issue with not always kissing him whenever he’s around.
“Just keep kissing the cook and all will be forgiven.” You whispers against the scruff across his cheeks before you nuzzle into him again, smiling at how warm and big and safe he feels around you.
“I think I can manage to do that.”
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the mentalist: 2x21 18-5-4
➔ You don't care about a code breaking device that could hack into our government's National Security System? That's not very patriotic, Lisbon. Piña Colada?
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Born to Run / Chapter 15
Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)
Rating: E (SMUT! 18+ only please)
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: Angst. Discussions of therapy. That’s about it.
Summary: Marcus makes a phone call, misses a phone call, and receives an unexpected voicemail.
A/N: I guess Marcus is a classical pottery expert now because this is my story and I say he is. I’ve got a degree in Archaeology, so this avoids me having to do any research into things I know nothing about.
Chapter 14 | Chapter 16
With sweaty palms, Marcus hit the "video call" button from his laptop. It had been so long since they had spoken, and he was nervous. Had it been too long? Would this even help at all?
Here goes nothing.
After a couple of tense rings, a familiar face appeared on screen.
"Marcus? Marcus Pike?"
"Hey, Doctor T.," he said with a sheepish grin. "I know it's been a while."
"A while? Last time I heard the name Marcus Pike, he was about to start his big, fancy internship at the FBI. How have things been going? How are you? I know this is a cliché thing to say, but I never forget a client. I’ve wondered about you over the years, Marcus,” Doctor Tzouanakis said with a warm, friendly smile.
"Things have been great, relatively speaking," Marcus began. "I'm in a good position, still at the FBI. I, uh, I got promoted recently--I'm at HQ in Washington, D.C. now. Got a good life, a stable life, but I--" he cut off. "It's… it's stupid, I--"
"Can't be too stupid if you're contacting me about it after, what, almost twenty years?" His old therapist challenged.
Marcus huffed a laugh. "Fair, fair. I guess… I've been, uh, unlucky in love, I guess you'd say."
"I see. Unlucky how?"
"I just had two relationships end that were pretty significant in my life and I can't help but think that I'm sabotaging them myself."
"Why do you think that, Marcus?"
"You remember why I was seeing you all those years ago?"
"I certainly do. You had issues controlling your emotions, especially anger. You told me once that you ‘felt like you were a tea kettle with no release valve, nowhere for your feelings to go, and they just built and built until you couldn't handle them any more, and exploded.’" Doctor T. stated, matter-of-factly.
Marcus’s eyes widened. “Jesus. How do you remember this?”
“I read your file before you called,” she replied with a sly smile, tapping her temple with her pencil a few times.
“I can’t believe you have dusty files from twenty years ago tucked into a corner somewhere.”
“Give me some credit, please, Marcus. All my patient files were digitized years ago,” Doctor T. said with a wink.
“Some dusty computer file, then,” Marcus joked.
“I had to blow the dust off of my screen when I clicked on it.”
He sunk back into the easy repartee he had with his therapist as if he had never stopped his weekly, and then monthly, sessions with her back in college. He remembered why he had enjoyed his sessions so much--her quick, dry wit, and her easy challenging of all the thoughts and ideas that were inaccurate or downright harmful to his psyche.
“Tell me about being unlucky in love, Marcus.”
He sighed again. “I think I’m doing the same thing with love that I used to do with anger. I have all these feelings, and I don’t know what to do with them and then I throw them at another person, and they back away.” He continued, “I don’t have a--a problem getting into relationships, I feel like… I feel like women, y’know, like me. I’m… I’m good at the beginning part of dating. It always seems easy, effortless, and then when we’re at a crossroads, when it can turn serious or not, I screw it up.”
“How would you say you ‘screw it up?’” Doctor Tzouanakis asked.
“Well, with the first case, I asked a woman I had only been seeing for a few months to marry me and move to D.C. with me.”
“So you moved too fast, you would say,” his therapist supplied.
“Yeah. And I just… I knew she--Theresa--she wasn’t ready, and it was too soon. I knew I was moving too quickly, and I knew that her… her heart wasn’t in it, you know? But I did it anyway, and only got hurt.” Marcus scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s like, the definition of insanity, right? You know what the outcome is gonna be, and you do it anyway.”
“You said ‘the first case.’ This has happened more than once? Recently?” Doctor T. asked.
“Almost one right after the other. It’s been… it’s been a bad couple of months.” Marcus chuckled humorlessly.
“One right after the other? How did the circumstances arrive so quickly again? Can you talk about that?”
Marcus looked into the middle distance. “I was out on this-this vacation to sort of get over Theresa, you know? I was being a dick at work and my coworkers arranged for me to stay at this cabin in Kentucky for a week to unwind, and the first morning I was there, I met…” Marcus swallowed.
“I met this woman. And I just- we couldn’t stay away from each other. I felt drawn to her, and I know she felt the same for me, it’s just--” he broke off. “The timing wasn’t right. I knew it was too soon after Theresa. I didn’t want her to be a rebound, but I couldn’t help myself--we couldn’t, I mean. We started seeing each other. I even extended my stay for her, and we were inseparable for the whole time, you know? I-I never told her, but I fell in love. I was in love with her. But when I had to go back to Washington, I couldn’t handle it, couldn’t handle doing a-a long distance relationship after what happened with Theresa. I came back to visit her the next weekend, and I bought two return tickets back.”
His therapist raised her eyebrows. “You wanted her to come back with you that weekend? You’ll have to forgive me for making a judgement here, but that’s not very realistic, Marcus.”
Marcus grimaced. “I know, it was just--I panicked, I guess. Trying to be with her long distance like that, I felt so uneasy the whole week, and I just couldn’t picture trying to keep that up for much longer before I went crazy. I thought that maybe--maybe we could find a way. She could stay there for a week, fly back, I don’t know…” he trailed off.
“What was her response, when you asked?” she prompted.
“She was skeptical, of course she was, and gave me all these legitimate reasons why she couldn’t just pick up and leave and I… I didn’t listen. I--I accused her of horrible things, I… I panicked, I left.” His eyes were threatening to spill over. “I left her there. I flew back the next day and I just… left her there. I didn’t say goodbye. We could have done the long-distance thing, we could have--God, I was a dick to her, I fucked it up,” Marcus finished, shaking his head.
Doctor Tzouanakis gave a little understanding nod. “It sounds like your recent experience with Theresa triggered a panic response from you. Do you think she’d come with you if she was given a… a more generous timeline?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem. She has her whole life there, a house, her career. She’s-she’s an amazing runner and she has a big race coming up and I--I offended her, I think, asking her to come stay with me. She said she didn’t want to be my ‘kept woman,’ and I understand that, I don’t want that either! That wasn’t my intention when I asked. I’m afraid that whatever I offer her, it won’t be enough, you know? And I just don’t know if we keep doing this indefinitely, living separately. I want to be with her. In all the ways that means. I don’t want bits and pieces,” Marcus finished sadly.
“Do you think she wanted to continue her relationship with you, before this?” his therapist asked.
“Fuck--yes, she even said so, and I didn’t listen. And then I told her it was all well and good until she ultimately dumped me via text message.”
“Do you think that was fair?”
“No! I don’t. I knew it wasn’t even when I was saying it.” Marcus said, emphatically. “She didn’t deserve that. Theresa was in love with her partner at work. This was different. She…” he trailed off. “She was really good for me,” he whispered. “She showed me parts of myself that I--” he blushed. “Well, parts of me that I didn’t know existed. We were… well, intimate in ways I had never been with anyone before.” He looked down, feeling a little uncomfortable.
The therapist nodded. “Marcus, it sounds like you had a good and healthy relationship with this woman.” She continued, with a knowing glint in her eyes, “It takes trust and communication to… be ‘intimate’ in new or different ways.”
“I know! I know… I had a good thing and I scared her away, and then got mad at her for stepping back,” Marcus groaned, slapping a palm to his forehead.
“Are things definitively over between the two of you?” Doctor Tzouanakis asked. “If not, you might be able to talk to her. Communicate. It sounds like you both have the tools you need in your relationship to negotiate this fight, too.”
“I don’t know if she’d agree to see me again…” Marcus winced. “I said some awful things.”
“And that’s something that you’re going to have to risk, Marcus. You can ask for forgiveness, but you have to go in there accepting that her answer might be ‘no.’ Can you handle that?”
Marcus nodded. “I can. I have to. I- God, I love her so much, I’d do anything for her. Including…” he let out a shuddering breath, “let-letting her go.” He looked down at his hands.
His therapist spoke up in reassurance, “Marcus, you have so much love to give. That’s not a bad thing! You have so much to offer a potential partner. You aren’t broken, no matter how you might feel after what sounds like a really tough few months for you. You just have to understand how to express your love in healthy ways, just as we helped you express other emotions all those years ago.” She smiled, “Marcus, I’m proud of who you’ve become. I’m really glad you contacted me, and I’m glad we spoke today.”
“Thank you, Doctor T. You’ve been… this has been really helpful, you have no idea.”
“I like to watch my young clients grow into happy, well-adjusted adults. It reflects well on me, after all. A testament to my methods,” she said with a wry grin.
Marcus laughed, brushing a few errant tears from his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten what we talked about. I still use it.”
“Damn, I’m good.”
“Thanks, Doc.” He smiled.
“Do me a favor? Let me know how it goes with her.”
Marcus closed his laptop and let out a big sigh. He felt more clear headed now--using his lunch break to call his old therapist had definitely been a good idea. He packed up his stuff from one of the private “cells” (what most agents jokingly called the one-person soundproofed “quiet work” offices running the length of the top floor of the building) and made his way back down to his own office. He was surprised to see it was already occupied by one of the junior agents, Carson, surrounded by a handful of interns.
“Hey man,” Carson said by way of greeting. “Hey, we’ve got a case we could use your help on.”
"Sure, go ahead," Marcus said, setting his messenger bag down on his desk.
"Well, the ‘Met’ says they have a Euphronios Kylix that they supposedly purchased from a 'reputable dealer' for almost three million," Carson explained, "but the provenance is murky to say the least, and--"
"Euphronios, as in 'Getty Museum Krater' Euphronios?" Marcus asked.
"The very same," agreed Carson.
"And they're thinking it's looted, I take it?"
"Let's just say it wouldn't be a shock. But here's the thing--one of the curators at the museum is now claiming that it’s actually a fake," Carson continued. "But all signs point to it being looted: the lack of provenance, the price, the--the fame of the painter…" he trailed off.
Marcus frowned. “So the museum wants us to find out if it’s a fake or not,” he began. “If their two options are ‘looted’ or ‘fake,’ I assume they’re probably pretty invested in it being fake, considering the fines they’d get for looting on top of the price they already paid for it.” He glanced up at Carson. “Are you sure they’re not just saying it’s a fake to get out of any fines? How sure are we that it’s a forgery?”
One of the interns chimed in, "If it's a fake, it's a fucking good one, Agent Pike. Was hoping you could take a look at it, sir."
Marcus nodded. "Yeah, let's take a look. Where are you set up?"
Carson replied, "Everything for this case is down in Conference Room C on the lower level. Want to follow us down?"
Marcus took the elevator down, all the while discussing Euphronios's style markers with one of the interns--Bolton, she had said--who was pursuing a Classical Archaeology degree.
“...and you can tell that the painter used a diluted clay slip, because there’s a wider range of color on the figures,” she explained, breathlessly. “Agent Pike, I just wanted to say I’ve read your Master’s Thesis on the representation of women and children on fifth century BCE Athenian vases. I’m planning on using it as a source for my research paper coming up at the end of the semester.” Bolton looked up at him, doe-eyed.
Marcus coughed. “Th-that’s great! Uh, thanks.”
She stepped closer. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet to discuss it sometime? I have so many questions,” she said with a coy smile.
Marcus tried to step back without looking like he was doing so on purpose. “I-if you have questions, you can always email me, I’d be happy to talk through it,” he sidestepped.
Thank God the elevator door opened to the lower level. Bolton pushed past him and Carson, looking disappointed.
Carson laughed and clapped Marcus on the back. “Caught the eye of some little undergrad ingénue, huh?”
Marcus shook his head in amusement as they walked together towards Conference Room C. “Poor thing, hope I didn’t hurt her feelings.” They reached the door. “You coming in?”
“Just a sec,” Carson held up a finger. “I need to make a call first. That room is a fucking dead zone for signal. Be there in a few.”
Marcus took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. This was what he loved the most about the job--the research involved, the analysis, debating art styles over pizza with a team. He opened the conference room door and stepped inside.
The door didn’t open again for ten hours.
When Marcus finally exited the conference room at the end of the incredibly long day, Carson and his team were in a flurry of excitement. “Bolton, give the Classics department at the Met a call first thing tomorrow and tell them we confirmed that it’s a fake. Awasthi, we need to pay the seller a visit. Find out where he lives, his known associates…”
The interns and Carson all began to talk over each other as Marcus headed toward the stairwell.
“Pike!” Carson called out. “Pike, drinks with the team to celebrate tonight?”
Marcus hesitated. He felt as if he had been in stasis for the last several weeks, pining over you. Today, the conversation with his therapist had him feeling optimistic for the first time since the two of you had snuggled on the couch watching ‘The Thing.’ He would call you tomorrow, apologize, tell you how he felt, and maybe things would be okay. And if not, well, then he had a few glorious weeks with you that he knew he’d never forget, for as long as he lived.
“I’m in,” he replied with a smile. “Let me get my stuff from my office and I’ll meet you outside.”
As Marcus exited the stairwell, his phone pinged several times in quick succession. Oh, right. He probably didn’t have any signal until just now. He checked his notifications. A couple emails, a news alert, and-- Marcus’s heart started to pound. A voicemail. A voicemail from… you. He took in a shaky breath and held the phone up to his ear.
“Marcus? I-I’m sorry to call you like this,” the message began. Your voice was thin, watery. “I don’t-- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me-” Marcus quickly cut off the message, wanting--needing--to get to the privacy of his office. He could hear you sniffling between your sentences. Oh, God, you were crying. Marcus nearly ran the rest of the way to his office and shut the door, not bothering with the lights. He collapsed into his desk chair, his hand clamped over his mouth in an attempt to stymie his emotions, and started the message from the beginning again.
“Marcus? I-I’m sorry to call you like this. I don’t-- I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me, but I-- the marathon is tomorrow and I’m just… nervous, I guess. My runs have been shit lately and I just-- I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. It’s silly, I’m still-- I’m still mad at you, for what you said, but all I really want is to hear your voice. It was better, you know, with you... I-I was better with you. I’m sorry for the way we left things. I d-didn’t want it to end like that. I-fuck, I… I didn’t want it to end at all, Marcus. I love you. I… I love you. I-I l-love you, so much. I-if you get this and you--you want to talk, if you still w-want me, I-- I’ll come with you, Marcus. I’ll go anywhere with you. I was s-scared to give up my life here and follow you but I w-want you to know, I’m-- I want to be with you, whatever it--”
The message cut off suddenly, out of time. Marcus was still staring at the screen, his hand pressed hard over his mouth, silent tears spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks. You loved him. Oh, God, what had he done? You loved him, your marathon was tomorrow, and he wasn’t going to be there with you. He checked the time. It was almost midnight, far too late to call you on the eve of your big race. He missed his chance, he missed his chance to--unless… An idea started to form in his mind.
A knock sounded at his door and he startled, looking up. Carson. “Marcus! Hey man, you coming? Wait, what’s--”
Marcus jumped up. “No, not coming. I-fuck, I need to get to the airport, I--”
Carson raised both his palms and his eyebrows. “The fuck are you--”
Marcus was already grabbing his messenger bag. “Carson, I’ll give you--” he looked through his wallet, “seventy-three dollars if you give me a ride to the airport right now.”
“Marcus! What the fuck for?” Carson followed him as he shut his office door and locked it.
Marcus looked at him, eyes shining, a genuine--if watery--smile on his face.
Taglist: @honestly-shite @thirddeadlysin @deepstarsco @221bshrlocked @mando-amando @frenchyjuju @farfromjustordinary @chronic-nosebleed @stilettoforbeginners @leslie-lyman @gaiuswrites @absurdthirst @ezrasbirdie
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Pedro Pascal’s notable characters + colors
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Lucifer 2.18 | The Mentalist 2.10
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marcus pike + the leather jacket
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Casting directors looking at Pedro 3 yrs ago: this man screams special agent
Casting directors looking at Pedro now: daddy. I said what I said
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😳☕🥱 took some pedromoji requests on twitter
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The Mentalist finale + September by Earth, Wine & Fire
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Pedro Pascal as Marcus Pike in The Mentalist
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Born to Run / Chapter 16
Pairing: Marcus Pike x Marathon Runner f!reader (no y/n)
Rating: E (SMUT! 18+ only please)
Warnings: Angst, fluff
Summary: You run the race you’ve been training for.
Chapter 15 | next chapter
You woke up on the morning of the race with an aching head.
You had given in and called Marcus last night, spilled your heart out to him in a voicemail, and he never responded. You had really not expected that. You knew in your heart that Marcus had stormed out of your house three weeks ago to the day not because he was angry, but because you had hurt him so badly. Once you got over your anger at his accusations, you realized that, due to his recent failed proposal, he would have interpreted your rejection of his offer as the exact same kind of betrayal. But you thought… you thought… that if you called and apologized, explained, and most shockingly, offered to come be with him wherever he goes, he would at least call you back and try to talk things through.
He must have been more hurt than you thought, you sighed. Kris had been right--there was just too much baggage in his life, too much recent emotional upheaval, for him to be able to pursue another relationship so soon.
You started to dress for the race--first applying a liberal amount of Body Glide to nearly every inch of your skin--in the ‘lucky’ bike shorts and neon pink tank that had become your official “race day” outfit. You pulled on your rainbow striped socks--another race day necessity. It wasn’t that you were superstitious (‘but you were a little ‘stitious,’ you joked to yourself, with a half-smile). This outfit was tradition, and you don’t fuck with tradition on race day--you just don’t.
You had allowed yourself one last weakness last night, you decided. You called Marcus. You confessed your love. Now that knowledge was out there in the world, and you couldn’t take that back. It was almost cathartic, in a way. You finally spoke it into existence--and it apparently didn’t change anything with Marcus--and now you could try to move on with a clear head.
You had a small breakfast and a little bit of coffee, and paced back and forth in the kitchen waiting for Kris--your ride for the day--to get there. You ran over your race-day checklist.
Body glide? Check.
Rainbow socks? Check.
Energy gels and snacks? Check.
Running belt to hold the snacks? Check.
Even with the solid weight in your chest that had been present ever since Marcus slammed your front door, your arduous training had blessedly kicked in, and you methodically placed one foot in front of the other for twenty-six miles even when your heart and mind weren’t always along for the ride. Even with the remaining grief you felt over what you had lost with Marcus, the adrenaline and endorphins from the race eventually kicked in and flooded your brain, reminding you why you did this.
Long distance running was almost a form of meditation, in a way. It was not only a battle with your body--preparing your legs, lungs, and heart to put in an amount of work that they were not naturally inclined to do--but also a battle in your mind. You fought within yourself to keep moving even when everything in you--from your toenails, ankle joints, all the way up to your brain--was begging you to stop. You forced yourself past the dreaded “wall,” that point in the race where marathon runners feel physically and emotionally defeated. You were already feeling defeated, you bargained. You were already in pain. You already knew what that felt like. This race was nothing. The pain stemming from relationships with people was tricky and uncertain. The pain that stemmed from running was blissfully uncomplicated.
Through that pain, you found serenity. You ran until the world around you was quiet. You ran until the noise inside your head was silenced. You ran to seek a void.
Your legs nearly gave out in relief as you finally crossed the finish line. Four hours and eighteen minutes. You were honestly impressed with yourself. It was done. Maybe now you could start to move on with your life without Marcus’s ghost following you on every run. You limped through the maze of volunteers--accepting your medal, a bottle of water, and a bag containing a banana and several different types of granola bar--and looked around for Kris and somewhere to sit.
You never expected what you saw instead.
Marcus was standing a few yards away from you holding a small, but beautiful, bouquet.
You drank in his appearance, almost more thirsty for him as you were for the water bottle in your hand. He was wearing dark suit pants and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone for comfort. They were both slightly rumpled, as if he had been wearing them just a little bit too long. But even still, holy shit, he looked incredible. You had never seen him dressed up for work--he must have gone straight from his office just to get here. Your heart clenched. He had also shaved the beard again, and you could see that his bare, statuesque jawline was visibly tense. Even from this distance, you could see that his gorgeous brown eyes were unnaturally shiny and bright. His expression was… fuck. His gaze was so intense, so full of apprehension, of sorrow, of tenderness, and… love? Love.
Any remaining anger flew out the window. All you could think of was getting to Marcus. You took a few stumbling, frantic steps in his direction, and he immediately started towards you with matching urgency. You collided in the middle, collapsing into his arms with a soft, desperate cry. Marcus swayed slightly at the impact but immediately tightened his arms around you, caging you to him. The strength of his hold almost hurt. Good. You stood there, lost in his embrace, clinging to him. You felt, rather than heard, his chest rumbling and you realized he was speaking.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you. God, I love you. I’m so sorry. I was such an ass, I was so wrong, I wasn’t thinking straight. Oh, Christ I love you. Perfect, lovely girl. My brave, strong, beautiful runner. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
Marcus kept repeating the same few, soft lilting phrases in your ear. Murmuring his apologies, asking for forgiveness, and affirming his love for you. You pulled back, wanting to look him into his deep, warm eyes.
“Marcus,” you whispered. “I love you, Marcus. I love you too.” You blinked a few tears from your eyes and frantically pressed your lips to his.
You both poured all your emotions into the tearful, lingering kiss. Again and again, Marcus met your lips, kissing the top, bottom, and corners of your lips over and over, occasionally whispering, “I love you,” against your mouth, your cheek, your temple. You continued to kiss him for as long as you could stand, but the grueling race eventually caught up with you and you broke away, gasping. The adrenaline you had felt upon seeing Marcus was fading quickly. You were suddenly aware of your current state--exhausted, chafed, sore, and so sweaty that the salt was starting to crust over on your forehead. You probably looked and smelled disgusting.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you joked, trying in vain to diffuse the heightened emotions of your tearful reunion.
“Like what?” Marcus asked.
“Like when I’m sweaty and gross and gasping for breath,” you groaned.
Marcus looked down at you with all the love and care he felt for you. “I like you like this,” he said with a soft, tender smile. “I like you in all the ways that you are.”
He leaned in closer to whisper devilishly in your ear, "Especially when you're gasping for breath."
You let out a surprised, if still tearful, bark of laughter and clutched at him harder, burying your face into the junction between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in.
“Shit, I’m tired,” you murmured into his shirt. As if to demonstrate this, your knees wobbled and you sunk further onto Marcus. You were suddenly aware of pain in the bottoms of your feet from the repeated slap-slap-slap against the pavement.
He tucked his arm under yours, holding you up. “Let’s get you to that bench over there.” Marcus gestured at an open bench on the sidewalk a few paces away. You walked, leaning heavily on him, and he let you, taking most of your weight as you limped towards the seat. When you were finally off your feet, you curled into his side again. You couldn’t be close enough.
Noticing the flowers Marcus had placed by his side, you murmured, “Those are beautiful, Marcus. Thank you.” He kissed your forehead in response. “Roses, lilies, and… what’s the other thing?”
“Purple hyacinth,” Marcus replied.
“I’m going to guess they all mean something special, considering it’s you,” you said with a smile.
“You guess right.” He chuckled, softly. “Red roses for love, purple hyacinth for forgiveness, and calla lilies for a fresh start.”
“I love them. I love you,” you said, earnestly. “I love how thoughtful you are. And I- I want you to know, I want to go with you. I’ll come with you when you leave, I’m sorry I-”
“No, stop,” Marcus interrupted. “I was wrong to ask that of you. You can’t drop your entire life to follow me, that isn’t fair to you.” The hand around your shoulder moved to the side of your neck and he started absentmindedly stroking up and down as he talked.
“I’m really sorry, for what I said. For everything I said,” he began. “For implying that I don’t trust you, for accusing you of falling out of love and not telling me. I’m sorry I put pressure on you to come stay with me so spontaneously. I didn’t--I didn’t take into consideration what you wanted, or how you felt. I don’t want you to give up parts of yourself to be with me. If you’ll forgive me, if you… still want to be with me, I want us to be together in this--a team--if-if we’re doing this for real?” He looked to you for confirmation.
You gave him a watery smile. “Yeah, we’re doing this for real, Marcus.”
“THERE you are!!” Another voice cut into your quiet conversation with Marcus. “I didn’t see you cross the finish line! Cameron ran off and I fucking lost him for a few minutes in the crowd. Felt like a shit mom--who loses their fucking two-year-old??” Kris spoke rapidly, loudly, moving toward you.
“I sawed a bug,” the two-year-old in question explained seriously.
“Hey Cammy. Kris,” you said as they approached.
“Oh my fucking GOD,” Kris exclaimed. “Is this HIM? It’s him, isn’t it? The guy!”
Marcus gave you a sidelong glance and waved a small, awkward wave. “Marcus. Nice to meet you.”
“YOU! You have a lot to answer for, my dude,” Kris continued. “You stole my girl’s attention for like, a fucking month and then you just-”
“Kris! Kris, it’s fine, we talked about it. We’re okay,” you talked her down. “We just… I think we both kind of freaked out, and broke up, but we understand each other better now.” You looked up at Marcus for confirmation.
He gave you a warm smile. “Sure do.”
“GOOD,” responded Kris. “She was fucking crazy over you. Was MIA for weeks and then suddenly she shows up fucking devastated and I was like, ‘Who even IS this guy?’ you know?”
“Can I have your banana?” asked Cameron.
You grimaced. “...No?” you said, guiltily, and his face fell. (You were starving, what could you say?) “Listen, Kris, I’m really glad you came and gave me a ride and all that, and we’re definitely gonna talk later, but I… I think Marcus is going to take me home.”
“Fuck yeah he is, girl,” said Kris with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Marcus, it was nice to meet you finally,” she overemphasized with a pointed stare, “and you better fucking be good to her because if you aren’t, I’m going to hunt you down and-”
“Kris! Jesus, it’s fine," you cut in quickly. "I’ll call you later, ok? Bye, Cammy.” You wiggled your fingers at Cameron, who had a finger in his nose.
He removed it, and waved back with the same, booger-covered hand. “Bears eat fish,” he said. “Mommy say ‘fuck.’”
“Fuck!” Kris said again, “Don’t say that, Cammy!” and the two of them departed through the crowd as quickly as they came.
“Sorry,” you explained. “My best friend, Kris. She has… no filter, I guess you’d say.”
“I was going to say volume control,” Marcus supplied. “I like her. Cute kid, too.” His face suddenly fell. He sighed, and pulled you into another hug. “God, baby, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry that I hurt you like that.”
“It’s okay,” you reassured him. And it was--you could feel it. Things were going to be okay with you two.
Marcus took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking about it so much. I thought about it on the flight here last night--What if… What if we went somewhere new? Somewhere we choose, a--a fresh start for both of us. Together. If you want.”
The tears you were holding back spilled over again. “Yes. I love that. Let’s do that. Together.”
Marcus smiled. “It’ll take some planning, probably a lot of patience. We’ll have to be apart for a little while, while we figure it out.”
You nodded. “I’m okay with that if you are.”
“I am.” He kissed your forehead. “I promise, I am. Let’s get you home, my little love.”
Marcus drove you home by way of a fast food drive-thru to get you water and food.
“Can we get two of the biggest cups you have full of water? Lots of ice,” Marcus said to the speaker, and you smiled. When he pulled up to the window to receive the massive waters and the double bacon cheeseburger you had ordered, he excitedly informed the bored looking drive-thru attendant, “Thanks for the waters--my girl just ran a marathon, can you believe it? Isn’t that amazing?” You shushed him and swatted his arm, embarrassed, as the teen at the window stared blankly at the two of you.
You loved seeing him this happy.
At home, Marcus followed you to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. You started to peel off your sweat-soaked clothes, but Marcus stopped you with a quiet "don’t," in the smallest voice you'd ever heard from him. His eyes were somber, entreating. His eyebrows were turned upwards and his expression was pained. You recognized the look on his face as the same one you saw on the first day you met him, as he quietly asked to let him tend to your cuts and bruises. He wanted to do it for you. He needed to. You dropped your hand and nodded.
Slowly, Marcus helped you out of your clothes, then removed his own, and you both stepped into the rising steam. You stood under the stream, letting the water wash over your head and down your back as Marcus tenderly washed your hair, and then your body. It was his way of apologizing, you thought, as he ran a soapy cloth over your tummy. He's trying to make up for the three weeks that he wasn’t with you. When he was done, you simply clung to each other as the water cascaded down your bodies. You felt his lips on your forehead, occasionally kissing, but mostly just reveling in the feel of your skin against his mouth.
When the water started to lose its temperature, you finally got out, letting Marcus dry you as you shared lazy kisses.
"I hope you don't mind, I'm totally going to bed and going to sleep, like, right now," you informed him.
Marcus smiled as he hung the towel back on the rack. "I figured you probably would. You need it. Shit, I need it too. I was involved in a forgery case until almost midnight last night--that’s why I missed your call. I promise you, I rushed to the airport as soon as I heard it. Was up all night, only got a short nap in the rental car before I drove to the race."
"Marcus," you started, but he cut you off with a kiss.
"It's fine," was all he said.
Only putting on a pair of boxers, you climbed in between the sheets and groaned. Your whole body hurt and your tearful reunion with Marcus had you feeling like a raw nerve emotionally as well.
As he climbed in beside you, you murmured, "Marcus?"
"I'm so glad you're here," you whispered.
He kissed your forehead and mouthed, more than spoke, I love you.
"Would you… would you read to me for a little bit? I want to hear your voice," you admitted.
"Of course. Anything in particular?" he asked.
He slipped out of bed--still totally nude--heading to your office bookshelf to pick something. You closed your eyes. You felt the mattress dip as he came back and settled beside you. You curled into his side, basking in his warmth. His hand found its spot at your neck and started a lazy path up and down with his fingertips as he started to read.
“In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit,” Marcus began with a content smile. “Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”
Marcus barely got through three pages before you both fell asleep, the book forgotten on his chest, his hand, now still, resting on your neck.
Additional A/N: Cam’s line, “Bears eat fish,” is something my now 4-year-old used to say constantly. It was his favorite fact.
I personally have absolutely NO appetite directly after a marathon, so stopping for fast food would DEFINITELY make me sick, but I just wanted a little opportunity for Marcus to gush about reader to random strangers and embarrass the hell out of her, plus you know he’s probably still hyper-aware of keeping her fed after the time she ran 19 miles and fell asleep on his lap without eating first. Still, I'd recommend against having a cheeseburger right after running 26 miles, as crazy as that sounds.
Four hours eighteen minutes was my latest marathon time and like reader, I was pleased as punch 😁
There will be an epilogue to follow. <3 <3
Taglist: @honestly-shite @thirddeadlysin @deepstarsco @221bshrlocked @mando-amando @frenchyjuju @farfromjustordinary @chronic-nosebleed @stilettoforbeginners @leslie-lyman @gaiuswrites @absurdthirst @ezrasbirdie
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as Marcus Pike in The Mentalist (2014)
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PEDRO PASCAL as Marcus Pike
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even more marcus pike + the leather jacket
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Kinktober Day 23: Cockwarming
Window/Balcony Sex || Squirting || Cock warming
Marcus Pike x afab!reader
Word count: 1.1k
Warnings: smut, cockwarming, established relationship, no use of y/n, Marcus being mischievous
Notes: I had a lot of fun with this one! I enjoyed writing a more playful Marcus, but don’t worry he’s still our sweet Marcus! Kinktober list provided by @the-purity-pen. Feel free to also follow my update blog and turn on post notifs @flightlessangelwings-updates
Movie nights with Marcus were always the best. Ever since the two of you started dating, you always made sure to make it a weekly thing in order to spend more time together. You both led very busy lives, but it was important to both of you to carve out the time together, and neither of you had ever been happier. At first, weekly movie nights started as simple dates with dinner that usually led to more heated activities afterwards. But, as your relationship grew, so did the boldness from both of you.
That was when Marcus got an idea.
The room was dimmed while the movie played in front of you. Marcus sat on the couch with you in his lap… and his cock buried deep inside you. Your breaths came out deep and heavy as you felt the stretch of him inside you while you stayed still in his lap with your legs spread. You leaned back against his chest and his arm stayed wrapped around your waist to keep you close to him.
“Comfortable, baby?” he asked with a cocky grin in his voice. He let out a low groan, though, when you wriggled a bit in his lap in an attempt to rile him up a little.
“You feel so good, Marcus,” you whispered against his cheek as you placed a soft kiss on his beard.
“So do you,” Marcus replied in a low tone as he nuzzled his nose against the shell of your ear, “Now stay still until the movie is over, ok?”
You let out a soft whine, unsure if you could last that long. Of course Marcus picked out one of the classics from his collection, which meant you’d be like this for hours and you weren’t sure you’d make it. You felt like you might melt with how hot your body felt, but at the same time it was comforting to keep him inside you of like this. It was something new and different for you both, but you had the feeling this wouldn’t be the last time you’d do this.
After some time, you finally calmed yourself down and just savored the feeling of Marcus’ cock deep inside you. You knew that if you needed to stop this, he would without hesitation, and you trusted him to take care of you no matter what. He also knew that you would take care of him in return, and he trusted you just as much as you trusted him.
But Marcus couldn’t help but be a little mischievous, and about a half hour into the movie, he reached around and lightly fiddled with your clit. You let out a squeal of surprise and clenched around his cock, which caused him to groan in response.
“Marcus! Not fair!”
He laughed against your ear before he placed a soft kiss on your cheek, “I’m sorry baby,” he apologized sincerely, “I couldn’t help it.”
You rolled your eyes, but you tilted your head and took his lips with yours, “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you chastised him with a smile before you both went back to the movie.
Another hour went by and you decided to take revenge on Marcus for his tease earlier. His cock inside you became a comfort at that point, but you still felt the lingering desire for more there. You smirked as you clenched your inner muscles and rocked your hips ever so slightly. Marcus let out a gasp and tightened his grip on your waist and you felt his cock twitch inside you.
“Baby…” he groaned.
“Payback,” you quipped back and you heard him snort.
“Ok, ok,” Marcus kissed your neck softly, which made you shiver, “I got the point.”
“Good,” you turned your head to kiss him on his lips.
Marcus immediately reciprocated and parted his lips to deepen the kiss. You moaned into his mouth and your body heated up as you felt his hands roam all over your skin. Passions quickly erupted from there and Marcus thrusted slowly from below you. One of his hands landed on your breast and cupped and kneaded the soft flesh there while the other found its way to your clit once more.
You cried out as you felt overwhelmed with sensations as Marcus rocked in and out of you. After all the teasing and keeping him side you, you were sure you wouldn’t last long if he kept this up.
“Marcus…” you moaned as you writhed against him.
“I got you, baby,” he cooed against your ear.
In no time, you felt the familiar warmth spread across your body as you reached behind you and clung to Marcus where you could hold. He moved his hand that was on your breast to your hip to keep you steady while he continued to thrust into you and rub at your clit. Marcus felt his own orgam fast approach as well, but he kept his focus on you, determined to have you cum first before he gave in to his own pleasure.
With the movie completely forgotten, Marcus thrust his cock in and out of you from below, his pace quickly picking up. The sound of skin against skin soon became louder than the noise from the tv as Marcus rocked against you harder and faster. The need from both of you was too much to stop now.
“You feel so good, baby,” Marcus mumbled against your skin, “So good to me,” he let out a low groan that went right to your core, “So perfect.”
With a few more thrusts, you came with a loud scream, and your body clenched around Marcus. You clung to whatever you could hold on to as you rode out your powerful climax on his cock, and a string of curses and praises left your lips as you felt so wonderfully overwhelmed. And Marcus was right behind you, your orgasm triggering his own. With a low groan of your name, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he spilled himself inside you.
When neither of you could take anymore, Marcus flopped down onto the couch with your limp body on top of his. Heavy breaths from both of you filled the room as you both felt like jelly. Marcus was quicker to recover, and he wrapped his arms around you once more and peppered your skin with kisses.
“You ok, baby?” he asked.
“Mmmhmm,” you didn’t even have the energy to open your eyes, but you had a blissful smile on your face, “So much for making it through the whole movie,” you added with a laugh when you had caught your breath better.
Marcus joined in your laughter, “Honestly, baby, I don’t think I would have made it either,” he confessed.
“We definitely have to do this again,” you said as you gave his cock a squeeze with your inner muscles.
Marcus hummed in agreement as he took your lips with a heated kiss.
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The Mentalist ( 2008 )
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FLUFFTOBER DAY 27-”HERE, HAVE MY JACKET”
Summary: He always keeps you warm.
Pairing: Din Djarin, Javier Peña, Marcus Pike, Frankie Morales, Marcus Moreno, Jack Daniels x F!Reader (blurbs for each individually!)
Words: ~500-800 each (AO3)
Notes: Something different for today! I got requests for almost all the characters for this prompt--so enjoy a short blurb for each one! Includes fluff and potential for canon typical violence for each character, and probably cuss words!
“This is all your fault!” you seethe. You should have never agreed to a joint bounty from Karga. Should have never partnered with the Mandalorian. Should have taken the full reward for your own.
“My fault?! I’m not the one who let the target get away because you were too proud to ask for help!” He growls back.
“I let him get away! You were the one who was supposed to be watching my back! It’s not my fault your intel was bad and he had four guards with him! You just had to go another way, and I almost died!” You’re stomping ahead of the Mandalorian; sand fills your boots with each angry step, but you continue as he walks behind you, equally as peeved.
“Well, what’s your plan now, then, since you seem to know so much?!” You don’t even look back before spitting a reply.
“To get as far away from you as possible, you ruthless, selfish, miserable bastard! You couldn’t care less about anyone but yourself!” Perhaps it was a low blow, but the heat was getting to you, and Mando had certainly shown his ruthlessness before; he was well known throughout the parsec for it. And it was clear he had no respect for your partnership; sure you two had fought over bounties before, but you thought Mandalorians honored their word. If you were partnering with someone, you had their back. No questions asked. You continue to stomp away, the sand muffling the fact that Mando’s stopped in his tracks over your words. He takes a deep breath before jogging to catch up with you.
“Look, the nearest settlement is almost a cycle’s walk away, and without the speeder—”
“Oh, and who broke the speeder, hm?” you poke, remembering your crashed vehicle when Mando took a turn to sharply.
“Would you just listen for once! You’ll never survive on your own out here.”
“Oh, now you care about whether I survive. Too little, too late, Mando.” You continue to walk, but he keeps pace with you. You know he’s right; the sun is quickly setting, the temperature dropping rapidly. You had prepared for an easy job, in-and-out, and surviving the night in a barren desert wouldn’t be easy. But you’re fueled by rage alone.
“Listen! Let’s just set up camp. You can do whatever you want tomorrow, I just—we need to stick together tonight. Neither of us will survive otherwise.” You pause, looking at him; he still stands proudly, the colors of the sunset reflected in his armor as you consider the options. One, die in the middle of the desert, alone; two, survive the night, but probably die at the hand of the missing bounty. Neither seemed appealing, but you had to pick one.
Camp is set up quickly under the dwindling light; Mando manages to find some flammable materials, starting a fire with his flamethrower. You manage to catch a few small animals, cooking them over the flame and silently leaving one for Mando at the edge of the fire. You were still mad at that guy, but unlike him, you did care if he lived or died—he was your ride off the planet, after all.
Despite the fire, the temperature dropped significantly by the time you settle in for the night; the clothing you picked this morning, meant for a quick jaunt across the desert, leaves you shivering. Of course, Mando notices the weakness, picking at it.
“Nope. Balmy, actually,” you reply sarcastically, visibly shivering.
“You’re allowed to ask for help, you know.”
“And you’re allowed to care about other people.” The air around the fire is tense and quiet; still, Mando moves quickly and silently, and soon, his thick woolen cape is draped over your shoulders.
“I don’t need your charity, Mandalorian,” you spit, moving the cloak off your shoulders. Immediately, the chill is back, but you fight it.
You sit silently for a few more minutes, Mando unmoving. Once you think he’s asleep, you quickly wrap the cloak back around you, relishing its warmth and smelling the thick scent of blaster residue and pine oil in the threads. You look at his blank visor once more; unmoving, likely still asleep, you think, just maybe, he has a point about asking for help.
Underneath the helm, Din’s eyes follow your movements, watching as you wrap the cloak around yourself. It feels almost domestic, stirs some feeling of home he’s had locked away for some time to see someone else in his cape; you’re dirty, exhausted, anger is still set in your brow, but highlighted by the moonlight, he can’t help but admire your beauty. And he thinks, just maybe, he could try showing he cares a bit more.
You’re not supposed to be here. You’re not DEA, not CIA, not in with the narcos, not supposed to be here. Javier has gone full panic mode; the sting they had planned for the marketplace, where the suspected sicarios were supposed to be, but instead, there you were—his sweet, lovely neighbor. He had done his best to keep you out of this part of his life; to put distance between you two, to keep you safe. All he wanted was to keep you safe.
That’s how his feet move faster than his mind, how he’s pulling you into an alley, away from the market. You fight at first, ever the spirited woman, but relax when you see it’s just him, allowing him to pull you away as you question him.
“Javi? What are you doing here? Did you see those azaleas? They’d go perfect on your balcony—what are you doing?”
“Listen to me, querida. The streets are all blocked off. No one in, no one out. I want you to take this.” He starts stripping himself of his bulletproof vest, but you push back.
“Javi, what’s happening? Why?”
“I—I don’t have time to explain, please,” he begins to strap it on you, pulling each Velcro piece tightly. “I—I need you safe. Please, querida. Just—let me do this.” You nod, allowing him to finish his ministrations until you’re tightly bound in the vest. He holds you there a moment, looking into your eyes; he begins to pull away, but before he can, you grab his wrist.
“Javi—be safe. For me, too.” He can only nod, making his way out of the alley and back to his undercover post.
He doesn’t see you when it all goes down. Shots are fired; people scream. Every one he worries is you. He’s sweating buckets, having chased the sicario down in the hot Colombia sun; he doesn’t even realize it’s blood running down his arm until the man is safely in Carrillo’s custody and Steve forces him to take in a breath; he’d been grazed by one of the many shots fired. Dozens of people lay prone on the ground; his eyes search for you, but come up empty. Steve all but forces him into an ambulance, but Javier can’t stop searching for you; not until the bus rounds the corner and the scene is out of sight.
He’s tired by the time he gets home. Worried. His arm aches, dull and annoying under the bandage. He thinks about knocking on your door, seeing if you’re there—but it’s late. Steve hadn’t heard anything about you. He worries he didn’t do enough.
Like you heard his thoughts, when he rounds the staircase to his apartment, there you sit on the stoop, his vest in your hands. You look up when you hear him coming; within an instant, you’ve thrown your arms around him, and he pulls you to him tightly, pain in his arm be damned. The two of you embrace for a long minute, before you pull away, lifting the vest; in the center, right over the heart of it, a bullet is lodged.
“You saved me, Javier,” you whisper. He looks from the vest, to you, and back at the vest again. “I—I wouldn’t be here if not for you. But what about you? You gave this to me, and you got hurt--” Tears stream down your face; he brushes them away with a thumb.
“I—I didn’t want you to see any of that. I knew it’d be violent, knew it’d go down poorly—I was trying to protect you from it. I—I don’t care about what happens to me.”
“Well I do,” You respond resolutely. “I care about you. And if you care about me, you need to care about you, too.” He waits a moment; seeming to weigh the options. He thought he had lost you, thought he couldn’t protect you. But you’re here. He did.
“Okay, querida. Anything for you.”
“Who steals art and brings it to East Bumblefuck, Alaska?” You lament loudly—though not for the first time—to your partner, Marcus Pike. The two of you had been hot on the trail of two art thieves in Washington, DC, and when the intel pointed to the idea that the men may have relocated, you were tasked with following them. Hence, the artic tundra.
“Maybe they thought we wouldn’t follow them,” Marcus hums. He’s entertained your complaining for the entire trip; never once getting short or annoyed with you. It’s one of the many things you liked about your partner—the two of you seemed to just mesh. For every dash of cynicism you added, he was a beacon of positivity. For every complaint, a voice of reason. For every ebb, he was your flow. You two were practically opposites, but you supposed that’s why you worked so well together.
You also supposed that’s why you had been harboring feelings for him for the last six months. But he told you about Teresa, about how he wasn’t ready to date again, and you respected that. You settled on being his partner, pretty sure he would never harbor feelings for you like you did for him, allowing him the distance he seemed to crave.
You were on a stakeout now; the car was turned off, and your breath was starting to fog the windows of the car. There was no movement inside the house; despite the cover of darkness, not even a light turned on.
“I don’t think they’re here.”
“Same—let’s call it a night.” With that, Marcus turns the key in the ignition; the car turns over a few times, then sputters out. He tries it again, and again, but the car never turns on. You both share a distressed look.
“Marcus, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not—the car won’t turn on!” He tries again; nothing. You pull out your phone.
“There’s no cell service out here…”
“Fuck,” you both say in unison. You’re beginning to panic, but forever your opposite, Marcus seems collected.
“Let’s go inside. We established they’re not in there—and hopefully it has heat.” You nod, following Marcus out into the snow. With a good shove, the door to the little shack you’ve sat outside all day gives, and it’s clear no one has been inside for months, maybe years. But there’s a fireplace with some stacked wood nearby, a few old newspapers. You can make it work.
“I’ll get a fire going. The local office should come looking for us by morning—they knew we were out here, so when we don’t return—” You sigh loudly as he speaks, trying to calm your chattering teeth.
Marcus is surprisingly good at starting a fire in the old hearth; the flames quickly pick up, and the chilly air is warmed. You decide to take shifts, one person staying awake to watch for any trouble while the other rests, and Marcus graciously gives you the first rest period. Despite the fire, the chill has made its way straight to your bones, and you still shiver uncontrollably. You don’t want to complain any more than you have; the danger of your current situation becoming more and more known, the worry that you’ll be stuck here until you die. It doesn’t help your shaking, until suddenly, a new warmth comes over you.
You don’t open your eyes; you’re supposed to be asleep, but you move your hands carefully, pulling the new, heavy weight closer into you as you try to identify it. The feeling of a zipper does it for you—it’s Marcus’ coat, warmed from his own body heat. You didn’t even realize, but your shivering has stopped finally, and sleep is threatening your every cell. Before it can pull you under, you reach a hand out of the warmth of your cocoon, somehow finding Marcus’ in front of the fire. His hand is just as warm, and you squeeze it once in thanks. He squeezes back, and with the small amount you’ve opened your eyes, you see him grin boyishly, bringing your frigid fingers up to his lips to breathe warm air over them.
Before you fall asleep fully, you feel the soft press of his lips meet your knuckles; warmth seems to radiate out from the spot, and for the first time, you think Alaska might not be so bad.
It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was supposed to be clean, in and out, money in their pockets. Now Tom’s dead and they’re stranded in the jungle in who-knows-where South America and its raining and its cold and everything has gone to shit.
Frankie’s only brought out of his pity party when you whimper beside him. He’s pretty sure it was involuntary; you’re lying on the dirt ground, attempting any shot at sleep you can get while he watches over the campsite. He wishes you were lying next to him in bed; wishes he could take you to that nice Italian place for dinner instead of eating whatever game Pope caught in the night. Wishes he didn’t cause the gash in your head from the helicopter crash. Wishes he ever had the courage to tell you how he really feels; the deep love he carries for you and you alone. Wishes, wishes, wishes.
You whimper again, so Frankie moves closer; you’re shivering, cold deep into your bones, soaked through. The slice in your head hasn’t been able to scab, the rainwater keeping it open and bloodied. You had always been as tough as any of the guys—tougher, if you asked Frankie—but you look downright pitiful now.
He doesn’t have to think. He pulls your limp body up from the mud and closer to the sad excuse for a fire. He leans you against him, enveloping your body with whatever warmth he has left. And he takes off his jacket, placing it overtop both of you; that’s when you finally seem to stir.
“W--What about you?” It’s quiet, barely stammered through chattering teeth.
“I’ll be okay,” he whispers back.
“F-Frankie—” you take a moment to continue, your shivers not stopping despite the relief his warmth brings. “If I don’t make it—make it out of here--”
“We’re getting out of here, baby,” he cuts you off resolutely.
“Frankie, listen to me—”
“No. We’re getting out of here. And I’m gonna take you to that craft brewery you like so much, that I hate—”
“—Because it’s pretentious.”
“Because it’s pretentious,” he confirms with a small smile.
“It—It’s a date,” you stutter, but Frankie’s chest warms.
“Yeah, baby—a date. You can take me to all the pretentious places you want, okay? But we’re getting out of here. Together. Promise me that. I—I need you to promise me that.” You nod, nuzzling further into Frankie. Your shivering has stopped, and the rain seems to have dissipated to a mist.
“I promise, Frankie.”
“Why is it that every office has to be freezing?!” You look over at your coworker, Danielle—she was huddled under a blanket at her desk, a sweater over her shoulders as she typed away with a shrug. You had been working with her for years now, both starting as receptionists at the Heroics Headquarters and moving up in the group. She was now Miracle Guy’s assistant; you were Marcus Moreno’s. Still, your desks remained close, as the Heroics’ desks needed to be close. You shiver again. “Seriously, I—I’m going to find the thermostat,” you announce decidedly. You were dressed for the weather; pants, boots, a cardigan, but it still felt sub-zero. You wandered the hallway for a few moments, finally finding the little box—which was locked away in a metal cage to prevent people from adjusting it.
“Ugh—seriously?” You groan, pulling the lock a bit. When it doesn’t budge, you give up, staring at the box. It suddenly starts rattling, metal shaking like it’s shivering itself, until the lock on the cage practically explodes, and the cage opens on its own accord. You whirl around to find Marcus Moreno behind you with a smirk.
“Marcus!” You scold, but he shrugs.
“Came looking for you, Danielle said you came to change the thermostat,” he laughs, approaching closer. He watches as you turn the dial a few degrees. “Are you cold?”
“Yes, it’s freezing in here!” You exaggerate, but he just laughs, beginning the walk back to your desk. “Oh, what did you need?”
“You said you were looking for me.”
“Oh, uh—yeah. Just to chat. No worries.” You nod, watching as he enters back into his office. Danielle gives you a pointed look.
“I’ll stop when you two stop giving each other heart-eyes.”
“I’ll stop giving heart-eyes when you stop pretending you’re not driving over to Miracle Guy’s after work.” Danielle’s eyes widen, and you proudly get back to work with your little win. You barely get a few sentences typed before a heavy, comforting weight is placed around your shoulders. You look up to find Marcus standing behind you, placing his leather jacket around your shoulders.
“You—you said you were cold. Here, have my jacket.” You break into a broad smile, his face splitting to match yours. The leather feels warm and buttery, and Marcus’ thoughtfulness dispels the remaining chill in your bones. He runs a hand over your shoulder gently before tapping it, then going back into his office. When you come out of your dreamy state, Danielle is pretending to work like she didn’t watch the whole thing happen.
“I said stop.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she replies innocently, and you both break into a laugh as you pull the worn leather closer around your body, enveloping yourself in Marcus and the way he makes you feel.
Jack “Whiskey” Daniels
“We got ‘im, darlin’,” Whiskey drawls, both of you watching as the local police lead the criminal of the week out in handcuffs. You were at some gala; schmoozing with the upper class, pretending to be a husband and wife involved in the same shady dealings as the criminal in question. It was the hardest case you’d worked yet; not because your dress was uncomfortable, or because you had trouble remembering your undercover name. No, it was because pretending to be married to Agent Whiskey was torture of the sweetest kind.
You couldn’t tell your partner you had been crushing on him for years. Couldn’t risk revealing your hidden feelings when he held your hand, or called you sweetheart, or pecked you on the cheek, his mustache tickling your skin. Couldn’t admit that this was everything you had dreamed of when you fell asleep at night, wishing he was in bed beside you. No—you had to accept that, with the capture of the target, whatever façade you were living under, no matter how pleasant, was over.
You and Jack follow the police out to the entrance of the banquet hall; fall is just turning winter in New York, though the reporters and paparazzi snapping photos and screaming questions as their high-profile mark gets placed in a police car don’t seem to mind.
A shiver runs up your spine before you can stop it; the cool breeze infiltrating every inch of you in the flimsy dress you had to wear. You liked it--slinky, fitted, beautiful—but you wished you were in a sweatshirt and jeans instead, warmed from the cold outside, the cold creeping over your heart now that Jack would go back to being your partner instead of your husband. You look back at him when you feel the heavy weight of something placed over your shoulders; he’d moved behind you as you watched the scene play out.
“Here, have my jacket, sweetheart,” he murmurs, placing the heavy tweed over your shoulders then running his hands up and down your arms to warm you. “Can’t have my girl gettin’ cold.” The jacket is warmed from his body, it smells like whiskey and tobacco and him, and it feels like it’s thawing your heart.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore, Jack,” you chuckle. “But thank you.” He makes a noncommittal noise; his arms stop stroking yours, instead coming around you to pull you to him. His voice hums low in your ear, the warmth of his breath tickling the shell of your ear.
“I’m not pretendin’.”
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