#Marcus Pike the mentalist

[morallyinept]

Adulation - A Marcus Pike x Alopecia F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: You've been dating and getting to know the handsome Agent Pike for some time, but there's still one last thing you've yet to tell him about yourself.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Alopecia F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity. Reader does not have hair on her head and wears wigs.)

Word Count: 7.7k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/thigh riding/gentle dirty talk/Marcus is completely smitten with you.

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: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

"We should try the sampler platter," Marcus suggests, his gaze lingering on the menu of mouth watering options. "That way, we can taste a little bit of everything?"

“Well, they say variety is the spice of life. I like your thinking, Agent.” You smirk as Marcus’s cheeks fill with blood. 

You watch as Marcus sips from his wine glass, deep brown eyes meeting yours over the glass rim of dark berry liquid. 

“You, uh… you look really beautiful tonight. You look so good in that dress. I can’t take my eyes off you.” 

“Stop it,” you smile bashfully.

“Do you really want me to stop?” He teases, pouring out more wine into your glass. “I love what you’ve done with your hair.”

You feel your face warm with pleasure at his compliment, your heart fluttering with delight, skin flecking with goosebumps and tingles as his words make their way across it.

He always makes you feel like this with a simple sentence and look. Makes you feel… seen. 

"Well, I thought I'd switch things up a bit," you admit, a hint of giddy laughter in your voice. "Gotta keep you on your toes, you know?" 

His eyes roam over the sleek bob of midnight black, the sharp lines of the style adding an air of sophistication to your ensemble. Your hair shimmers in the gloaming candlelight, lending an aura of mystery and allure to your already captivating presence.

Marcus chuckles, leaning closer to you across the table. "You certainly have a way of keeping me captivated," he remarks, his eyes sparkling with a magnetising affection.

“I do?” You query, reaching for your wine glass. 

Marcus's eyes widen in surprise, a grin spreading across his face as he admires you. "Yeah. I love it," he replies, his voice filling with genuine admiration. "It's different, but it suits you perfectly."

“Different good?” You query and a pang of worry flits through your veins, reminding you it’s constantly there. A trusty companion, alongside your long term friends, angst and fear. 

“Yeah. It’s like I’m dating all these different women.” He chuckles at the absurdity of it, his cheeks glowing with warmth.

“Do you have a favourite?” You ask him, finger circling the rim of your glass and his eyes drop to watch it momentarily.

“Hmm. Let me think…” He smiles and you can’t help but be drawn into the way his lips curve up into a dimple on his cheek. A fleshed crescent moon that you’ve fantasised about tasting since the first time you saw it revealed to you. 

Marcus Pike, FBI Special Agent in the Art Crimes Department, is the epitome of the perfect man, blending smooth determination with a profound appreciation for beauty and culture.

His sharp mind and keen eye for detail makes him a formidable agent, while his unwavering commitment to justice earns him the respect of his colleagues and adversaries alike. In the high-stakes world of art crime, Marcus stands out as a shining beacon of integrity and tenacity.

He approaches each case with a meticulous attention to detail, unravelling complex webs of deception and intrigue with adept precision and skill. 

Whether he’s tracking down stolen masterpieces or uncovering elaborate forgery rings, Marcus's relentless pursuit of truth and justice never wavers.

But it isn't just his professional acumen that makes Marcus so extraordinary; it’s his genuine passion for art and culture that truly sets him apart. 

That, and the fact he’s ridiculously handsome. 

He has a deep appreciation for the beauty and significance of the works he seeks to protect, viewing each painting, sculpture, and artefact as a priceless treasure to be safeguarded for future generations. Marcus's love for art extends beyond the confines of his work, infusing every aspect of his personal life with a sense of wonder and curiosity. 

And it’s where you first met him, in the serene halls of the local art gallery where you crossed paths with Special Agent Marcus Pike. Spinning on his polished heels to greet you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen on a man, and how they sparkled at you instantly.

Harbouring your own passion for art and a keen eye for beauty, you work as a curator, carefully selecting and showcasing the works of talented artists from around the world as well as in the local vicinity.

Marcus, drawn to the gallery as a way of unwinding from his case loads, found himself captivated not only by the stunning artwork on display but also by the enigmatic presence of you. Colourful and striking; your clothes, accessories, and hair, all alive with vividness. 

You both spent your individual free time exploring museums and galleries, studying the brushstrokes of the masters and marvelling at the stories behind each piece.

And when he wasn't immersed in the world of art, Marcus could often be found indulging in the delights of cuisine, tempting you with indulgent treats he started bringing to you on your lunch, innocently suggesting he thought you might like it, and recommending the best places to eat.

Until he boldly suggested you try them out with him. 

But perhaps Marcus's most admirable quality is his unwavering dedication to those he cares about. He’s fiercely loyal to his team, always ready to go to bat for them in the face of danger or adversity.

And when it comes to matters of the heart, Marcus is a true romantic, believing in love with every fibre of his being and never hesitating to show his affection for those closest to him.

As you’d lingered in front of a particularly captivating painting, two lovers entwined in a dance of exaggerated colour, Marcus felt a flutter of excitement in his chest.

He turned to you, his heart pounding with anticipation as he mustered up the courage to ask you a question that had been on his mind since you’d first met.

His voice was tinged with nervousness and his words caught in his throat. "I know this might seem sudden, but would you like to go out to dinner with me? I'd love to continue our conversation over a meal, if you're interested?"

“Are you asking me out on a date, Marcus?” You’d asked with hopeful eyes. 

“Absolutely I am.”

And you were interested. God, of course you were. Excited at the prospect of getting to know this incredibly gorgeous man some more. 

But also, incredibly terrified.

The thought of dating had long filled you with a sense of dread and anxiety. How could you ever expect someone to love and want you when you struggled to love yourself?

Past experiences had let you down incessantly. The idea of revealing your secret to a potential partner filled you with a swamping dread, the fear of rejection looming like a dark cloud ready to break in the distance.

You’d spent years perfecting the art of concealment, hiding the bald patches beneath layers of carefully styled hair, until eventually the patches became an entirely bare head and you had no choice but to wear wigs.

But no matter how hard you tried to hide your condition, the truth remained - you were different. Convincing yourself that you were flawed, even unlovable for a while.

But deep down, you knew that you couldn't let fear dictate your life forever. Somewhere out there, you hoped, was someone who would see past your alopecia.

On your first date together, Marcus took you to a different art gallery, one of his favourites in the city, knowing your love for beauty and culture would be a perfect match for the setting.

As you both wandered through the halls adorned with vibrant paintings and striking sculptures, Marcus couldn't help but admire the way your eyes lit up with wonder and fascination.

He watched in rapt attention as you studied each piece with a keen eye, your curiosity piqued by the stories and emotions captured within the artwork. 

You exchanged whispered observations and shared smiles as you explored the gallery together, lost in the magic of the moment.

Fingers accidentally on purpose brushing against one another until they interlocked. Lips inching closer until they finally met in soft hums of appreciation and want. Whispers that erupted into breathy giggles as you slipped into alcoves to explore those lips some more.

He complimented everything about you, your eyes, the way you taste and your hair, winding his fingers through the loose, flowing curls as they fell over your shoulder. Clearly unable to tell that it wasn’t your real hair, and that made it all the more devastating somehow. 

You couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that chomped at your insides. Marcus looked at you with such openness and sincerity, yet you couldn't bring yourself to reveal the truth about your hair loss.

The thought of disappointing him, of shattering the illusion of perfection you had carefully crafted, filled you with guilt every time he smiled softly at you. How could you continue to deceive him, knowing that the truth would inevitably come to light?

As you continued to get close, your mind raced with thoughts of confession and consequence. You imagined Marcus's reaction - the shock, the disappointment, the inevitable rejection that would sure follow.

The fear of facing his judgement, of losing his affection, threatened to consume you whole. To the point you considered calling the whole dating thing off to save the heartache.

But you couldn’t abnegate yourself away from him either, drawn to him, by more than just your commonalities, which were growing in number and taste the more you shared time together.

The more he kissed you, held you close to him in his big hands, pressed you up against the warmth of him in a tight embrace, the more you just wanted him back. 

Your dates had taken you both to bustling markets, where you’d sampled exotic street foods and danced to the rhythm of live music. You’d strolled hand in hand through tranquil parks, lost in deep conversation as you watched the sunset paint the sky with hues of pink and gold. 

With each passing date, you and Marcus had peeled back the layers of your personalities, revealing your hopes and dreams to one another. Discovering shared interests and passions, as well as the unique quirks and idiosyncrasies that made each of you who you are. 

He spoke of his previous marriage, divorced and left adrift on a lonesome island of singledom. Then he told you about a colleague he’d fallen for, but again it had left him facing the nights alone in his new apartment here in D.C. when she’d made another choice.

His talk of rejection stumped him for a while, those brown eyes pulled deeper into his skull as he contemplated, the scars still visible, and it melted the fear clinging onto your own shoulders somewhat. 

You shared your own tales of heartbreak and there wasn’t much that you didn’t know about one another, revealing all your secrets and worries with ease. 

Well, almost all of them. 

Your finger winds through the cut length of the synthetic bob, one wig of several in your stylish armoury, and you swallow dryly, clearing your throat. 

It’s been on the cusp of your tongue but never seems to become a whole word with sound and vowels. And terrifying repercussions should it want to be pronounced. 

The waiter soon arrives with the sampler platter, a colourful array of small plates arranged artfully on a wooden board. Your eyes widen in delight as you survey the tempting spread before you. 

As you both sample the various dishes laid out, around delightful hums of satisfaction, Marcus can't help but marvel at the diverse flavours and textures that dance across his palate.

He glances at you, a playful twinkle in his eyes, as he reaches for another bite, but holds it out to you instead.

"This is incredible, try this," Marcus remarks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm as you lean in and taste it from his fork. You simply can’t resist him in any way. 

“Delicious.” You agree. 

You take a sip of your wine, a curious glint in your eyes as you look back at him.

"So, tell me something about you that I don't already know yet," you prompt, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“You want a heinous dark secret, hmm?” Marcus teases. 

“Sure. The more dark and twisted the better.” You giggle. 

Marcus chuckles, a hint of nostalgia flickering in his gaze. "Well, you might not believe it, but I used to play bass in a band. I don’t think I've mentioned that yet," he confesses, his voice tinged with fond reminiscence. 

Your eyes widen in surprise, your interest piqued. "Are you a secret metalhead, Marcus?”

“Well, not quite.”  

“That's really cool," you confirm, leaning forward eagerly. "What was the name of your band?"

Marcus grins, his peepers glinting with excitement at the memory. "We were called 'Midnight Groove'," he reveals, a nostalgic smile playing on his pink lips. "And we were all about that funky, soulful sound. We played everything from classic rock to blues to jazz fusion."

Your lips curve into a smile as you imagine Marcus on stage, lost in the rhythm of the music, fingers plucking at strings. You glance at them around his glass, thick and you lick your lips. 

"That sounds amazing," you remark, your voice filled with admiration. "I would love to hear you play sometime."

Marcus’s smile widens at your enthusiasm, his heart warmed by your genuine interest. "I'd like that," he says softly, his gaze locked with yours. "Maybe one day I'll dust off my old bass guitar and serenade you with some funky tunes."

“You don't play much anymore?”

“Disbanded. Work became all encompassing and we scattered. We stay in touch though. They’re a good bunch of guys.”

As the conversation and flirtatious looks flows between you both, Marcus leans in again, his eyes soft with genuine interest.

"So, tell me something about yourself that I don't know yet," he prompts, a warm smile playing on his lips.

His question hangs in the air, lingering between you like a taut thread of anticipation. Pulling tight, tight, tighter - until it snaps!

For a moment, you hesitate, your mind racing as you grapple with the weight of Marcus's innocent inquiry.

You search for something to share, something that will offer him a glimpse into your world without revealing the vulnerable truth you keep hidden beneath your wigs.

But try as you might, you find yourself at a loss for words, because he already knows everything. He knows where you grew up, how you got that little scar on your knee, who your first crush was...

He knows, he has to know right? It’s obvious. Has to be. The fact your hair is so different every time you see him is apparent that you wear wigs. He can’t be that naive or oblivious. 

The weight of your secret bears down on you like a heavy burden, suffocating your ability to speak and leaving you feeling exposed and prickly. You look at him, eyes soft and lips smiling in playful anticipation of your secret you’ll reveal.

He knows everything about you. Everything. Except this one, tiny, completely significant detail you’ve deliberately left out. 

As the silence stretches between you, Marcus reaches out to gently touch your hand, sending a jolt of warmth through your body. 

"Hey,” the velvety feel of his thumb stroking over your knuckles makes you somewhat dizzy. “You don't have to share anything you're not comfortable with," he reassures you, his voice soft and grounding.

You contemplate ending it right here, before Marcus has the chance to discover it all.

Your mind flits between making up some white lie or excusing yourself to the bathroom and walking out, disappearing from his life without a trace. It would be easier that way, wouldn't it? Easier than facing the inevitable truth.

But as you look into Marcus's eyes, filled with warmth and kindness, you know that you can't bring yourself to hurt him like that. Despite your fears and insecurities, you can't bear the thought of losing him - not when he's become such an integral part of your life, not when you’ve come to care for him so deeply.

Your gaze falters for a moment, your mind racing as you debate whether to reveal it. It could change everything - you suspect it might. It has before, countless times before. A repetitive déjà vu you're doomed to live through on endless repeat.

You don’t want to tarnish Marcus with the same brush, it’s unfair. But you’ve walked this path before and it’s hard not to expect disappointment. People are such fickle creatures after all.  

But the way he’s looking at you now, with deep brown eyes that reflect the candlelight, he softens your edges, makes the outline of your sight fuzzy and full of bokeh sparkles.

A flicker of uncertainty crosses over your features before you finally brave yourself to speak.

"Well, there's something I haven't really talked about before," you began slowly, your voice just above a trembled whisper.

And now you’ve started it’s unnerving to know how to finish. 

“Do you wanna leave, go somewhere private and talk?” He asks, sensing your hesitancy. 

“No, no, here is okay. Besides, if I don’t just come out and tell you now, I probably… won’t.”

“Okay.” Marcus says, his smile dipping a little. “Take your time. You can tell me anything, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He squeezes your hand inside his to emphasise the point. And you instantly feel wretched for assuming that he would once he knows.

He’s done nothing but make you feel at ease since the moment you met. Make you feel awash with vibrancy. He sees all your colours, every single one and doesn't try to grey them out or tone them down. He really likes you for… you.

That’s all you’ve ever wanted, right?

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage as you meet Marcus's curious gaze. 

"It's just... I-I have a condition called alopecia," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's why my hair looks different all the time. I wear wigs."

You pick up your wine glass, quickly downing the contents in two large gulps as your heart thuds inside your ears. 

Marcus nods, the smile instantly returning. “Yeah, I knew that.”

You baulk. “Wait, you did?” 

“Well, I mean, I didn’t know for sure that it was alopecia, but I suspected it was probably something like that.”

“Your detective skills precede you, Agent.”

He smiles. “No, I just pay attention to things I really like looking at.” 

You smile back, any panic instantly falling from your shoulders.

“I didn’t want to pry. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I didn’t know for sure so didn’t want to assume. I've always admired your style. Especially your hair. It's so versatile - one day it's short and spunky, the next it's long and glamorous. I wish I had your knack for switching up my look."

“You look pretty fine to me, Marcus.” You say with a smile and his cheeks glow again. 

“Either way, I kinda love all those different looks on you.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah. They’re amazing and really compliment your personality,” he says and you feel warm at his admission. 

Throughout your dates, your hair has been a delightful kaleidoscope of colours and styles, each wig a reflection of your vibrant personality and adventurous spirit.

On your first meeting at the art gallery, your hair was cascaded in loose curls of rich chestnut in soft waves that caught his eye as you moved. The subtle highlights danced in the gallery's dim lighting, accentuating your features and drawing Marcus's gaze like a moth to a flame.

On a spontaneous night outing to a live jazz club, you surprised Marcus with a playful pixie cut of platinum blonde, the short strands framing your face in a halo of light.

With each nod of your head to the rhythm of the music, your hair caught the stage lights and sparkled like a constellation in the night sky, mesmerising Marcus with its silvery glimmer.

As your dates blossomed in frequency, you continued to delight and surprise Marcus with your ever-changing hairstyles. From long, flowing locks of fiery red to bold, statement-making curls of electric blue, and shorter edgy styles, each wig you wear is a testament to your creativity and bright confidence, and Marcus finds himself falling more deeply for you with each passing day. 

And he never queries why, just admiring and complimenting, and accepting that this is who you are. 

“Do you mind talking about it?” Marcus asks. 

“Not at all. I mean, not many people want to, I guess.”

“Really?”

“Compassion and understanding is often hard to compete with judgemental stares and whispering, you know?”

Marcus frowns. “I’m sorry you’ve had to go through that. That must have been hard.” He says sincerely. 

“The wigs help. Most people assume it’s a fashion choice.” You explain.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

He looks at you deeply. “Is it all over or just… your head?”

You breathe in. “Mostly my head. But for a while, I lost my eyelashes. I have hair… uh, elsewhere. But it tends to be really patchy so I keep it… trim.” You say, swallowing dryly as Marcus blushes. 

“I’m uh… I’m sure it’s all perfect.” He surmises.  

You smile. “My hair sometimes grows patchy on my head too, but it’s never long enough to grow out into full hair, if that makes sense? So I just shave it off. It’s easier.” 

Marcus nods, listening intently. “What's your favourite wig that you have?” 

You think about it for a moment. “The one I was wearing the day I met you.” 

He blushes. “Yeah. I really like that one too.” 

“Maybe I should wear it more often.” Tears well up in your eyes as you look at Marcus, overwhelmed by his kindness and sincerity. 

“Hey,” he says, taking your hand again. 

"I was so afraid that you’d be repulsed by me," you admit, your voice trembling.

“Why would you think that? I think you're absolutely beautiful. I’ve always thought so.”

“Oh, Marcus.” You sniffle, reaching for your napkin to dab your eyes before your mascara runs. 

“I mean it.” He squeezes your hand again, wrapping his fingers around your own, his eyes filled with compassion. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me," he says softly, his voice filled with warmth. "But it doesn't change how I feel about you. You're still the same amazing person I've come to care about. I really care about you."

You look at him, his hand emanating so much warmth around yours. “Yeah?”

He nods, smiling. “Can I tell you another secret?”

“Sure.”

“I’m really falling for you, actually. Head over heels, completely and utterly.” He admits. 

In that moment, the world seems to stand still as you process Marcus's heartfelt confession. A surge of warmth floods your chest, chasing away the lingering doubts and fears that have plagued you for so long.

"Marcus, I..." you begin, your voice choked with emotion. "I'm falling for you, too."

The smile that spreads across his face could outshine the sun. 

With a soft exhale, Marcus leans in closer, his voice a tender whisper that sends shivers down your spine.

Marcus’s gaze locks with yours in a silent plea. "Would you... would you like to come back to my place after we finish up here?"

Your breath catches in your throat at Marcus's suggestion, your mind awash with a whirlwind of emotions and desires. The thought of being alone with him, of exploring the depths of your connection in the privacy of his home, sends a thrill coursing through your veins.

You can imagine him peeling you out of your dress, running his hands all over your skin. Asking you to stay with hot breath snaking in your ear because he wants to make love to you all night long. Wants to watch you buck and moan for him.

You’ve thought about it a lot at night, seeking satisfaction with your fingers and vibrator as your mind conjures up all the ways he can leave you satisfied. And you’d say yes, wanting nothing more than to let him fill you full of him, and then you’d have to take your wig off to sleep in his arms and-

“Oh.” Your thighs squeeze themselves together relieving some of that delicious anticipation, despite your mind penduluming between abject want and that familiar fear. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t have any wild expectations. Just some more wine and maybe a movie? Some cuddles on the couch?” Marcus tempts. 

With a slow nod, you meet Marcus's soft gaze with unwavering determination. You can’t abnegate yourself. Especially when it’s apparent he still wants to spend time with you, despite now knowing entirely everything about you.

"Yes," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'd really like that."

“Me too.” He smiles at you with a soft beam. 

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine." 

You smile as Marcus talks along with the film Casablanca rolling across his flat TV screen. Changing his accent to match Humphrey Bogart’s, which makes you giggle, because it sounds nothing like it at all. Then he laughs with you, his chuckles sounding like wind chimes. 

Wrapped in a cosy blanket, you nestle closer to Marcus, your head resting against his chest as you lose yourselves in the timeless tale unfolding onscreen. 

Marcus drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer with a gentle warmth that envelopes you in a sense of security and belonging.

Close up, Marcus exudes an aura of warmth and masculinity that’s impossible to ignore with each breath you inhale pressed against his broad chest. He’s dressed more casually now, exchanging his suit pants for casual grey sweats and his crips shirt for a looser round neck.

His scent mingles with the natural musk of his skin, creating a tantalising combination that stirs something primal within. You get whiffs of citrusy bergamot and zesty orange, base notes that are complimented by hints of spicy cinnamon and clove each time you breathe in.

You can smell the fruity tones of the cabernet on the soft warmth of his breath, cascading down your forehead onto your nose. 

As you watch the movie together, your soft breathing mingled with the crackle of the fireplace fills the room with a sense of warmth and intimacy, something you’ve always craved with a partner. To just feel close and wanted.

Marcus will occasionally steal glances down at you, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of you relaxed and at ease in his arms.

“This feels so good.” You murmur into his shoulder. 

“Yeah, it really does.” He agrees. 

“Oh sorry, I was talking to Rick Blaine.” You giggle, his hand lowering and pinching your hip playfully. 

“Oh really?” Marcus teases. “Shall I leave you and Rick to it then?”

You giggle some more and he pulls you in closer. 

“He is really handsome, I’ll give you that. Maybe I’ll stay and watch.” He remarks. 

“Kinky,” you smirk. 

His chest heaves from another chuckle. 

“He’s not as handsome as you, though.” You chirp, looking at him.

As you trace the lines of his face with your gaze - the strong jawline, the stubble-softened cheeks, the gentle slope of his nose - you marvel at the beauty of the man before you.

He’s a masterpiece in every sense of the word - a work of art crafted with care and precision, a reflection of the love and light that dwells within his gentle soul.

“Oh yeah?”

You nod looking up at him. “Yeah. Sexy too.”

He grins with twinkly eyes. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Really sexy,” you nod, leaning up to kiss him.

“I think you’re incredibly sexy.” Marcus says as he brushes his lips against yours. “Mmm, God… look at you.” 

His tongue slips into your mouth, tantalising you into a willing submission inside his arms. It’s a kiss filled with tenderness and passion, a silent promise of love and acceptance that transcends words between you.

“It’s late,” you say softly, a dreamy relaxation settling into your bones, limbs warm from the wine and the snuggly blanket draped over you both.

Soft hums, hands that sweep up arms and into the back of his hairline, a nose that crushes against yours as you breathe into one another, you connect on deeper levels. You could kiss him forever.

“Yeah,” he glances over at the clock and it’s nearing midnight. “I’ll call you a cab., sweetheart.”

Looking a little bereft, he goes to move, but your palm on his chest stops him. 

"Marcus, I... I don't want to leave, but-" 

The thought of staying the night with Marcus is both thrilling and terrifying, for it means revealing your most vulnerable self - the woman beneath the carefully crafted facade of your wigs.

But every fibre in your body wants him pressed up close to you like he is now, holding you in his arms, skin on delicious skin. 

You nod. 

“It’s okay. I feel the same way. I'm nervous too."

"You are?"

"Because... you want me. It's felt like no-one really has most of my life. Second best." He says, his smile dipping.

"It's their loss, Marcus. Trust me." You smile.

"I really wanna hold you all night and wake up with you in the morning. Make you pancakes for breakfast.” He smiles again, brushing his nose against yours. “But I also don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He says, his fingers stroking against your cheek. 

“But… when you’re ready, I do have something that might put you at ease.”

“What?”

“One sec.” He pushes off the blanket and disappears out of the room quickly.

You hear the thud of the stairs as he dashes up them and the shake again as he comes back down with something behind his back. 

“Marcus-” You grin waiting for him to reveal it. 

“I want you to know that I think you're beautiful, with or without your wig. And if and when you're ready to take it off, I'll be here for you, every step of the way. It changes nothing for me."

You smile softly at him.

“And I got this, for when you stay. I mean, if you want to. I hope you’ll want to. But I read some things about alopecia and some people said-”

“You read up on it?” You ask, your eyebrows rising.

“Yeah.” He hands it to you and your fingers stroke across a silken cap in a striking, deep sapphire hue. 

“Marcus.”

The simple gesture speaks volumes about his thoughtfulness and care, touching you in a way you hadn't expected.

Tears well up in your eyes as you take the dainty cap from Marcus's outstretched hand, your fingers trembling with gratitude. It’s more than just a gift - it’s a symbol of his acceptance, his willingness to embrace every part of you, including your alopecia.

“I read that you might feel cold, when you sleep?”

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, wiping your eyes. “This is so thoughtful, Marcus.”

You’ve kept your alopecia hidden for so long, fearing rejection and judgement from those you care about. But Marcus's unwavering acceptance and understanding gives you a glimmer of hope - hope that you can be loved for who you truly are, wig or no wig.

"Thank you," you say softly, your voice tinged with emotion. "For being so kind and patient with me. This means so much much to me, more than you could ever know."

You look down at the cap, it’s colour bold and so pretty. Something so small, but means so much. A simple gesture that lets you know it's okay to be vulnerable.

To be yourself. 

Marcus smiles, his eyes sparkling with affection. "You don't have to thank me. I care about you deeply, and I want you to feel comfortable and safe with me, sweetheart."

“I do,” you smile. “I really do.”

With a shaky breath, you make a decision. You know that you can't let fear hold you back any longer. Not when Marcus is right here, imbuing you with strength and desire. 

Slowly, hesitantly, you reach up to remove your wig, unclipping it and revealing the smooth expanse of your scalp beneath.

Marcus's breath catches in his throat as he looks at you, eyes roaming slowly over your head and his heart swelling with admiration for your courage and vulnerability.

"Wow," he says. He reaches out to gently cup your face in his hands, his touch tender and reverent.

He places a soft kiss on the top of your head, lips pressed gently into the smooth, bare skin and it lingers before he pulls you closer - large hands resting gently on your hips as he glides his lips against yours.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity. "Absolutely stunning."

"I'm really not," you whisper.

"You are to me. The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

You feel his hands trail up your back and then disappear, the warmth from them now emanating on your cheeks again, thumbs stroking under your eyes. 

“I think…” You begin with a breathless whisper.

“Yeah?” He breathes into your mouth. 

“I think… I want to stay and for you to take me to bed, Marcus.”

“Are you sure?” He mouths against your cheek.

The subtle graze of his barely-there facial hair makes you hot under your skin. Your fingers clutch tighter around his shoulders, the material from his t-shirt bunching up there.

The little groan from the back of his throat is swallowed up as you breathe it down into your lungs.  

“I’m sure. I want you.” 

“God, I want you too.” He groans. 

You don’t make it to the bedroom, instead straddling his lap right on the sofa as you kiss him with everything you have. 

You help him out of his t-shirt, rolling it up and running your hands over his bronzed skin. Leaning in to trail open mouthed kisses down his chest, he unbuttons your shirt revealing delicate lace cups holding you in and groans audibly. 

And you both laugh when he struggles to unclasp it. 

“Fuck...” Marcus runs his mouth in a slew of delicate kisses over your cleavage, reaching around with nimble, yet trembling fingers to unclasp your bra.

"I think thas's the first time I've heard you curse." You snicker.

"I think the situation calls for it. My God... I can't believe how stunning you are!"

“What is going on back here?” He chuckles, and you help him out, letting your breasts spill into his face.

“God, look at those nipples.” He sighs hungrily. 

“Put them in your mouth.” You husk.

Kissing and licking over your nipples you can feel the clamminess over your back as you sweat. His tongue draws tantalising circles around them and you could just come from that alone. 

"Yes, ma'am." He sucks your nipple into his mouth, warm and wet as he swirls his tongue, giving each the attention they so deserve until they're hard and aching between the gentle pull of his teeth.

"Mmm," you groan in delight.

“Oh God, Marcus…” you whine, fingers tugging in his hair. You inadvertently rock your hips against his thigh, grinding softly on him. And he grunts glancing down at you doing it. 

“That feel good?” Marcus asks as you moan softly, feeling the delicious grind of your clit catching against the fabric of his sweats. 

“Yeah.”

He watches with rapt attention, his hands snaking their way around you and moving the henlm of your dress up round your stomach as you grip onto his shoulders. 

“Mmm, feels so good,” you groan.

“You look so good doing that… fuck.” He whispers, losing his voice. “Use me, that’s it. Like that. Make a mess of me. Come on, baby.” Marcus urges, pressing desperate kisses to your throat.

Winding your hips, you clock the bulge straining in his sweats and palm it, and he hisses between his teeth. He feels big, thick and you groan as the pressure on your clit mounts.

He rocks you harder, faster as you grind and pant, moaning his name softly as you build. Your gasps are more throaty, your body tensing up, and he can feel it under his hands. 

“Come for me, beautiful,” Marcus urges as you ride his thigh to a tingly oblivion.

Warmth spreads down your spine, laced with an aftermath of delicious prickles as your shudder and shake.

A dark patch is left on his grey sweatpants as your slick seeps into them. 

“I wanna take these panties off. God, they're so sexy. Can I?” Marcus husks with dark eyes. 

You nod and shimmy your hips so he can pull them down, laying you back on the couch as he parts your legs.

He licks his lips and groans at the perfectly bare pussy presented to him. 

“Fuck…” 

He strokes his fingers through your sopping folds, sucking on your nipples again as he slides his fingers up your slit, the pad of his finger pressing gently as you card through his hair. 

“M-Marcus,” you whine as he teases your entrance with those thick digits, feeling you clench around just the tip.

He strokes his finger in and out as you lay there, leaving it in so you can work those muscles against it, clenching around him as you groan with desperate need.

He teases, slowly pulling it out and just as slowly pushing it back in again. Withdrawing and then adding another until he pumps them inside your aching cunt. 

His other hand on the cushion beside your head inches closer, his thumb brushing against the smooth curve of your skin above your ear, and running his lips over your bare crown once more before resting his forehead on yours. 

The slick of your pussy being fucked by his fingers echoes around you both. 

“You are so beautiful,” he utters as he kisses you. 

You tug at the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down over his ass to release his cock. Stroking the thickness of it in your palm as he circles your clit with his thumb, two fingers buried deep inside you and rubbing against that spot inside that makes your thighs shake. 

“I need you, Marcus.”

“Mmm, you can have me, sweetheart. Anytime you want…” He croons, running his lips over your collarbone. 

“Oh really?” You smirk. 

“I’m completely yours.” And with the look in his eyes you believe him.

He is yours, yours to keep and love and grow old with if you want him - it's all there, deep in the golden swirls of his irises. A lifetime together; an irrevocable happiness that you’ve been searching for your entire life. 

“Mine.” You repeat, pulling his face up and kissing him. 

He lowers himself down, cock brushing against your folds as you groan. He pulls back to watch, teasing his thick head through those slick lips, watching as he slowly disappears inside them with a wet pop. 

“Oh fuck…” he sweetly blasphemes, teeth griding tight.

He guides himself in, pushing gently with his hips as he crests through your tight hole. You’re so wet, dripping for him, that he slides in with ease. 

You gasp at the thickness of him, the jolt as he runs his thumb over your clit as he slides in, cock filling you and stretching you around him. 

His body is so warm and you can't stop touching him, stroking his skin and planting kisses all over it.

His lips move across your own, inking breaths and dizzy chants into the layers. “Feels so good, feels so good, feels so good…”

“Oh God,” you breathe. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, you feel really good.” It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. Smooth and deep as he fills you up, connects himself to you on a level that transcends the basic intimacy of sex. 

“I know, baby. God, you’re so tight. Ah, shit…” Marcus groans, eyes rolling back. 

“Kiss me,” you plead, your tongue slipping into his mouth as he moves. Hips languidly rotating and thrusting slowly as he bottoms out.  

You cry out when he does, fingers gripping into flesh, hot pants sinking into his pores. 

“Can you feel me, right there?” He gasps, pushing himself as deep into you as he’ll go. 

“Yes… God, yes!” 

He watches as your eyes squeeze shut, how your teeth bite down on your lip as you moan and pant; feels how you clench tighter and more erratically around him the closer you get to your orgasm. 

Your mouth chases his fingers, open and wanting as his thumb brushes down the side of your cheek and over your lips. Gentle, rhythmic strokes become harder and deeper as he’s utterly possessed by you, eyes rolling back and jaw slack as you feel every inch of him.

He squeezes over your ass, thighs, breasts, staring at you, completely captivated. 

“You wanna ride me?” Marcus suggests with a coy smirk and apple flushed cheeks. 

“God yes!” You hum excitedly.

You straddle him again and lower yourself down, his cock packing you out once more. 

“Oh shit, Marcus!”

“Sweetheart-” he groans as you sit all the way down.

“Oh my God, that’s so deep,” you whine, your hands clawing at his chest. 

You start to move, feeling so full and he groans looking up at you. 

“Oh fuck, just like that,” he whines.

He feels incredible, looks stunning with his head thrown back on the couch as his cheeks keep that gorgeous pink hue and his rich cocoa eyes look deeply into you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…” His fingers are felt on the back of your bare head, stroking softly as he kisses you. And it feels incredible to have him touch you so intimately like this. 

You lick into his mouth making him smile and grunt as you ride a bit faster, his cock hitting you so deep with each movement. 

He groans out when he feels you come around him, squeezing his cock tighter and making him work harder through it. Squeezing and contracting as your slick soaks him. 

“God, you’re even more beautiful when you’re coming all over my cock,” he puffs. 

“You’re amazing,” you pant.

“It’s all you, sweetheart. Trust me.” Marcus groans. “Can you take it a little harder?”

“I’ll take it anyway you want to give it to me.” You smile. 

“Oh, baby.” He fucks up into you harder, loud repetitive slaps fill the lounge along with your sweet, caustic whines as you build. “There are so many ways I wanna give to you.”

“Tell me,” you hum. 

He smirks before licking across your nipple, eyes looking up at you the whole time. “From behind… up against the wall… on the kitchen counter.”

“Mmm,” you whine. You reach down to stroke your clit, gasping as your fingers swirl around in the immense wetness down there. 

“Mmm, fuck.” He groans watching you do it as he continues to push up into you. “Yeah. Stroke that gorgeous clit for me,” he grunts. 

“How else do you want me?” You pant.

You can feel it, rising in your chest, glittering behind your eyes. The building as your peak finds you amongst the heady bliss. 

“In the back of my car… handcuffed to my bed railing and unable to escape while I taste you for hours…” 

“Fuck!” Your legs start to shake once more, your back arching and your breasts pushed further towards his face. You lean back, gripping onto his thighs, hips bouncing as you chase that feeling so gluttonously.

“Look at me, let me see you come again, beautiful.”

It’s almost unbearable, the way he looks at you, his eyes filled with so much adoration that it threatens to spill out of your own.

He gasps, panting with you, enthralled and enraptured as you come undone completely around him, and he swears he's never seen anything more stunning in his life.

He absorbs that moment wholly, when the euphoria takes over your face, as your raspy yells of his name fall into silk whispers around his face. How you continue to bounce with fervour on his cock long after the shakes have dissipated from your bones. 

“That’s it, that’s it… Oh God!” Marcus whispers, mouth curving into an astonished arc as that dimple reveals itself again. “You’re gonna make me come, sweetheart.”

“I want you to.” You whisper. "Come for me, Marcus."

“Can I come inside you?”

You nod as you press your mouth to his, swallowing his tongue as his grip tightens around you.

He slows right down, sliding up into you with deep, purposeful strokes and you feel him twitch before he groans out, long and low as he comes. 

Marcus pulls out, watching the pearly white fluid drip out of you, gathering it on his pulsing head and slips it back inside you. 

You both mewl together as he does it, his face falling into your chest and sighing out. 

“Wow…”

“Yeah.” You agree breathlessly. 

“Stunning,” Marcus whispers as he runs his nose up your cheek and plants another kiss against your smooth crown. “I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

You smile, eyelashes fluttering against his jaw as you wrap him tightly in your arms, never wanting to let him go.

You know that right here, in this moment and held in the safety of his arms, you’ve found something truly special. 

“You still wanna stay?” He asks you. 

You nod, smiling with a satiated beam. “If you’ll have me?”

“I’ll always have you. And I’ll always want you.” Marcus says.

The cap feels so soft and silken against your skin as you nestle down into the soft pillows, and watch Marcus come back in from the bathroom.

Gloriously naked and crawling up the bed, he trails kisses up your legs, stomach and neck until he reaches your lips. 

“Looks really good on you,” he compliments and you smile. 

“Thank you again,” you say, pulling him close. 

“Anything for you. I can’t wait to wake up with you in the morning,” he yawns, a lone finger trailing the rim of your cap and down your cheek. 

“Flaking out on me already, Agent?” You smirk as you wrap your legs around his hips. 

“Mmm, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” Marcus grins, nuzzling into your neck and sucking it gently into his mouth.

He relaxes against you as you stroke patterns over his broad back. 

This feels good. Really good. A feeling you definitely want to get used to as you take in the feel of him crushed on top of you, arms holding you close, his hair tickling the bottom of your jaw.

This right here, is all you’ve ever wanted. And Marcus is willing to give it all to you. You feel like you've hit the jackpot and can’t stop grinning. 

“Marcus?” You whisper.

“Mmm?” He sighs softly. 

“Thank you for accepting the real me.” 

The gentle snuffles of his light snores soon fill the room and you beam, reaching up to stroke over the silk of the cap, smiling at how you’ve found such a caring and thoughtful man who thinks you’re incredibly beautiful.

And as you drift off to sleep, you're convinced you hear him whisper to you:"I love the real you..."

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Marcus, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

MARCUS PIKE MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal characters #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #bodies series #real bodies #diversity #inclusivity #every body is beautiful #jett's writing

[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

[jksprincess10]

Keep it || Marcus Pike x reader

A/N: This is just a smutty Marcus Pike drabble that I had to get out of my mind. This is my first time writing for him, I hope it's adequate.

Summary: Your husband wants to shave his beard. You convince him to keep it. (700 words)

CW: minimal editing, body worship, cock worship, blowjob, come eating, pet names, lots of compliments, praise kink, age kink (reader is into older looking men), no y/n.

Gif by @perotovar

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Marcus stood in front of the bathroom mirror; a white towel tied precariously around his waist. You walked silently until you found yourself behind him. You saw the blade in his hand, so close to the skin of his jaw, before you stopped him by grasping his wrist. Your husband looked at you through the mirror’s reflection, puzzled.

“Keep it, I like it.”

Busy with a case, agent Pike had forgotten to shave his face in the last few days. Brown hair grew sparsely on his chin, his cheeks and under his nose.

“Do you?” A shy smile tugged at his lips, and he left the razor behind, abandoned on the marble counter. He turned around and pulled you closer to him, his arms around your waist. You wore one of his old t-shirts – because it smelled like him and you could never enough, and a tiny pair of panties that made him crazy.

“Yes. It makes you look…. Older.”

“Is that a good thing?” He tried to look offended but failed.

“Yes.” You pulled on his cheeks and kissed him softly, a tease of a peck. “Keep it. Please.” You insisted with the sweetest eyes you could muster.

“Anything for my beautiful wife.”

Before he could even react, you untied his towel and let it fall to the floor, leaving him bare.

“And for the most beautiful man. What does he wish for in return, hm?”

Marcus’s lips fell open, but no sound came out. His brown eyes were glassy with tiredness, but his eyelids were heavy with lust.

“Show me.” You whispered, before licking into his open mouth playfully. He bit down on your bottom lip with a playful groan, before pushing on your shoulders, bringing you to your knees in front of his member that slowly got hard, its interest peaked. Your knees rested on his white towel.

“This okay?” Marcus asked softly.

“Of course.” You started by kissing his strong thighs. “I want to worship you, Marcus Pike.” A noise akin to a curse left the barrier of his lips, as his hand held the back of your head. You kitten-licked the tip of his cock, your eyes watching his face attentively for any sign of pleasure, and you were rewarded instantly. Satisfied, you took him between your lips slowly, taking the time to let him feel all your mouth. One of his hands grasped the counter behind himself so he wouldn’t fall.

When your noise was almost buried in the hair at the base, you stopped, swallowing around him.

“Good girl.” He praised you in a pained whisper, a hand still caressing the back of your head. You lived for his praise, so you started moving your lips slowly, your tongue tasting all of him, until only his tip rested on your tongue. You looked up at your disheveled husband with amused eyes, mouth opened lewdly.

“The most beautiful man. With the most beautiful cock.” You wrapped a hand around the base, feeling his heavy balls that were only asking to be emptied, before slipping your palm up and down his erection.

His eyes closed momentarily, and he let out a soft whimper. Marcus Pike, perfect FBI agent, was trying to keep his composure.

“Can you go faster for me, please?” He was always so gentle. So polite. Even when you were on your knees for him.  

���Since you asked so nicely.” You wrapped your lips around the tip as you moved the base faster, hollowing your cheeks so he would feel all of it.

“That’s - fuck, that’s it. Keep going, baby.” And you did, as your free hand squeezed his balls lightly, feeling how fucking full they were. “I’m gonna – fuck, where do you want me?”

You let go of him with your hand and took him deeper into your mouth as an answer, until you felt the salty and familiar liquid in the back of your throat. You swallowed everything and got up with his help. One of his hands wrapped around your head, he brought you closer to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue. As you were separating your body from his, he stopped you.

“I’m not done with you. I want you to wet that beard you so badly want me to keep.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x yn #marcus pike x y/n #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #the mentalist #marcus pike the mentalist

[absurdthirst]

Cellblock Tango {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 20.6k

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, hangovers, drunk tank, flirting, mismatched power dynamics, jail cell sex, rough sex, fingering, hand cuffs, derogatory language, role play, unprotected sex, miscommunication, Dad Marcus deserves his own warning, father/son bonding, there was only one hotel room, break ups, angst, confessions, oral sex (female receiving), love making, mentions of future children.

Comments: One little interlude leads to a surprising discovery eleven years later, Marcus Pike has a son. You are the woman he fucked in a jail cell when he was a cop and now, you're the mother of his child.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

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“Pike.” Marcus answers his phone as he tries to finish this report and he half listens until he hears the words “art stolen” and then he’s listening to the call and he nods, stopping typing. “I’ll be right there.” He promises and hangs up, grabbing his jacket. 

He is quick to drive over to the gallery and he flashes his badge when the police ask who he is. He ducks under the tape and makes his way into the gallery where glass is shattered on the floor and several employees are clearly shaken. “Hi, I’m Marcus Pike, FBI.” He introduces himself, “who’s the curator?” He asks and you step forward.

“It’s nice to see you again, Agent Pike.” You smile and Marcus frowns, trying to place your face until it hits him.

 **Eleven Years Ago** 

“Let me outtt.” You whine, slapping the bars of the cell you’re in, your head aching and you look at the officer on duty sitting at his desk. 

“You can’t come out until you sober up.” He says and you squint as you look at his badge. 

“I’m sober…ish.” You bite your lip and he shakes his head, “drunk and disorderly behavior…not great for your record.” He says and you scoff, “I’m a senior in college. Art history. I am graduating this weekend. I- I just wanted to celebrate.” You whine, resting your head on the cool bars and you aren’t sure how long you’ve been in this cell.

Marcus shakes his head and has to admit that you look cute for a criminal. You won’t be charged, you aren’t even booked in right now, taking mercy on you, although he hopes that you understand that you need to curb bad habits before it does get you into trouble. “You’ll be there until you can tell me your telephone number backwards.” He tells you with a grin, looking up from his paperwork. Marcus is known as a by-the-book cop and even though he’s still green, he’s going places. His application to the FBI should be accepted any day and he wants to make an impact on the world and community. 

You whine, slumping down on the bench in the cell and soon enough, you’re falling asleep. You wake up a couple of hours later with a headache and Marcus hands you a cup of water and some aspirin. “Here.” He says and you open the bottle, taking a couple and downing the water. He refills it for you and you sigh, feeling sober and worse for wear. 

“Got any good hangover tips?” You ask the cop who chuckles and you finally notice how handsome he is. His brown eyes are tired looking as he nears the end of his shift and you tilt your head against the wall.

“Nothing that would be appropriate for a jail cell.” He jokes, happy that you seem to be sober now. You had been a little rough there for awhile and it seems like though you have a hangover, you’ve learned your lesson.

“I guess pancakes and bacon is a no go in a cell.” You chuckle and look over as Marcus stands up. “You got any mints?” You ask and Marcus nods, reaching into his desk drawer and he hands you the box of altoids. You chew a few and sigh, “thanks.” Handing him back the tin, your fingers brush and you notice again how handsome he is. “I bet you’re ready to head home to your partner after dealing with drunk me tonight?” You ask with a smirk, knowing you were a handful.

Marcus snorts and shakes his head. “No partner.” He admits, shrugging sadly. “Ex-wife didn’t want to be a LEO wife.” It had stung but he understood it. He would rather end it amicably than turn nasty after kids. “And you were pretty cute drunk.” He admits with a grin.

You giggle, loving how kind he’s been despite being locked up. “At least I have that going for me.” You wink at him and he leans against the bars. “Your ex wife is an idiot to have let you go. You’re handsome and funny and you have a good job.” You flirt, leaning towards the bars. “I’d wait for you allll night baby.”

“Yeah?” Marcus smirks, enjoying the banter even though you’re probably just trying to get out of being charged. He had no intention of charging you, but it’s a harmless little indulgence. “I think you’re just hoping I’d use my handcuffs on you.”

“Ooo don’t tempt me with a good time, officer.” You wink, “I like a man who knows how to take control.” You reveal with a smirk and you playfully hold your hands up. “Arrest me again, officer.” 

He chuckles and your stomach twists, “for what crimes?” He teases and you grin, “for lusting after a man in uniform.”

There is nothing that Marcus finds sexier than a confident woman and you are not simply flirting with him because you are behind bars. Or if you are, it’s because you find it sexy. The spark of desire in your eyes makes him bolder, pushing off the edge of his desk to come and prop against the bars with a smirk on his face. “Yeah?” He asks, lifting a brow. “What would you do then? Fight me?” He asks. “Or what would you let me do? Right there in the cell?” He’s dangerously close to inappropriate behavior but he doesn’t think that you mind it. 

You look up at him from under your lashes, wrists still outstretched when you say “anything you want.” You promise and he inhales sharply, “I wouldn’t fight you. I’d fuck you. I’ve been a bad girl, officer, and I need some punishment.” You pout playfully and lower your hands, lifting your dress a little higher to expose your panties.

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus’ eyes widen in surprise. “Are you serious?” He asks, looking around and then back at you. “You really want that?”

You nod, feeling bold at the look in his eyes and you reach through the bars to play with his badge. “Officer Pike. Do you want to fuck me?” You ask, licking your lips.

“Yes, I do.” His cock twitches and starts to harden in his uniform and he reaches for the cell keys. “Are you sure?” He asks. “You can say no at any time.” He reassures you. “I- don’t want you to feel like this is to get out of being charged. You’re being released no matter what.”

You nod in understanding, watching him open the door, and you watch him stride in. “I know. I - I don’t usually do this but you’re - you’re so sexy. I want you.” You confess. You’ve been sensible your entire life. Focusing on getting your degree, you didn’t even go out for drinks most weekends and tonight, you want to celebrate. The officer steps closer to you and you reach out to take his hands, bringing them to your waist.

“Shit. I don’t either.” Marcus confesses, squeezing your waist and then he is whipping one hand behind his back as he twists you around. “Hands behind your back.” He growls, a thread of authority in his voice. “I’m going to cuff you.”

You gasp when you feel the cold metal encircle your wrists and your cunt clenches at the way he manhandles you. “I’m sorry, officer. I didn’t mean to be bad.” You play along, arching your back so you can grind against him and you’re pleased to feel how hard he is.

“Should have thought about that before you broke the law.” He grunts, twitching against your ass. “Gonna have to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” He never thought he would be a man who enjoyed roleplay, but he is very eager to see how you react.

He bends you over the bench in the cell and tugs your dress up over your hips, making you whimper and your nails dig into your palms. “I’m sorry, officer.” You gasp when his hand comes down on your ass after he sits down beside you, one hand gripping your cuffed wrists, the other slapping your ass hard enough to make you cry out in both pleasure and pain.

It’s a good damn thing that there’s no one else in the entire building at this hour. You are loud and he loves it. “Fuck. You like this, don’t you? You little slut.” He stops and strokes your ass gently. “Was that okay?” He asks, realizing you could take offense and wanting to check in.

You love that he’s asking you if it’s okay, breaking the roleplay, and you know he’s so sweet but also so dirty to be doing this. “It’s perfect. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something.” You promise and he nods, rubbing your ass before he brings his hand down again. “I love it.” You moan, “I love it, officer.”

Marcus groans and he slaps your ass again before he slides his hand down your hip and drags your panties down. “Let’s see how much you love it.” He growls, his fingers seeking your cunt and loving how wet he finds you.

You moan loud when he finds your cunt, sliding his fingers through your folds until he is rubbing your clit. “Oh shit.” You pant, arms starting to ache but you don’t care. You want this, you want him. It’s cleared your head and you know you are no longer drunk on booze but rather drunk on his touch. “Yes. Yes. Fuck, that’s - I need more.” You beg greedily.

Marcus pulls his fingers away and he lets go of your arms so you collapse onto the bunk. Unzipping his uniform pants and pulling his cock out, he spits in his hand and pumps himself. “I’m clean.” He promises you. “Are you…on birth control?”

You nod, “I’m clean and on the pill.” You promise and he shifts to kneel on the bunk, straddling your thighs as he pumps his cock a couple of times. “Jesus.” He hisses as he lines up and starts to push inside of you. You whine and clench your fists, enjoying the stretch of him.

You’re so fucking tight he feels like he’s going to bust. Granted, it’s been awhile for him, but he’s clenching his jaw and enjoying the way you squeeze him. “Goddamn.” He grunts when his hips are flush against your ass.

You can’t open your eyes, mouth open in a silent cry as he stretches you and you are certain you are dreaming, this has to be a wet dream. When he starts to move, you moan out and try to spread your legs a little wider but he keeps you pinned down. “Fuck baby. Yes!” You finally cry out when his hips press against your ass with each thrust.

It’s probably the roughest, kinkiest sex Marcus has had in forever and he’s into it. Holding onto your cuffed wrists, he covers you, driving into you with increasingly rougher thrusts. “Think you can spread your legs and get out of trouble?” He growls in your ear. “Your tight little cunt your get out of jail free card?” He demands. “Whoring yourself out? I should book you, keep you here to fuck.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head, his words making you gush around him and he sets a harsh pace, “do it. Keep me - I - fuck. If you fuck me like this every day, I’m yours.” You moan, enjoying the way he pushes deep and his deep voice. It makes you shiver under him.

Marcus hisses when you clench around him and the keys on his belt around his hips jangle as he fucks into you. It’s a damn good thing he’s going home after this because you are soaking the front of his uniform. “You are mine.” He huffs, biting his lip and watching as his cock plows into your cunt. “Fuck, this is so hot.”

You moan your agreement, your voice echoing in the empty cell and his keys jangle a little faster as your nails dig into your palms. “Fuckkk. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me cum.” You whimper at the way he angles your hips and you cry out as you cum, clamping down on his cock.

Marcus moans, fucking you harder as you soak him with your cum. Desperate and unmeasured thrusts as he starts to feel his own orgasm building. “Shit- shit,” he whines. “So tight, you’re so fucking tight, baby.” He let’s go of your wrists to hold onto your hips and changes the angle to fuck down into you for the last half dozen thrusts before he’s grinding deep and painting your walls with his seed.

You pant, loving how he feels when he cums inside of you, and you close your eyes, savoring the feel of him inside of you. “Fuck that’s good, officer. Oh God.” You wish you could reach back and touch him. “That was so good.” You sigh and he hums in agreement as his forehead rests on your back. “Are you going to - are you going to let me go?” You ask playfully, eyes still closed as you smile.

"I shouldn't." Marcus plays along, his hand running soothingly up your spine as he catches his breath. He kisses your back and then sits up. "But I think I have to, with something this good." He chuckles, pulling out of you gently and admiring the way your cunt spasms and starts to push his cum out. He tucks himself away and pulls your panties up respectfully before he reaches for his keys. "No regrets?" He asks softly as he uncuffs you.

You let him uncuff you and you sit up, looking at him. “Baby, I couldn’t regret it.” You tell him with a wink, and you cup his cheek. “Thank you. Am I - on a serious note…am I being charged?” You ask timidly and lower your hand from his cheek.

“No.” He smiles, even though he is serious. “I had told you last night you were just being held until you could tell me your phone number backwards.” He chuckles. “You whined it out right before you fell asleep.” He hums. “So I can throw it away, or maybe… I can call you after my work week and maybe take you out on a date? Unless you want to get picked up again for drunken disorderly?” He teases. 

You fluster, nodding at him, “I, uh, I would like to see you again…showered and completely sober. Not that I’m not sober but you know what I mean…not - not recently arrested.” You chuckle and he smiles softly, his brown eyes sweet and soft, albeit tired. “I’d love to go on a date with you.” You promise and he blushes a little, making you grin.

“Well then, I’ll call you.” He promises, reaching up and stroking your cheek gently. “Tonight was fun, but I know you want to get home and shower and I’m about to get off to go home and crash.” He admits. “Make sure to hydrate today, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand when he lowers it from your cheek. “I’ll see you soon, officer.” You wink playfully and he nods at you. You are soon reunited with your things and call a taxi to take you home. You collapse on the bed as soon as you get home and fall asleep, the exhaustion getting to you. You’ll wait for the officer to call and you dream of brown eyes and handcuffs.

**Present Day**

Marcus squeezes your hand and his face flushes hotly, remembering every moment of his time with you. Your name comes off his lips quietly and he wishes that you were meeting under less public circumstances. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.” He segways lamely. “I tried to call you.” He blurts out. “The number you gave me was wrong. And I finally figured out what the real number was about a year later. By then I figured you had forgotten about Officer Pike.” 

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe that you are seeing him right now. You clear your throat, glancing around to his colleagues and yours and you offer him a soft smile, “don’t - it’s okay. I understand. I just figured you changed your mind.” You shrug like it’s no big deal and he frowns but you stop him before he can respond, “do you want me to show you where the piece was that got stolen?”

Marcus snaps back into a more professional mode and nods seriously, reaching into his suit jacket pocket to retrieve a notebook and a pen. He likes to jot down his first impression of the scene while he’s there. “When did you notice the piece was missing?” He’s aware that you gave your statement to the local police but he wants to hear it straight from you. Unable to believe that the drunk tank encounter eleven years ago had turned into his victim on his latest case.

“This morning. I came into work as I always do at 8:40. I walked around to check everything was clean and in place and then of course I saw this piece was missing. I checked the security cameras but it’s been interfered with as it’s all fuzzy. I called the police right away, didn’t touch anything else, and they sent you over.” You tell him as you walk towards the area of the missing artwork, trying to conceal the way your hands shake from seeing him again after all these years.

Marcus nods, jotting down notes and he looks over the scene carefully. “When did the museum close last night? Are there any night shift personnel that clean or maybe a guard?” He wants to make sure that he does everything right and he can’t help but be a little flustered by you. He looks over at you and sees you shaking. “It’s okay.” He shoves the pen and the notebook into one hand and pats your shoulder soothingly. “I know that being robbed is a terrible violation but we are going to do our best to recover your painting.”

“There’s a night guard but he was sick and - he admitted to me he fell asleep for a couple of hours during his shift.” He mistakes your shaking for fear and you play into it, nodding and smiling in appreciation of him helping you with this situation. He’s the last person you ever imagined would be helping you find the art, especially after he never called and you had no way of getting hold of him. “Thank you.” You smile and he continues to assess the crime scene. Forensics comes in and you spend your work day with Marcus and his team working on finding the missing painting.

Marcus is delighted to find that the younger woman he had a brief liaison with has become a smart and capable woman. You are thoroughly knowledgeable about the museum you run and the staff. Even the maintenance schedules are quickly located and accounted for. You seemingly run a tight ship. “Okay. Have there been any visitors who have been unusually interested in the security? Asking questions pointed around the room that the painting was in?” He asks, wondering if there’s another possible angle to this.

You bite your lip, pondering the question before you turn towards Jenny, the new receptionist. “Didn’t you say we had a man come in and he was asking several questions about different pieces and you thought it was weird because he kept looking at the cameras?” You ask and Jenny nods. Marcus asks her to describe him and Jenny tries her best. While Marcus is writing down her description, you admire his profile, the way he’s matured into a handsome man and you remember the way he fucked you.

“If possible, can we see if the camera footage is still available from the days he visited?” A photo of the suspect is worth more than a description, but he hopes that the entire hard drive hasn’t been compromised. He looks up at you. “Do you know how far back the data has been corrupted?”

You nod, “about seven days. It’s spotty in the past 36 hours but it’s solid up until then. I’m not sure if they used some kind of tech to fuzz the cameras but it’s spotty at best.” You explain and look over at Jenny, “can you show office- Agent Pike to the security room?”

Marcus catches the slip up and his cock twitches, but he ignores it. He can’t go there with you. He’s in a relationship. Instead, he smiles and nods, thanking you quietly and following Jenny to the office so he can watch the videos with her to the approximate time the suspect was there.

You watch Marcus leave with Jenny and you check your watch, biting your lip. It’s getting close to four and you glance at your phone, wondering if you should call. No…Marcus will be gone by then. You keep glancing at your watch and finally Marcus appears, notebook in hand just as the door to the gallery opens. “Mom! Mom! Guess what happened? I made the team!” Theo announces as he runs into the gallery and over to you, your mom behind him carrying his backpack.

Halfway between the door to the security office and you, Marcus freezes. His eyes widen and he feels like he’s been kicked in the chest and he swears his heart stops. The boy, he’s guessing around ten years old, looks like he could be a copy of Marcus when he was a boy. Skin tone is different and there are small features that are a unique blend of your features, but he looks like him. There is absolutely no way that this child, this boy, isn’t his. His mouth drops open and he nearly chokes on his own breath.

You ignore Marcus, avoiding his eyes as you look down at your son. “Really? That’s amazing, baby.” You hug him, kissing his hair. He’d been so excited to try out for the baseball team and now he’s on it. You know it’s gonna be a lot of work to take him to practices and games but you don’t care, you want him to be happy. Your mom looks over at Marcus and back at you, her eyes wide. She sees the resemblance immediately and you told her about Marcus when you found out you were pregnant.

He can’t move, trying to process what the hell possibly happened and he’s immediately flooded with intense guilt. He had gotten you pregnant. He had gotten you pregnant and he didn’t call you. You didn’t have any way to get into contact with him and you had been a single mother for ten years. He knew you weren’t married, or at least he thought you weren’t. There’s not a ring on your finger, but you might have a boyfriend. He watches the boy, his son, closely. Absorbing every detail of his mannerisms and excitement as he talks about his obvious passion - baseball. The same sport Marcus had played in school. 

You glance at Marcus finally, seeing his eyes, and you know he has figured it out. You swallow harshly and look at your mom who has questioning eyes. “Can you take Theo for a snack, mama?” You ask your mom who nods. 

“You wanna go to the place on the corner for a snack, honey?” She asks Theo who nods, “can we, mom?” He asks and you smile, ruffling his hair, “of course.” Your mom takes him outside and you inhale deeply, turning to face Marcus. “We need to talk.” You tell him, “you wanna come sit in my office?”

He nods, not even able to put anything into words and follows you to the back. Your office is across from the security office and is neat. It’s obviously filled with personal touches. There’s a picture that is obviously from last Christmas of the two of you. Theo beaming as he holds a new baseball glove and bat. “I- does he- what’s his name?” He asks, once the door is closed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

You can see he’s struggling but you’re hurt too. He didn’t call and when you found out you were pregnant, you were newly graduated and alone. Your mom helped, letting you move in with her and it’s been hard to get your career where you dreamed it would be all those years ago. “His name is Theo Lucas. He has my last name…obviously. It’s - you didn’t call and I thought that you - that you just asked me out to save face for a quickie in a jail cell.” You cross your arms and turn towards the closed door, “he’s - he’s the best thing that ever happened to me so I guess I should thank you for that night.”

“I want to meet him. Officially.” Marcus clarifies. “I didn’t know that he was - that you were pregnant. If I had I would have helped you, supported you, been there for both of you. “Please?” 

You bite your lip, watching him with hesitation. What’s to say he won’t just take off again after Theo has gotten attached. You’re not sure if it’s sensible or really the actual reason why but the words “of course” escape your mouth before you can think about his. His answering soft smile makes your heart ache a little and you clear your throat. “I’ll give you my cell phone, proper numbers this time as we can talk.”

Marcus chuckles and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his badge folder. Pulling a card with his information on it and handing it to you. “This way the ball is in your court.” He offers. “Theo likes baseball?” He asks. “I used to play in high school and college when I wasn’t playing with my band.” He tells you. “Maybe I can practice with him or take him to a game? I planned on seeing the Rangers play this weekend.”

You bite your lip, looking down at his card. “I bet he’d love that.” You smile at Marcus and are terrified but excited for your son to meet his father finally. You’ve imagined it so many times and he has asked about his dad. You tried to explain it as simply as you can to a young child and you told him you and his dad had a brief relationship. It sounded better than what the reality is. “It’s good to see you again, Marcus.” You say just as his phone rings.

“Shit.” He jolts and reaches for his phone, glancing down at it and then giving you an apologetic look. “Hey.” He answers, a smile on his face when he speaks. “Are you finishing up for the day?” He asks, “I’m still working on a case.” Listening for a few moments he hums. “I’ll meet you there, okay. Sounds good. Bye.”

You see the look on his face and you know it’s his romantic partner. The look in his eyes is soft and sweet and it makes your heart twist even though he’s not yours, he never was. You just had one night. You wait for him to finish and he smiles at you after he shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry about that.” He says and you shake your head, “it’s fine.” He clears his throat, “so I’ll see you soon. For the case and for Theo. I will wait for your call.” He promises and you nod, twisting the card in your hand. 

“I’ll see you soon, Marcus.” You promise and he gathers his things, bidding you goodbye and you sit down at your desk and close your eyes, hating how your heart twists at seeing him again.

Marcus makes his way out of the museum and when he gets into the car, he just sits for a moment. Absorbing the life changing information that he is a father. He wants to jump in and help and support you in any and every way he can. Feeling guilty for not knowing about Theo sooner. He knows he has to tell Teresa as soon as possible. Tonight at dinner. She will understand.

****

“You met my dad?” Theo asks when you discuss it at dinner. 

“Yes baby. He’s - he - we lost touch and now he’s back. I got his number. He wants to meet you. He loves baseball too and said about taking you to a game. I- I know it’s a lot to take in but he wants to get to know you.” You tell Theo who frowns, looking down at his plate. 

“Why now?” Theo asks and you clear your throat, “I told you…we lost touch.” You explain and Theo shakes his head, “he didn’t want me?” He asks and you reach for his hand. 

“No. No. Not that. It’s complicated. Adult stuff you won’t understand.” You try again but Theo is pushing his chair back and rushing to his room, “you didn’t want me to know him!” He yells and slams the door, making you close your eyes and rub your head.

****

“I have something I need to tell you.” Marcus gazes at Teresa nervously over the votive in the middle of the romantic table at their favorite restaurant. He’s already had two glasses of wine because he’s excited and nervous. Reaching out, he takes her hand. “Eleven years ago, I had a….fling.” He isn’t going to give all the specifics, but Teresa deserves to know. “It was right before the FBI academy and somehow, the phone number I was given was bad, so it didn’t go beyond the one encounter.” 

Teresa tilts her head and laughs. “Marcus, I don’t need to know about every person you slept with. We both have a history.” She assures him. 

Marcus shakes his head. “No, I ran into her today. And….” He takes a deep breath. “I have a son. He’s just like me. I saw him and I-“ he shrugs. “I’m going to get to know him, become a part of his life.”

Teresa stares at Marcus in shock, looking down at their hands, and she swallows harshly. “How - you - um, that’s - wow.” She finishes lamely, still in shock. “That’s great, Marcus. Truly. That’s - I can’t wait to meet him.” She says, a little through her teeth but Marcus doesn’t notice as he beams, squeezing her hand. 

****

You call Marcus the next day due to Theo constantly asking you when he’s going to meet his dad. “Are you free this evening?” You ask and Marcus holds the phone in his hand, “of course. I’m free.” 

You smile, “great. You want to come over for dinner? Theo is excited to meet you. I told him we had a fling and tried to explain it as much as I could without getting into details.”

Marcus hums in agreement, “he doesn’t need to know the details, I don’t think a child would understand that yet.” He will follow your lead on Theo since you have been the one raising him. “Does he have a particular favorite baseball team?” Marcus asks. “I don’t want to come empty handed the first time I meet my son.”

You smile against the phone at how sweet he is. You remember that from that night, how funny and sweet he was even when he was wrecking you with his cock. “He loves the Nationals. My dad…he lives in D.C and has gotten Theo into his team, so yeah, Nationals.” You answer and Marcus hums, “Nationals, got it.” 

You nod even though he can’t see it, “so I’ll see you at 6?” You ask and he confirms. “Great. I’ll text you my address.” You say and bid him goodbye, hanging up the phone to quickly shoot him a text. You’re nervous and you know Theo is nervous, unsure of going to school today but you took him and he was fine once he settled in. You’ve got the day at work to figure out what to cook for the first time your one night stand meets his son.

During lunch, Marcus runs out to a sporting goods store to pick up Nationals gear for a ten year old. Then back to his apartment to pick up his own glove and some balls. If you’ve got a yard, he wants to get out there and throw the ball with Theo if he’s up for it. Your text comes through with the address and by 5, he’s leaving the office and plugging in the GPS to go to your house.

You smile as Theo rushes up to the front door when Marcus rings the doorbell. “I’ll get the door, sweetie.” You say, rubbing his shoulder and he’s practically buzzing as he watches you open the door. You send a silent prayer that this is gonna go well and you come face to face with Marcus, standing there holding a big duffel bag. “Come in.” You gesture and he steps in, clearly nervous, and his dark eyes find Theo. “Sweetheart, this is - this is Marcus. He’s your dad.” You introduce him officially and Theo looks at Marcus with wide eyes.

Marcus sets the bag down and kneels down so he can look his son in the eyes. The same shade of brown as his own. “Hello, Theo.” He offers quietly, beaming and trying not to cry. “It is so good to meet you. I brought my glove. If it's okay with your mom, after dinner we can throw the ball around?” He asks, glancing up at you for permission before looking back at him to see if that’s something he wants to do.

Theo beams, staring at his father, and he nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Mom - can we - can we go outside?” He asks you and you nod, “of course you can.” Theo surges forward to wrap his arms around his father, “hi dad.” He says into his father’s neck as he grips him tight, excited to have him there.

His eyes close and his arms wrap around Theo tight, holding his son against him. “Hey, buddy.” He chokes out, opening his eyes and looking up at you. He’s overwhelmed and emotional and it’s almost a relief that you are silently crying. He’s not being too much with his reaction to meeting the son he didn’t know about.

You wipe your eyes, seeing the unshed tears shining in Marcus’s eyes and you know in that moment that you haven’t made a mistake. You know Theo is going to have his father in his life finally. “Come on you two. Dinner will be ready soon. Marcus, what do you want to drink?” You ask after clearing your throat.

“Anything would be great, thanks.” He squeezes Theo once more before he pulls away to grin at him. “I brought you some presents. Although I know I have a lot of missed birthdays and Christmas’ to make up for.”

Theo grins, “lots. Ten years worth.” He says and you chuckle, “dad is here now and he brought you some presents. You wanna open them while I finish up dinner?” You ask Theo who nods and grabs Marcus’s hand to practically drag him into the kitchen. 

“Come on dad, I wanna open my presents.”

It’s surreal to hear someone calling him dad and it makes him break out into a wide grin. He had managed to grab the duffel bag and he sets it on the table to open up and start pulling out gifts. He had thought he had gone overboard, but he doesn’t believe that now, the way Theo’s eyes are widening and he’s practically bouncing with excitement.

You get Marcus a beer and a glass of wine for yourself then set them down after getting a glass of milk for Theo. “Wow! I always wanted one of these!” Theo gasps when he sees the Nationals jersey and you feel a little guilty that you didn’t get the right one that he wanted. You got the Rangers and he was happy, but it’s not his favorite team.

“I’m glad. Your mom told me that you’re a big Nationals fan.” Marcus chatters nervously. “Now I have tickets to the Ranger’s game this weekend, would you want to go? Even if it’s not the Nationals? Since we are here in Texas?” It’s a commute to Ranger stadium and he would buy you a ticket if you preferred to come too, but he wants to give Theo that experience together.

You watch Theo bounce, nodding his head, “yes yes yes. Oh can I go mom? Can I?” He asks you and you nod, “of course baby. You can go.” You won’t deny him this time with his father and you know Marcus is a good man. He works for the FBI for goodness sake. “I’ll go get dinner. Sit down, both of you.” You order playfully.

“We better listen to your mom.” Marcus grins, happy that his son wants to go to a game with him. He reaches up and ruffles the boy's hair. “Let’s go wash our hands, gotta be clean to eat.”

You watch Marcus take Theo to wash his hands and you smile to yourself as you plate up the spaghetti and meatballs. The boys sit down at the table and you set the plates down in front of them. “I hope you like it. I didn’t ask if you were vegetarian. Oh shit. Are you? If not, I can make something else.” You start to panic a little, realizing how little you know about Marcus.

“No.” He smiles up at your reassuringly. “I love spaghetti and meatballs.” He looks over at Theo. “And I’m sure your mom’s is great, isn’t it, Buddy?” He asks. 

“Oh yeah! Mom’s spaghetti is the best!” Theo cries out with a grin. “She puts extra cheese on top for me.”

You smile, loving that your son loves your cooking. You look at Marcus, “I put extra cheese on yours too.” You wink at him and watch Theo as he starts to dig into his food, hungry as always, “why don’t you tell your dad about school today?” You ask Theo, wanting Marcus to be involved in the small things like hearing Theo talk about his day.

Marcus listens intently, nodding while Theo tells him every little thing about his day. Grinning to himself when the boy would go off on a little tangent like he used to as he shovels in his food with the enthusiasm of a growing boy.

You finish eating while Theo talks about his school and his friends. You watch Marcus hang onto every word, nodding and responding like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard and that makes your heart thump. “Everyone done?” You ask and Theo nods, “thank you, mom.” He stands up to collect the dishes but you stop him. “Not tonight, honey. Sit with your dad. I’ll clean up.” You tell him as you gather the plates, “I have dessert too. You want ice cream?” You ask and Theo nods, eyes lighting up.

“Must be a special night.” Marcus muses. “Dessert too?” He grins when Theo bobbles his head so hard he might rattle some teeth around. “After we eat dessert, you wanna throw the ball?”

Theo thinks that Christmas has come as he nods and Marcus chuckles, “sure thing, bud.” You smile as you load up the dishwasher and listen to Marcus and Theo talk. “So why did you not stay with my mom?” Theo asks, always inquisitive and you wince slightly but leave it to Marcus to provide his own explanation.

Glancing up at you for permission, he knows he needs to tell his son why the two of you aren’t together. Why he’s never met him before. “I- it’s complicated.” Marcus winces, knowing that isn’t the best answer. “Your mom was wonderful. And I had plans to take her on a date, to spend more time with her, but I messed up.” Marcus stresses. He will take the blame, of course he will. “I wrote her number down wrong, and couldn’t call her. And I didn’t know where she lived.”

Theo stares at Marcus for a moment, absorbing his answer until eventually he nods and looks over at you. “Well, you’re dumb because my mom is amazing.” Your heart clenches and tears sting in your eyes at the compliment from your son and you look at Marcus with an apologetic smile.

“I know I am.” Marcus accepts that rebuke and nods in agreement. “Your mom is amazing and I have to thank her because she gave me a son.” He reaches over and pats your hand. “Thank you. For taking care of him while I wasn’t around and being amazing enough for him to defend you.”

You smile at Marcus and lean in to kiss Theo on the head as you slide the bowl of ice cream towards him. “Okay. Let’s eat some ice cream.” You declare, trying to lighten the mood and give yourself a moment as you hand Marcus his own bowl. “Toppings are yours to pick. We have chocolate sauce, whipped cream, nuts, and strawberries.” You say and Theo begins to put a river of chocolate sauce in his sundae. “Maybe we have enough sauce to go with the ice cream, huh baby?” You tease and he chuckles, setting the sauce bottle down.

“He’s a man with taste.” Marcus chuckles, amazed that he is sitting down and eating dessert with his son. “I love chocolate syrup too.” He admits, taking the bottle and turning it up over his ice cream. The little boy beams happily, loving that his dad likes the same things he does. It’s almost a family moment and he feels guilty that Teresa isn’t here to see it. “What else do you like? Whipped cream and a cherry? Or strawberries?” He asks, wanting to know everything about Theo.

“Whipped cream, for sure. And nuts.” Theo answers and reaches for a spoonful of nuts. You watch him and Marcus chuckles, “same. I do like strawberries but not on ice cream.” He says and Theo nods. You reach for the strawberries, “those are for me. I love strawberries.” Marcus nods and you watch him as he takes the spoon from Theo to cover his sundae with nuts. The ice cream goes down well and you’re soon putting the dishwasher on while Marcus and Theo go outside to play catch.

Outside, Marcus feels like he is living every ‘dad dream’ he’s ever had. It started with small tosses of the ball to warm up and he started asking questions. Theo’s likes, dislikes. His dreams. Favorite movies. Learning about the boy and hopefully bonding with him. They play until you come back outside as the sun starts to go down.

Marcus sits in the living room while Theo showers and gets ready for bed. He’s already done his homework and you get him in bed. “You want your dad to come and say goodnight?” You ask Theo after you kiss his forehead. 

“Yes, please mama.” He murmurs and you nod, standing up and walking into the living room where Marcus is sitting. “He wants you to say goodnight.” You tell him and he stands up, rubbing his hands on his pants.

Marcus goes down the hall and hovers in the doorway for a moment, taking in the bedroom and smiling when he sees baseball posters on the wall. It could be a bedroom from his own childhood. “You all ready for bed, buddy?” He asks, coming and sitting on the edge and nervously rubbing the covers on the edge. .

“No.” Theo says and you smile as you lean against the wall in the hallway. 

“I know, I’m never tired after a big day.” Marcus smiles and pats the bed sheets. 

Theo nods, settling down against his pillow, “after you fight the bad guys?” He asks his father with a sleepy smile.

Marcus reaches up and brushes Theo’s hair gently. “After I fight the bad guys.” Marcus nods and smiles down at his son. “Goodnight Theo.” He murmurs softly, amused that despite being so adamant about not being tired, he’s already starting to fall asleep. Marcus sits with him until he’s completely gone and then watches him, amazed that he is here with a child who is his.

You push off of the wall as Marcus walks into the hallway and you smile at him, at seeing the way his eyes are soft and glassy. You reach out to pat his arm, “you want another beer? Or coffee before you go? We need to talk about how we move forward.”

“Sure.” Marcus nods and follows you back out to the living room and into the kitchen. “He’s a great kid.” He gushes after a moment. Standing around, he wonders where to go from here. “I owe you a lot of child support.” He blurts out, reaching into his pocket for a check he had written. “Obviously it’s not ten years worth, but I want to start making up for not being here.”

Your eyes widen at the amount of the check. “Marcus. No- it wasn’t - you didn’t know. I can’t accept this. You didn’t know about him. You didn’t dodge it and I’ve done well. My parents helped. Please…this is way too much.” You shake your head, knowing you could never accept his money when you had ten years with your son and he’s missed out on so much.

“Put it in a college fund for him.” Marcus shakes his head when you hold the check back out to him. “Please. I might not have known about him, but I know now. If I had known then, he would have had a college fund started from the day you told me.”

You can’t deny him that, knowing that your funds for his college are a little low after you have been working hard but it’s not enough, never enough. “Marcus. It’s - I’ll put it in the bank account I have ready for his college fund.” You surge forward to wrap your arms around his neck, “thank you.”

Marcus hugs you back, there’s nothing wrong with hugging the mother of his child. This is the woman who gave him the little boy in that bedroom. He tries not to remember how good touching you had felt all those years ago. That was past, and he is involved with Teresa now. “You’re welcome.” He murmurs sincerely. “I’ll give you more. I promise.”

You step back, patting his chest, “you’re just - I’m glad you’re in Theo’s life.” You step away and you make your way to the kitchen followed by Marcus. “Take a seat and I’ll get you a beer then we can talk details.” You watch him head into the living room and you grab two beers, making your way into the living room and you sit down on the sofa beside him. “So, uh, we didn’t exactly discuss our - our situations in life. I don’t have a husband or even a boyfriend. It’s been tough dating with a young son and I’ve been focused on work and Theo. I just wanted you to know that.”

“I’m sorry.” Marcus winces and shakes his head. “You didn’t deserve to be left with the responsibility by yourself.” He won’t let go of the guilt easily. “Maybe with some help, you can have some time for yourself.” He won’t say ‘date’, but that’s your decision. “I- I am in a relationship. Another agent.” He confesses, feeling guilty again.

You hate how your heart clenches at the news but you know he was never yours. “That’s great. I- I can’t wait to meet them one day. Did you tell them about Theo?” You ask, and Marcus nods, “she knows. Her name is Teresa.” He says with a smile that makes you want to cry a little. He’s such a lovely guy and he belongs to Teresa. 

You know you can’t be an idiot, you have a child together that he’s just met. You need to be sensible. “So I want you to see him. We can work out a custody schedule in a few months I’d say once Theo is comfortable and I am. I don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping him from you but I need him to be safe and secure and happy.”

Marcus holds up a hand and shakes his head. “Absolutely.” He agrees. “Theo has been your priority for ten years, eleven really.” He reasons. “You are his mother and I would never try to come in and immediately change everything. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come to the game too?” He asks. “Since it’s a few hours away? He can say that he wants to go and then get nervous because I am essentially a stranger to him. Plus, I can see how you parent, because I want to work with you on raising him.”

You appreciate how accommodating he’s being, not demanding more when he hasn’t been here at all even though it’s technically not his fault. He’s missed out on so much but he’s still wanting to include you. That makes you warm to him even more and you nod, “I think that’s a great idea. Let's all get to know each other more. We didn’t exactly have an in-depth conversation before we had sex.” You fluster and reach for your beer to take a sip, “do you want to ask Teresa if she wants to come too?” You add, hoping he says no but she’s going to be part of Theo’s life and you need to assess her.

“She has a case that she’s working on.” Marcus frowns slightly and shrugs. “She’s going to have to be on a stakeout or something.” He had originally been going to go with her, and then he had considered selling the tickets when her plans had fallen through, but this is perfect. “What do you want to know about me?” He asks.

You are relieved that Teresa isn’t coming on this first adventure and you lean back against the sofa, tucking your leg up beneath you. “First of all…I didn’t - Theo is fine but do you have any medical family history? I know mine of course but I want to know in case there’s something I need to look out for.”

“Nothing really.” Marcus shakes his head and takes a sip of his own beer. “Grandfather died of a heart attack, but he was 87.” He shrugs slightly. “I can’t say that’s a short life. Parents are pretty healthy. I haven’t told them yet, but I know they will want to meet Theo, get to know him. When you’re comfortable.”

“I’d like that. Theo would love that. I have always felt so guilty that he hasn’t had a lot of family.” You confess, taking another sip of your beer, tears stinging in your eyes as you think about all the things Theo has missed out on with his father. 

“You okay?” Marcus asks and you shake your head, a few tears escaping. 

“I just wish - I wish I had given you the right number.”

“It’s my fault.” Marcus will readily admit that. “I should have double checked with you before you left. I had been trying not to seem too desperate, or creepy.” He shoots you a sardonic grin. “Since we had just had sex in a jail cell after you were picked up.”

You chuckle, wiping away your tears, “that was sexy as hell though. I still think about that night sometimes.” You admit until you realize what you said, “I’m sorry. I- you have Teresa and I’m not asking you to - shit. Have I made it weird?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head and hums with a small smile. “It’s okay. I promise. I’ve thought about it before.” He admits. “It was sexy.” He doesn’t really think about it now that he’s with Teresa, but when he was single, it was one of his go-to memories when he wasn’t in the mood to look at porn. 

You chuckle, “it was.” You nudge him and move to set your beer down. “I guess we go from here. I’ll see you Saturday for the game. Are you gonna come back to the gallery or is your team working on tracking down that guy first?” You ask, curious as to what’s going to happen with the stolen painting.

“They are working on tracking down the suspect, but I normally come check in every day, every other day.” He admits, shrugging slightly. “The worst thing for the victim is to feel like they are just bogged down in the system. Especially when dealing with art. It’s normally personal or professional so everyone is eager to know that it’s being taken seriously.”

You nod, “then I’ll see you in the gallery.” You shift to stand up, “I’m sure Teresa is expecting you to be home soon. Theo will be out like a light. Do you want some water for the ride home?” You ask, looking down at him.

“Oh, Teresa and I don’t live together.” It wasn’t for lack of planning but it hadn’t happened yet. Just wasn’t quite to that place in the relationship yet even though a lot of nights were spent together. “But I will take a water.” He agrees.

You walk over to the fridge to get him a bottle of water, admiring his profile as he gathers his things. “Here you go.” You hand him the bottle and your fingers brush his. “I’ll see you soon. Maybe…if you don’t see Theo, we can do daily calls? You can talk to him.”

“I’d really like that.” Marcus quickly agrees, happy that you are so willing to let him spend time with Theo and get to know him. “Thank you.” He murmurs as you walk with him to the door. “He’s a great kid and that is all because of you. I hate that you had to do it alone but you’ve done a fantastic job.” Mother’s Day will have to come early for you and he will have to make sure that it’s amazing to make up for the ones that he missed.

You fluster at his kind words, excited to see how this goes, and you are happy for Theo to have his father in his life. You know it’s been a missing piece. No matter how hard you try to cover both positions, you know he’s been jealous of the other boys going to baseball games with their fathers or going out with the father-son groups. It’s been hard and you try to compensate but it’s impossible.

Marcus pauses at the door, turning around and smiling at you. You had been gorgeous eleven years ago, hungover and obviously partying, but now you are even more beautiful. Maybe it’s because he had a child with you, but there’s a softness that he admires for a moment. He murmurs your name, “have a good night. Call me if you need anything, okay? I want to help anyway I can.”

You nod, crossing your arms as you lean against the doorway, watching him as he makes his way to his car. You bite your lip, admiring his broad shoulders, and you know you have to stop. You will not ruin your son’s relationship with his father because you haven’t had sex in a while. You watch Marcus, waving as he pulls away, and you shut the door, closing your eyes. “It’s gonna be fine.” You murmur to yourself, deciding to get ready for bed and watch your show to distract yourself.

On the way home, Marcus contemplates calling Teresa, but he doesn’t. Instead he thinks about the situation, knowing that he will have to tell his parents soon, and they will want to meet him. He knows they will have questions so he wants to talk to you about what to tell them.

**** 

“You having a good time?” You ask Theo as he takes a big bite of the hot dog Marcus got him. The game is in full swing and you love how Marcus and Theo are bonding over their mutual love of baseball. You take a few photos, certain that Marcus will want them, and you think about the past few days. You and Marcus established when Theo will meet his parents and the story you’ll tell them is the truth. Although it’s awkward, keeping secrets never helps anyone. You watch the father and son and feel emotional, wishing once again that Marcus had called you after that fateful night.

“Oh man!” Theo cheers when the home run cracks off the bat and he leaps out of his seat to watch it go flying over the left field fence. Marcus grins and looks over at you, emotional at how much he is enjoying this. Almost upset that there isn’t a team in Austin so this could become a weekly thing. He’d say that season tickets could be done. 

“Looks like extra innings.” He teases, playing with Theo’s cap. “You aren’t gonna wanna miss that, are you?”

Theo shakes his head so hard his neck nearly breaks, “no, dad! Of course not!” He scoffs and you hide your grin behind your hand. You watch Marcus point out various players to Theo and they discuss the stats, both clearly knowledgeable and passionate about the sport and it’s making your heart nearly burst with joy.

Marcus grins as he leans back, looking at you behind Theo’s head. “If it goes too late, do you want to spend the night?” He asks, thinking about getting a hotel depending on how many hours it goes over a normal game. “I’ll cover the cost. Two rooms.” He offers, knowing it’s not right to stay in one room.

“Please mom! Please!” Theo begs, looking up at you with wide eyes and you nod, “okay baby. Okay. We can do that if it runs too late. I, uh, I don’t really have anything. We can stop at CVS to get a tooth brush and toiletries.” You say, unable to take away from this experience for Theo. “Are you sure Teresa won’t mind?”

“She’ll be alright.” He’s already texted her and let her know that it might be a possibility. She had said ‘okay’, so he knew she was alright with it. Teresa tends to speak her mind so he trusts her. “We can stop by a store and get some things.”

Finally the game ends and it’s late, way past Theo’s bed time and you can see he’s tired from the constant yawns but he’s fighting it. “Are you ready for bed, sweetheart?” You ask, hugging Theo as you approach Marcus’s car. “Maybe a hotel is the best idea.” You tell Marcus, running your hands through Theo’s hair.

“Yeah.” Marcus frowns slightly as he has spent the last twenty minutes of the game trying to book rooms. “There’s a hotel up the road I have a room booked for you guys.” He promises, turning towards his son and smiling at how sleepy Theo looks. “We’ll find a Wal-Mart and grab toothbrushes and PJs.”

“What about you?” You ask as you buckle Theo in and get in the front seat. Marcus bites his lip, not answering. “Marcus…” You raise your eyebrows, wanting him to answer you before you start to get frustrated. You’ve learned he’s a people pleaser and it’s to his own detriment sometimes.

“There’s….” He sighs and hangs his head. “There’s some kind of big conference this weekend.” He admits quietly. “Everywhere is sold out. I could only get the one room. It’s okay, though.” He assures you. “It’s a nice place and I can catch a few hours in the car. Not like I haven’t done that before.” He chuckles, making a joke about stakeouts.

"No. No. You - you are going to get some sleep. You've been driving and you are driving tomorrow. I- Theo will sleep between us. We can share the bed. We are parents sharing a bed with our son. You can't sleep in the car." You shake your head, whispering harshly as Theo is asleep.

Marcus frowns and shakes his head. “No, the room has two beds.” He reveals. “I just don’t think that you would want…you know that Theo might get the wrong impression.” He murmurs quietly, looking in the back seat and then towards you. He’s trying to be a gentleman and give you privacy. The only intimacy you’ve shared was the night you created Theo and he’s not going to assume you would be okay with sharing a room. 

You bite your lip, "two beds is perfect. I can share with Theo and you get to spread out in your own bed. He won't - we can explain that there was only one room left. He knows you are with Teresa...he wants to meet her."

“Are you sure?” He asks seriously, turning expressive eyes on you. He’s thrilled to learn that Theo wants to meet Teresa, because he wants her to get to know him, but he is talking about the hotel sleeping arrangement. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You nod, chuckling softly. "I don't think you can make anyone uncomfortable, Marcus. You are the most caring man I can think of. We will be fine." You promise. You give Marcus a list of what you need and he goes into Walmart to get your list. You watch Theo sleep in the mirror and about ten minutes later, Marcus is pulling up at the hotel. You grab the bags after Marcus checks in and comes back out. "Can you carry Theo?"

“Of course I can.” Marcus beams as he opens the back door and starts to gently unbuckle the sleeping child and pull him out of the car. “He’s solid.” He grunts, grinning at you as Theo snuggles against his dads shoulder and grunts at being disturbed before settling back down into a limp mass of limbs.

You smile, watching Theo wrap his arms around his dad who carries him to the room. “Notice I didn’t offer.” You tease softly and pat Marcus on the shoulder as you take over finding the room. Once you’re inside, Marcus lays Theo down and you work on removing his clothes to dress him in the pajamas his dad had just bought for him. “Night, my love.” You murmur, kissing Theo’s head after you cover him up with the covers, the. you look over at Marcus who has removed his shoes and is watching you with apprehension. “I’m gonna get ready for bed. Thanks for buying these.” You hold up the shorts and tank top, feeling a little awkward but it’s necessary for Theo to get some good sleep.

“It course.” He nods, feeling bad that he always carries an overnight bag in the car. “I’ll change quickly while you’re in there and then we’ll get some sleep.” He offers, trying not to think about the mechanics of all of this. This is just two parents sharing a room with their son.

You brush your teeth and wash your face, coming out of the bathroom in the tank top and shorts and you had told yourself in the mirror that this isn't a big deal. It's Marcus and Theo. You get under the covers on the side closest to the nightstand since Theo shifted in his sleep and you look over at Marcus. "Goodnight." You murmur, your eyes finding his in the lamplight.

“Goodnight sweetheart.” Marcus whispers softly, smiling at you as he reaches over to switch off the light. “Thank you for today. Letting Theo come to the game.” He shuffles and settles in the dark. “Might be the best day I’ve ever had.”

“Me too.” You answer honestly and you smile when you hear him snore. You listen to him and Theo breathe for a while until you finally close your eyes, wishing this was real, that you were a real family.

****

The next morning is fun, if not a little hectic. Getting up and getting ready without crowding each other in the bathroom proves interesting and the two of you decide to take Theo out to breakfast before getting back on the road to Austin. Taking your time and enjoying the Sunday brunch, Marcus can’t help but laugh at your jokes and enjoy that you have such a warm and delightful personality. Making him wonder what would have happened if he had gotten your number right. Would you two be married right now? Would there be another child besides Theo? He hates thinking that way, since he’s involved with Teresa, but it’s there in the back of his mind. 

You hate how natural this feels with Marcus. It should be awkward. After all, he fucked you while on duty in a jail cell, yet it feels like you’ve known him forever. You smile as Theo tells his dad about his favorite show and you realize it’s gonna be hard to meet Teresa, to meet the woman that has Marcus. “Shall we get on the road?” Marcus asks, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you nod, gathering your things. The drive home is filled with music and Theo chattering away and you can feel Marcus look at you every now and then, his hand on the gearshift and it makes you want to reach out and place your hand on top. “Dad, can you come to my game on Friday?” Theo asks, “with Teresa?”

“I’ll have to check with Teresa, but as long as nothing comes up with your mom’s case, I’ll be there.” He promises, looking in the rear view mirror at his son’s hopeful eyes. “Sometimes the bad guys don’t stop being bad to do fun things, but I will never stop trying to make sure that I am there.” It’s important to him that Theo knows that. “Even if I’m coming in at the end or having to duck out early, I will be there as much as I can.”

He knows it’s a hollow promise to a ten year old, but he also wants to make sure that he knows that sometimes dad’s job has to come before other things. It’s one of the downsides as far as Marcus is concerned.

Theo nods, “okay, dad.” 

You look behind you to wink at Theo, “if not this game, the next one.” You compromise with your son, not wanting him to put all his hopes on this one game when Marcus could be working. You turn back to the front and Marcus nods, sending you a silent thanks. 

****

“Come on Theo!” You cheer, watching your son run to third base and then “home run!” You shout and clap your hands. Marcus hasn’t arrived yet, he texted to say he’d be late and he has a lead on the mysterious man who was in the video.

Marcus pulls into the parking lot, rushing out of the car and takes a moment so he can lock his gun in the glove compartment and take off his jacket. Rushing over to the ball field that you had told him. He managed to catch Theo sliding into home and cheering. “Yeah! Theo! Way to go buddy!” He stands at the fence and beams at the boy as he stands up and brushes himself off.

Theo sees his dad and his face lights up. He’s covered in dirt but he looks on top of the world. You clap and cheer your son and suddenly Marcus appears beside you. “Hey!” You greet him and glance around, your brow furrowed as you look past him. “Teresa couldn’t make it?” You ask him.

“She had to work.” Marcus frowns slightly but he shrugs. “She said that she would like to go out to dinner with you and Theo.” He offers, although he had been the one to suggest it. She had been a little distracted when she agreed, but she had been rushing to get off the phone to talk to Jane.

You nod, “that would be nice. I want to meet her.” You say even though you’re not entirely convinced. Teresa doesn’t seem to want to meet. She’s avoided every opportunity to meet Theo and you are worried she won’t accept your son.

“I think you’ll get along well.” Marcus hums, even though he’s starting to get antsy about the two of you meeting. He’s spent a lot of time with you lately and while she understands, it seems as if there’s not been a lot of time for them. He doesn’t want her getting worried about things.

After the game is over, you take Theo for ice cream to celebrate and Marcus is a little distracted, looking at his phone. “Everything okay?” You ask and he nods, “yeah. I’m fine.” He says and you don’t push, knowing he has a lot on his plate.

Marcus gets the alert that there is a name on the suspect, as well as a current address. He hums and looks up, smiling at Theo and you. “Tomorrow, I might be a little out of pocket.” He announces to you. “We are going to question the man from the security surveillance.” He tells you quietly while Theo is distracted with his ice cream.

Your eyes widen slightly, “wow. I hope - hopefully something comes from it. The artist is freaking out and I’m struggling to keep him calm enough to keep his other pieces in the gallery. We had to reassure him that our security has been reinforced.” You confess and Marcus nods, “we will get him.”

Marcus hates that he had been late, finding it to be too little time with Theo. “Sorry I was late, but I’m glad to see that home run. Those batting drills are paying off.”

“Yes they are.” You smile, happy that Marcus and Theo have already bonded. You are a little sad that your son has missed out on so much with his dad but you are happy he’s here now.

****

“You got him?” You gasp when Marcus comes into your office before telling you he has found the perp who stole the piece. 

“We got him. And the art. He had it in some storage unit out west, waiting until the dust settled so he could sell it.” Marcus tells you and grins. 

“Oh my God. Thank you!” You surge forward to hug him, relieved and happy that the piece has been found.

Marcus grins and hugs you back. Rubbing your back gently and nodding when he pulls back. “Obviously the piece will be photographed and logged into evidence for authentication, but once that is done, we will return it to you. The pictures from recovery will be enough for the DA.”

You kiss his cheek as you pull back, “thank you. Thank you.” You squeal, not even thinking about kissing his cheek until you hear a throat clear behind you. You turn to see a woman, her eyes flicking between you and Marcus whose eyes widen as he looks at the woman.

“Teresa. Come here.” He gestures her over and introduces you. You aren’t sure if she is upset or doesn’t like you being near Marcus but she’s polite yet aloof when you get to finally meet Teresa.

Teresa slides up beside Marcus and looks up at him in amusement. “Good news?” She asks and Marcus nods. 

“We recovered the painting today.” He tells her and her slightly bland smile turns genuine. 

“That’s great.” She murmurs, knowing how good a closed case is for an FBI agent. She wraps her arm around his waist and hugs him tightly before she looks towards Theo. “So, this must be Theo.” She grins, bending down slightly. “Your daddy talks about you….a lot.”

“My dad doesn’t talk that much about you.” Theo answers honestly and you clear your throat, offering Teresa an awkward smile, ruffling Theo’s hair. 

“It’s great to meet you.” You tell her and she nods, “you too.” Theo steps closer to you and you nudge his back, silently telling him to be polite and he looks at you with those same brown eyes as Marcus.

Marcus chuckles quietly, admitting that is true but Teresa just smiles. “I’m sure he has more to talk about with you than me.” She tells him before looking back up at Marcus. “Are we ready to go eat?” She asks. “I’m starved. Jane had us mucking through a field rather than having lunch today.”

You notice the frown on Marcus’s face as he hears the name Jane and he’s told you about Patrick Jane a few times, about how he feels like the man is trying to get involved in his relationship with Teresa. 

“Let’s go to dinner.” You declare after you grab your purse and Theo starts to chatter to his dad about the upcoming game. 

****

“So, uh, yeah. I haven’t given them my final decision since I wanted to talk to you first.” You tell Marcus as you sit on your sofa. Theo just went to bed and you asked Marcus to stay a little longer so you can talk. 

“The Smithsonian. Wow.” Marcus says softly, looking across the room. 

“Yeah. It’s - it’s huge. Modern art and I- it’s in D.C and I want Theo to have his father in his life but this job - it’s double my salary now and it’s the freakin’ Smithsonian. If you don’t want me to take the job, I understand, but Marcus…I want this. Not to guilt trip you but I’ve lived my life for Theo since I found out I was pregnant and this - this is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for.”

Immediately shaking his head, he hums in disapproval. “No, no, you should absolutely take it.” He insists. “There’s airplanes, we can visit.” He cocks his head and thinks about it for a moment. “There’s rumors of a position opening up in DC, that I’m also rumored to be in the running for now that my latest case has been solved so quickly.” He admits. “Maybe I can push for that position. You wouldn’t find it creepy if I moved to DC too? Follow you and Theo?”

You shake your head so fast it almost makes you dizzy. “You move to D.C? Marcus - that would be - I would love that. I don’t want Theo to lose his dad just when he’s got him. I want you to come to D.C with us…you and Teresa.”

“I’ll talk to Teresa.” Marcus nods. “If I get that position, it’s a director's job, I can pull some strings and get her a job at headquarters.”

You shake your head, a smile on your face, “you are amazing.” You lean in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll tell them I’m taking the job. We can figure everything out.” You promise and his phone starts to ring. “I’ll let you go home.” You say, standing up and he follows suit, deciding to silence the phone call so he can say goodbye.

“We will work it all out.” He promises as he walks with you to the door. He’s eager to get home and see about putting in for the position. He has a few friends in DC that he can call and have a conversation with.

****

Teresa is shocked when Marcus asks her to move to D.C with him, even more shocked when he proposes. She isn’t sure about the move to D.C but she can’t let him go. He’s a good man and although you and Theo aren’t her ideal, she’s reluctant to let Marcus go. 

When you hear about Marcus getting the job in D.C, you are ecstatic. When you hear about Marcus and Teresa being engaged, you try to be happy for him, but it’s hard. Teresa doesn’t seem to be on board about being a stepmom to Theo, nor does she seem able to tear herself away from Patrick Jane. You’re worried about Marcus getting hurt but you don’t want to say something in case Marcus turns against you. You can’t get involved for Theo’s sake. You often imagine being a family with Marcus and Theo but you’re not an idiot. Marcus loved Teresa otherwise he wouldn’t have asked her to marry him. You sigh and continue to pack. Theo has finished the school year and you threw a goodbye party for him, you leave tomorrow and it’s bittersweet but you’re excited for the future.

“So I’m going to go ahead and find us a place.” Marcus chatters with Teresa. “I’ve already got listings booked and I’m thinking of a house, at least three bedrooms.” He tells her. “I want a room for Theo, let him come over and spend the night, give his mom a break and let us bond together.” His apartment is packed and organized, ready for the movers to pick up. “What do you think?”

Teresa bites her lip as she holds her cell phone, Jane gesturing for her to hurry up as she shuffles her feet in the airport in Miami. “Yeah. I, uh, that sounds good. Marcus…I gotta go. This case…I’ll see you in D.C, yeah?” She says and Marcus frowns but doesn’t voice his annoyance, “sure. Speak later, honey. Love you.” He says and she hums before she hangs up the phone, following her partner out to their hired car.

****

“Oh my God, he did.” You nod, laughing alongside Theo and Marcus as Theo talks about his friend shoved a marble up his nose and you had to call his mom while taking the boy to the ER after you couldn’t remove it. Marcus shakes his head, laughing at Theo’s face. 

“I told him not to do it.” Theo mumbles and you chuckle, stopping when Marcus’s phone rings. 

“It’s Teresa.” He says and stands up, making his way into your new living room to take the call. “Hey.” Marcus smiles as he answers the phone, happy to see Teresa’s name pop up. She should be about to take off to come to D.C. He doesn’t quite understand why she called him a few hours earlier talking about coming sooner, but he’s happy. “You about to take off? I can’t wait to see you. You should see the new place.”

Teresa looks up as Jane runs onto the plane and she can hear Marcus talking to her but she doesn’t respond. Marcus frowns when he hears Jane say “I love you” to Teresa and that’s the moment he knows it’s over. He won’t be seeing Teresa in D.C. He guesses he should’ve seen this coming but a small part of him wanted him to be the one who comes out on top, who gets the girl for once. “Marcus, you okay?” You ask, “your ice cream is melting.”

“What?” He’s staring down at his phone, frowning at it and then looks back up at you. “Oh, oh yeah.” He shakes his head, plastering a fake smile on his face. “Everything’s good.” He motions back towards the kitchen. “Let’s go eat before it’s ice cream soup.”

You don’t believe that everything is fine but you don’t press as you walk back into the kitchen and Theo has already eaten half of his ice cream. “Where’s my cherry?” Marcus asks and Theo bites his lip. 

“Theo!” You reprimand the ten year old and Marcus shakes his head, snorting, “it’s fine. I’ll just have to have yours.” Marcus plucks the cherry from Theo’s sundae and the boy cries out in protest. 

“It’s not nice to take without asking, is it?” Marcus asks and Theo shakes his head, “no. I’m sorry, dad. You can have the cherry.” Theo shakes his head and Marcus places the cherry back in his son’s bowl. 

“You can have it but don’t take.” He teaches him and you nod, amazed at how far Marcus has come in being a father. It makes your heart thump and your stomach twist but you shove that aside.

He manages to eat his ice cream without causing his son to worry but he can feel your eyes on him. Wondering what is wrong since he’s not acting like himself. 

After ice cream, Marcus and Theo clean up the kitchen together. Marcus knows it’s important to have his son help you out and it’s good for him to see that a man should help with household upkeep. “Go tell your momma goodnight and get ready for bed, buddy.” He ruffles Theo’s hair after he dries his hands. “Thank you for helping.”

Theo comes rushing over and wraps his arms around you. “Goodnight mom.” He says and you bend over to kiss his hair, “go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. I’ll bring you some water and Dad will tuck you in.” You promise and Theo rushes off to the bathroom. You glance over at Marcus who is still in the kitchen, shoulders hunched. After Theo is in bed, you and Marcus bid him goodnight, shutting the door, and you walk into the living room and spin to face Marcus. 

“What’s happened?” You ask, knowing there’s something wrong.

His eyes slip closed and the tight rein on his control slips. He sighs and seems to just wilt under your gentle probing. “Teresa-“ he chokes out. “She’s- she’s not coming to D.C.” He turns and stumbles a few short steps to the couch and sags down into it, hunching forward and plopping his head into his hands, elbows on his knees.

You frown, sitting down beside him and you place your hand on his back. “What do you mean she's not coming? Is her flight delayed?” You ask, confused and wanting to comfort Marcus. He seems distraught and you feel helpless.

“She-“ he shakes his head and looks up, his eyes slightly watery. “Apparently Jane is in love with her and….” He shrugs. “She’s going to stay in Texas, with him.”

Your heart breaks for him, “oh Marcus. I- I’m so sorry.” You surge forward to wrap your arms around him, wanting to comfort him. He doesn’t need your opinion of Teresa or the situation, you know he needs you to just be there for him. “She’s a fucking idiot to pick Jane over you.”

“I should have known it wouldn’t be …” he shakes his head again. Not willing to burden you with the second thoughts that had plagued him and the terse unspoken things between him and Teresa. “It’s who she wants. I don’t want to be second place.”

You caress his back, resting your head on top of his shoulder. “You’re not second place. She didn’t know what she had. Jane is gonna break her heart. You were too good for her. Anyone could see it. Marcus…you deserve better.” You voice some of your opinion of Teresa, not wanting to say you think she’s a heartless bitch.

“It’s my fault.” Marcus groans, embarrassed that you are seeing this. Seeing him wallow like this. He should have just gone home. Now you are going to think that he is some kind of sap. Or worse, a horrible example for Theo. “I should have seen the signs. They were there.”

“She should’ve told you. She shouldn’t have dragged you along. She shouldn’t have accepted your proposal or agreed to move to D.C with you. I don’t see how this is your fault when you gave her every chance to say no. She should’ve backed out long ago if she was in love with Patrick Jane. She led you on and you should never blame yourself for that.”

“I should have ended things when I found out about Theo.” Marcus rambles on, appreciating your comfort but he always blames himself. “Concentrated on that. Instead of thinking about having it all.”

You huff, “finding out about Theo doesn’t change anything. She - Teresa didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic to get to know him and - and as his mother, I could sense that. You can have it all, sweetheart. You will. She just wasn’t the right one. I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t want to be bringing women in and out of his life.” Marcus reaches out and he takes your hand, turning it over and kissing the back of it. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but I should go home.”

You nod, knowing he probably needs to go home and have a drink. “You’ll find the right one, Marcus. You deserve your happy ending.” You tell him, leaning in to kiss his cheek as he stands at your front door. “Go have a whiskey and pass out and tomorrow, wallow. Don’t force yourself to be happy, go lucky. You can be mad and upset.” You remind him, knowing he will try to push it aside.

“Thank you.” Again, the thought of where he would be if he had called you floats through his head but he doesn’t say anything. He’s not in the right headspace to say anything and you’ve never even hinted that you wanted anything to do with him. Besides, he doesn’t want a rebound. “I’ll see you later.” He pulls away and stands, grabbing his jacket and shuffling towards the door.

You watch him go and close the door, your heart breaking for him, and you want to fly to Miami and strangle Teresa for hurting him. He deserves more. You often wonder what life would've been like if he had called. Would you be married? Or would you be divorced? It’s hard to imagine you’d divorce Marcus. You know he’s gonna wallow and you make your way to bed, knowing you’ll be there for him no matter what.

****

“Hey.” Marcus has been wallowing for two weeks and he’s tired of feeling down and letting his personal life affect his relationship with you and his son. “What are you doing this weekend?” He tucks his phone against his shoulder and waits for you to answer. He’s gotten tickets to a Nationals game and wanted to take both of you.

You glance around your office, watching your staff walk down the hall through the window. “Nothing. I was gonna take Theo to the park, maybe get some brunch. What are you up to?” You ask him and he tells you about the baseball game. “Well you know Theo will love that.” You smile, “we haven’t been to a game here yet.”

“I’ve got three tickets.” He doesn’t say that it was for Teresa, because he had just bought them. “So I was hoping that you would come with us? Make it a group outing? Unless you want to take the time and have some alone, non-parental adult time for yourself?”

You bite your lip and know you’d love to spend some time to yourself but you also don’t want to miss out on spending time with Theo, and with Marcus. You want to discuss doing the DNA test to get shared custody of Theo so Marcus can spend more time with his son. “I’d like to go. I know Theo will love it and I think we could all use some time to enjoy ourselves.”

“Great!” He knows you are probably still worried about him, you’ve been texting him everyday. Checking on him and he appreciates it. He could have never imagined a better mother for his child or a friend. It makes him kick himself in the ass sometimes for not finding you after that night.

****

“You’re going undercover for a month?” You ask Marcus, arms crossed. It’s been three months since Teresa broke his heart and you’re worried he’s doing this because he wants to distract himself. You’ve been trying to keep him occupied, going on picnics, going to museums and the movies. All with Theo. It’s been hard to not want more from him but he’s emotionally drained and you have to put Theo first. “

“Yeah.” Marcus hates that he has to do this, but it’s also a good thing. He’s started imagining you as a complete family and he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s using you to get over Teresa. “Apparently there’s something that I can be good for.” He jokes quietly and flashes you a grin. “I’ve been sitting behind a desk too much lately.”

You don’t want him to go, you know undercover missions are dangerous and he won’t be able to communicate with you or Theo for the time that he’s gone. “You- you really want to go? I- Theo is going to miss you. So am I.” You admit, biting your lip as you stare at him.

“I’ll miss you both too.” That is easy to confess. “I will be safe, but honestly?” He sighs. “I’m the only one that can go in. My team isn’t exactly unknown in the art world.”

You nod, knowing you can’t stop him, this is his job. “You wanna stay for dinner and you can say goodbye to Theo?” You ask, a little annoyed that he waited until the day of to tell you but you can see he’s been nervous. 

“Sure.” You step forward to touch his upper arm, “you’d better not be killed, Pike…otherwise I’ll murder you.” You threaten playfully as you make your way to the kitchen to begin dinner while Theo sits at the table finishing his homework. Marcus chuckles like he was supposed to as you both walk into the kitchen.

“Hey buddy.” Marcus’ smile immediately brightens when he sees his son sitting at the table. 

“Hey dad.” He glances up and grins before he’s looking back down at his work sheets. 

“I wanted to talk to you before dinner.” Marcus sits down and waits until Theo puts his pencil down. “Buddy, I’ve got to go out of town for work. A big case and I’ve got to be out of touch. It’ll be for a month, and then I promise I’ll be back and you and I are going to spend a ton of time together.”

Theo frowns, “a whole month?” He asks and Marcus nods. “Why?” Theo whines and you turn to look at him in warning for his tone. 

“I gotta go fight bad guys. I can’t - I promise you I’ll spend as much time as possible with you when I get back.” Marcus promises and Theo pouts, “I don’t want you to go! You’re gonna disappear and I’ll never see you again.”

“That won’t happen.” Marcus promises, shaking his head. “If there’s an emergency, I’m going to give your mom a number so my work can get me a message.” He explains

You walk over to rub Theo’s back, “it’s okay, sweetheart. Your dad will be back  before you know it. He’s gotta go fight bad guys and he’s gonna come back and spend so much time with you. Maybe you can stay with your dads for a change.” You give Theo something to look forward to.

“We could do that?” Theo asks hopefully and Marcus nods. 

“Of course. I want you to stay. I want you to have your room set up just the way you want it.”

You nod, “your dad and I will talk when he’s back about spending some nights together. Boy time without mama.” You wink, and Marcus smiles at you before you finish cooking dinner. After you eat, it’s time for Marcus to go and you watch him say goodbye to Theo for the month.

There are extra long hugs and Theo tears up, but Marcus is right there with him. “I love you, buddy.” Marcus promises. “I’m going to be back as quickly as I can. And I’m going to be thinking about you all the time.”

You watch them say goodbye with tears in your eyes and you know it will be hard for Marcus and Theo to be away from each other. They are so close now and you wonder how they were ever apart. Marcus kisses his forehead and you watch Marcus as steps towards you. You wrap your arms around him and you breathe him in, holding him close before he leaves for at least four weeks.

“I’ll be back. I promise.” He doesn’t hesitate to kiss the top of your head. “Take care of our boy, okay?” He asks softly, wishing that he didn’t have to go.

You step back and you pull Theo into your side as Marcus grabs his jacket. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises both of you and Theo’s lower lip trembles as he watches his dad leave. 

“It’s okay baby.” You promise, pulling him into your arms to comfort him. You know he loves his father and if you’re being honest with yourself, so do you. 

**** 

The month seems to drag by and you decide to put up a calendar so Theo can cross off the days until his father is supposed to be home and finally, it’s that day. You are anxious, waiting for Marcus to call to say he’s coming home and finally, when the phone rings, you grab it so fast it nearly drops out of your hand. “Marcus.” You sigh, relieved when he says hello. “Are you okay? Are you safe?” You ask, desperate to hear that he’s fine.

“Hey.” Marcus grins, even though he’s exhausted. He just got out of a long debriefing and still has to fly home, but he wanted to hear your voice and Theo’s. “I’ve got a flight in about ten minutes. I should be back in D.C. late, but I was wondering if I could come over and see Theo? And you?”

You glance over at your computer, a little lost in the fact that he’s okay. Your pounding heart calms a little and you exhale softly. “Of course. Theo will be mad if I don’t let him see you as soon as you are back in D.C. Come over when you’re back. Theo can take the day off of school tomorrow and we can do something together to celebrate you being back. How long is the flight?” You ask and Marcus pauses, “I, uh, actually I’m flying from Austin. Had to go do a deposition. Figured I’d head straight there after the op ended to get it out of the way.” He confesses and you bite your lip, a little mad that he didn’t call first thing. 

“Oh, okay. Well, uh, I’ll see you soon.” You say and he clears his throat, “yeah. There’s something I wanna talk to you about. See you later.” He says vaguely and your stomach twists. What could he possibly want to talk about? 

You mull it over for a couple of hours until it hits you. “Teresa.” You choke, he’s getting back together with her. Something in your gut just tells you that’s what he wants to discuss.

On the flight, Marcus mulls over what he wants to say. He’s missed you. A lot. Not just Theo, but you as well. You’ve been on his mind constantly, wondering if you’re cooking dinner or curling up with your phone to giggle at videos that you’ll share with him. He realized over the last month that he’s been gone, he’s in love with you. It’s been hard to not call you and tell you, but he decided it was better to do it in person. If you don’t feel the same way, he won’t try to convince you. He’ll concentrate on helping you raise Theo. But he’s come to view the three of you as a family. The family that he’s been supposed to have all along.

The doorbell rings and you smile when Theo rushes to the door. “Hold on, sweetheart, let me check who it is.” You look through the peephole and your heart thumps as you see Marcus, looking different with a beard. You open the door and Theo rushes out, “dad!” He shouts and wraps his arms around Marcus.

“Hey buddy!” Marcus rushes towards his son and scoops him up into a crushing hug. Feeling instantly better now that his little boy is in his arms. “God, I missed you. I thought about you every day. Talked to you at night before I went to bed.” He pulls back and grins at the boy. “Have you been good for your momma?”

Theo surges forward to hug his dad again, reluctant to let go so you answer, “he’s been good. Been making a list of things he’s wanted to talk to you about so be prepared.” You joke and Marcus chuckles, “I got all the time for you, bud. I have the next week off so I’m all yours.” 

You are relieved to see Marcus and he steps forward to kiss your cheek while holding Theo close to his side. “Hey sweetheart.” He murmurs and you smile at him, letting him step into your apartment. 

“Come in, I’m just making dinner.” You tell him and shut the door behind him when Theo takes his hand to practically drag him inside.

Marcus chuckles and shakes his head. “You missed me?” He teases playfully but Theo just scoffs. 

“Of course I missed you dad. I didn’t have anyone to play catch with.” He sends you an apologetic look. “Mom tries but she’s not as good as you are.” 

He ruffles Theo’s hair. “That’s okay. Mom’s great at a lot of other things.”

You nod, “exactly. Who else is gonna make your lunch just how you like it? Daddy doesn’t know how to cut off the crusts.” You tease and Theo shakes his head, “I don’t want that anymore.” He lies, “I’m a big boy.” 

You snort, “sure thing baby.” You wink at Marcus as the boys sit at the kitchen table and you grab a beer for Marcus and a juice for Theo. 

“What did you do, dad? Did you fight the bad guys?”

“I did.” Marcus smiles a thank you towards you as he takes the beer. “But first I had to convince them that I was a bad guy too.” He admits and Theo’s eyes widen. 

“But you are the best!” He cries, making Marcus feel so very honored that his son thinks so highly of him. 

“I was just trying to get them to tell me all the bad stuff they were doing. And I did it. So I got to arrest them.”

“That’s awesome!” Theo cheers, a wide grin on his face and you are glad that Marcus is back with his son…for now at least. You work on dinner, listening to them catch up and when you sit down, Marcus asks how you’ve been. “Same old. Work has kept me busy. Trying and failing to play catch with this one keeps me occupied.” You tease Theo who looks down at his plate with a little remorse at his comment. You wink at him when he looks up to show you are teasing and he starts to dig into his dinner. “I, uh, had my mom come stay for a weekend. She looked after Theo while I went out with some work friends.”

“That’s great.” Marcus’ smile tightens slightly, wondering if it was a date. He doesn’t have any reason to be jealous, but he would love to take you out. To give you a kid free night and explore what could be between the two of you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah it was good.” You nod, “Theo had a good time with his grandma, right?” You ask the little boy who nods, “she gave me soooo much chocolate.” He says and you chuckle, “and she was told it was too much.” You remind him and ruffle his hair. 

You finish eating and Theo is reluctant to go to bed but you soon convince him to shower and get ready for bed so Marcus can go lay in the bed with him until he falls asleep. “Night, my love.” You kiss Theo on the forehead and pat Marcus’s side as he lays down and pulls Theo close to continue talking. 

“Dad?” Theo asks softly. 

“Yeah?” Marcus murmurs back. 

“Mommy missed you.” He reveals without you knowing.

“She did?” Marcus’ heart leaps in his chest but he focuses on his son, brushing his hair back. “Why do you say that?” He asks quietly. He wonders if you just agreed that you missed him when Theo said something or if you had been upset that he wasn’t around to help.

“She would stare at that photo of the three of us, that’s in the hall. She’d cry and think I couldn’t see it, hear her.” He whispers, innocent eyes wide as he looks at his father.

“Oh.” He closes his eyes and nods. “I understand.” He whispers, leaning in and pressing his forehead against Theo’s. “I’ll make sure I make it up to her too.” He promises. He knows how much Theo loves his mom. You’re easy to love.

Theo snuggles into his chest, closing his eyes. “I love you, dad.” He murmurs, falling asleep moments later. When Marcus comes out of Theo’s room, softly shutting the door behind him, you look up from your phone. “He asleep?” You ask and Marcus nods, “out like a light.” 

You smile softly, setting your phone down, “he’s missed you so much.” You tell Marcus who comes to sit down beside you. 

“I missed him.” He says and you notice him hesitating. 

“Marcus…do you have something you need to tell me? Because I’d rather you just rip the bandaid off if you’re gonna be moving back to Austin, back to Teresa.” You spit out your worries, unable to stop it.

“What?” Marcus’ eyes widen and he’s bewildered until he remembers that he had told you that he was flying back from Austin. “No, no, I’m not getting back together with Teresa.” He promises. “I’m not going back to Texas. I want to stay here with Theo. And you.” He takes a step closer to you. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking while I’ve been gone.”

You look up at him, your brow furrowed and you wonder what he’s talking about. “Me too. I want - I want us to have shared custody of Theo. Officially. I want you to be listed as his father and I want you to be able to have all the rights a father has.”

“Is that all you want?” He asks softly, knowing that he’s putting his heart on the line. “I want- I needed that time apart.” He admits. “I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t just feeling grateful for you after Teresa, but I know that I - I’m in love with you.”

You stare at him, in shock and your jaw drops slightly. “You- wait - you - Marcus?” You ask breathlessly. He fidgets, looking like he’s regretting telling you but you shake your head and surge forward to cup his cheeks, bringing his eyes back to you. “I love you for the brilliant agent you are. I love you for how kind you are. I love you for what an incredible father you are. I am so in love with you, Marcus Anthony Pike. You are the one that got away but you’re back now and I’m yours if you want me.” You promise him, voice steady as you give air to the emotions that have been plaguing you since long before Marcus left to go undercover.

His brow furrows and he pulls you closer, feeling both incredibly frustrated for all the time you’ve lost together and relieved that you feel the same way. He whispers your name. “I love you.” He promises before he ducks his head and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is sweet and full of yearning. You and Marcus may have started off as a purely physical encounter but these feelings are the culmination of months and months of friendship and respect. You sigh into the kiss, your hands sliding down to rest on his chest and you can feel how fast his heart is thumping.

“Baby.” He pulls away and kisses down your jaw. “I love you. I just- I wanted to make sure -“ he groans again and his hands slide down to the very cusp of your ass. “I’ve felt so guilty. Because I wanted our little family to be real.”

You whimper when his lips kiss down your neck. “Marcus. Whatever happens- we - we agree that Theo comes first but - I really want to take you to my bed right now.” You admit, “and do naughty things to you.”

He groans against your pulse, unable to deny the fact that his cock is twitching. He’s had sex with you once and it is one of the highlights of his sexual experiences. So he might be a little nervous that he doesn’t live up to your expectations. “Let me make love to you.” He begs, scraping his teeth over your sensitive skin and grinning when you shudder. “I promise it won’t be the last time we are in bed together.”

You should be worried that this will change everything and if anything happens between you and Marcus, you put Theo in the middle. However, you don’t feel scared, you feel like this is meant to be. You feel like you belong with Marcus, in his arms. The love you feel isn’t fleeting or a honeymoon phase, it’s deep and real. “Take me to bed.” You request softly and Marcus takes your hand, guiding you to your bedroom. He’s been in here before but mainly to help with DIY stuff and when you’ve been putting laundry away. He shuts the door behind him while you shift towards the bed and when he walks over to cup your cheeks, you suddenly go a little shy. 

“Hi.” You murmur when his nose nudges yours. Marcus chuckles softly, “hi.” His response is soft and sweet, making you lean forward to press your lips together while your fingers work on the buttons of his shirt.

It’s slow. An opposite response to the first time that you were together. He wants you completely bare, he wants to be bare. He wants this to be what it should have been that first time. Sighing when your fingers brush his bare skin, he reaches for your hands and brings them up to kiss your fingers. “I’ve dreamed of touching you again so many times.” He confesses. “I want to make this good.”

“It’s you. It will be good because it’s you.” You promise him, your fingers caressing his jaw while his hands let go of yours to find the hem of your shirt. You let him pull it over your head and his hands caress your spine while they slide up to the clasp of your bra. “God, I love you.” You sigh after he removes your bra and he’s dragging you against him, your chests pressed together and your confession comes seconds before his lips find yours again.

Your taste is intoxicating, his tongue slides into your mouth and tangles with yours. Keeping it lighter, but the hunger is there, just simmering beneath the softness. His hands roam over your back before he slides them down to unhook your pants. “I want to taste you.” He groans against your lips. “Thought about it that night. Just spreading you apart wearing my cuffs and tonguing fucking your cunt on that jail cell bed.”

You moan softly at the memory of that night. How feral and rough it was. “Fuck, I- I think about that night all the time. When I- when I use my vibrator. Remember how you felt, the way you touched me. How you sounded.” You confess while he pushes your pants down and you step out of them to leave you in your underwear.

“I want to touch all of you.” He groans. “I wish I had just stripped you down. Fuck getting caught. You are gorgeous.” His hands caress your stomach, in awe that this body gave him Theo so long ago. “I can’t tell you how many times I jerked off thinking about that night. What I would have done if I had you again.”

“Shit, Marcus.” You pant, loving the dirty talk that’s spilling from his mouth and you reach down to squeeze his hard cock through his pants. “Always imagined sucking your cock. Wanting you to cum down my throat. So much I want you to do to me and me to you. Fuck.” You gasp when he bends over to take your nipple into his mouth. You tangle your fingers in his hair and push him further into your chest, your body almost shaking from the sensation after so long without physical touch.

He can’t help but groan when you tangle your fingers and tug. You hadn’t touched him that night and all of your previous touch had been innocent and friendly. Suckling hungrily, he bites down on your nipple gently and then soothing it with a loving lick. Imagining them filled with milk for his son. Imagining seeing you pregnant.

“Marcus. I want - I want to see all of you.” You plead when he lathes your other breast with attention until you’re pushing him back. You reach for his belt, unbuckling it and working fast to unbutton his pants. Reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock that you never got to touch the first time.

“Fuck.” Marcus hisses, his hips rocking up. “Jesus, baby.” He lets you take control, knowing that you had been at his mercy the first time. He owes you this. “Sit on my face.” He begs, willing to do whatever you want but he wants his tongue into you.

You won’t argue with him, letting go of his cock to push your underwear down and he works on pushing his pants and boxers down, struggling to kick off his shoes until he’s left in just his socks and he’s in too much of a hurry to remove those. You watch him lay down and you kneel on the bed. “Fuck, I want to suck your cock too. Didn’t get a chance to.” You say, bending over to run your tongue along the underside of his cock as it rests heavy on his lower stomach.

“Fuck.” Marcus moans, nodding almost dumbly as your tongue presses against the head. “Whatever you want. I just want to make you feel good, baby”

You nod, shifting to straddle Marcus’s chest. You want to suck him off but you remind yourself that you don’t just have one night, you have as many as he will give you. You slow down a little as you sit on his chest and his hands grab your thighs, shifting you until you are hovering over his face.

“Jesus Christ, you have such a pretty cunt.” Marcus groans before he lunges up and dives into your folds. Sliding his tongue through the wetness and moaning at your taste.

Your hands find your headboard, a moan escaping your lips as his tongue dives deep. “Fuck! Marcus!” You cry, throwing your head back and you realize you were too loud for sleeping Theo. You bite your lip, trying to remain quiet and rocking your hips down to meet his eager tongue.

Marcus groans, his hands coaxing you to ride his face. He doesn’t want you to suppress your noises, he wants to hear all of them. Cock throbbing as he probes deeper into your cunt, his chin grinding against your clit.

You let go of your lip as you can’t help the moan that escapes you as you grind down onto his face, his hands squeezing your hips with encouragement and you whimper when he nudges your clit just right.

Chuckling, Marcus makes sure that you are still getting that pressure that makes you whimper. Watching your ass move as you rock on his tongue, lost in pleasure. He wonders when the last time you had someone do this for you. He knows it will be something regular now, as long as you want it.

His chuckle vibrates through you and you reach up to squeeze your own tits after letting go of the headboard, your head thrown back as you grind onto his face. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m gonna - Marc - oh shit.” You squeal and clamp down on his tongue, soaking his face as you cum with a low moan.

He swears he could cum from just that alone. Groaning and continuing to make sure that you have the best orgasm you can possibly experience. Slowing his tongue and just keeping you shaking as you ride it out.

You take a moment to savor the feel of him before you bend over, taking his hard cock into your mouth with renewed vigor after he made you cum so hard. His answering groan makes you work harder, shifting off of his face to take him deeper.

“Baby.” He gasps, reaching down and cupping your jaw. “Holy shit.” His eyes roll back in pleasure when you flick your tongue over his frenulum and suck on the tip. “Not- not gonna last if you do that.” He pants, wanting to be inside you when he cums.

You reluctantly pull off of him, shifting to straddle his thighs, his cock pressed against your stomach as you lean down to kiss him. Again, there’s no rush as you languidly caress his tongue with yours. “Fuck, I love you.” You murmur against his chin. “I have an IUD. I know we never discuss anything sexual but it’s been a while for me and I’m clean.” You haven’t been a nun since Theo was born, managing a few nights out with coworkers or friends while your mom babysat back in Austin and you ended up having sex before rushing home to relieve your mom, never taking it beyond that for Theo’s sake.

“I love you too.” Marcus promises. “I- I got tested after ending things with Teresa.” It was a part of the work up for his undercover mission, but he had been planning on scheduling it anyway. “I’m clean and I trust you completely. You know that. Or you should.”

You caress his chest after you sit up, “I trust you with everything I am.” You promise him and his answering grin makes your heart thump. You shift up onto your knees, reaching between you to grip his cock and you position him at your entrance, sinking down onto him with a moan as he slowly stretches you out.

Marcus watches in rapture as your face twists up in pleasure at the fill of him. “I love you.” He groans, caressing your side and smiling up at you as you adjust to him. He wants you to take your time, whatever time you need. He wants you to have the exact pleasure you want tonight.

You take a moment to adjust to him, he’s long and you feel like he’s already in your guts. You caress his chest and close your eyes for a moment, just feeling him. Finally, your thighs touch his and you open your eyes to look at him. “Fuck, you feel so good.” You admit after you lift up, slowly, and you feel him dragging against your walls as you sink back down onto him.

“You feel good.” He groans. “You felt so good that night, but now.” He shakes his head and squeezes your hips. “I love you. Fuck baby, you look so good. You belong right there.”

Your heart pounds as you look down at him, your hand sliding over his chest to feel how his heart beats and you love the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “It was meant to be. That night. Us having sex. Having Theo. It took a while but this is where we belong.” You murmur, grinding down onto him.

“Yes it is, baby.” That he’s now completely certain of. “I want to make a real family with you.” He knows that serious conversations need to happen, Theo’s best interests need to come first, but he wants you to know how serious he is. “Us baby. The three of us.”

His words make tears spring in your eyes and you bend over, cupping his cheeks so you can kiss him. “The three of us. A family, oh God. You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined it. Maybe…maybe one day…another baby. If it works out.” You suggest, “want you to be there for it all.” You murmur, kissing his jaw as you rock back onto him.

“Fuck.” Marcus groans and his cock twitches inside you. “I hate that I missed it. I would have waited on you, hand and foot.” There’s nothing he wants more than to see you growing his child, but maybe there can be another one sometime soon. If you want. He would love it. “Want to marry you, baby.” He coos.

His words make you shiver at the idea of being Mrs. Pike, but in the best way possible. It’s something you’ve definitely thought about, you’d guiltily admit that you thought about it when he was with Teresa. You rock back onto him, your chest still pressed against his. “I want to be yours, Marcus. In every way. You are - fuck - you are everything I want.” You promise, leaning closer to kiss along his neck.

The moment lingers and it’s everything that he’s wanted. The sensation more than he had with Teresa. He knows that now. His hands slide up your back, tongue pressing against the dip in your shoulder.

You are breathless as you rock on top of him, “Marc.” You moan as your body shakes above him, getting closer and closer as the angle hits just right and his pelvis is rubbing against your clit. You bury your face in his neck when you cum. It’s slow and intense, making your entire body vibrate as you feel it from your toes all the way to your head. It’s dizzying and you shudder as you try to work yourself through it.

“Good girl.” Marcus moans, closing his eyes and feeling your body shake and shudder as you softly come down from your high until you are limp on top of him. “God, you are so perfect.”

You tilt your head to kiss him, enjoying the feel of him inside of you and the lingering haze of your orgasm. His tongue slides against yours and you’re in no rush. You have all night and hopefully every night from now on. His hands caress your back until he pulls back from your mouth and rolls you over, his body hovering over yours. “You gonna make love to me?” You ask softly, fingers caressing his lips.

“I am.” Marcus leans in and nudges his nose against yours. Pressing his lips to yours in a petal soft kiss before sliding his hand down to lift your thigh onto his hip. “Want to make sure you know exactly how I feel about you.”

You caress his shoulders, “show me.” You order, wanting to experience Marcus like this. After so many months of pining for him, watching him with Teresa. You finally have him and he’s taking his time to make sure you know how he feels. When he starts to move inside of you, it’s slow and you feel every ridge and vein of him. “Shit.” You pant, tilting your head back.

He keeps his lips on your skin. Trailing kisses up and down your throat as he slowly rocks into you. Just slow enough that you feel him move but he’s not even built up anything that could be considered a pace. Feeling like he’s home and relishing it.

You keep your head tilted back so he can kiss along it, making you sigh and your hands caress his shoulders before sliding up to his cheeks, bringing his face to yours so you can kiss him. You wrap both your legs around him, wanting him to be even closer and he barely moves as your tongues slide against each other.

It’s like time doesn’t matter right here, and it doesn’t. The fatigue, the sorrow, the loneliness all evaporate as the two of you slowly move towards that pinnacle together. Almost more emotional than physical as he wants to stay buried inside you.

You shift your hips and Marcus moves a little faster, sensing what you need without you saying it, and you whimper when he shifts deeper inside of you. The pace is still leisurely and your lips hover against his, eyes closed as you breathe him in.

“Fuck, I love you.” Marcus promises, rocking slowly and tightening his hold on you. Feeling like he’s in Heaven. “This is- everything to me.”

“Me too.” You promise in return, caressing his shoulders and back as he rocks into you and he’s still in no rush. “You’re everything to me. You and Theo. My - my fucking world. Would do anything for either of you.” You vow, clenching around his cock.

He hums, knowing you mean every word you say. You have been nothing but truthful with him. Good to him when he didn’t deserve it and he’s honored that you fell in love with him.

When Marcus picks up the pace a little, you tighten your grip on him and can’t stop the little moans that escape your lips. “Oh God. Yes, right there.” You murmur, lost in the pleasure and the emotion as he pushes deep inside of you.

“There?” He grunts, biting his lip and concentrating to make sure that he makes you cum again. His arms brace his body up above you, still close as he works his cock in and out of your tight cunt. “Fuck, one more baby.” He begs. “Give me one more.”

You can’t speak as he hits the right spot over and over. Your stomach twists and your thighs tighten around him as he pushes deep until you are clamping down on his cock. Your head thrown back as you cum, gushing around him as a silent cry of his name graces your lips.

“Oh god, baby.” He groans, and presses his lips to yours as he starts to feel his own orgasm start to take over. “I love you, I love you so much.”

You watch him as he cums, his eyes squeezing shut as his jaw drops after he pulls back from you and you squeeze him within your walls, wanting to milk him for everything he has. Your hands caress his shoulders, sliding down his back. “I love you too. More than you’ll ever know.” You promise against his chin .

Panting, Marcus smiles and kisses your lips again. “I can’t believe that we are here like this.” He admits with a small chuckle. “I think that the best thing I did was watch the drunk tank that night.”

You cup his cheek, “I think the best thing I did was go out to celebrate my graduation. It’s been - it’s been a wild journey but I wouldn’t change anything. I love you and Theo so much. My world. I want to be your wife, I want to have more of your babies. I want you. Forever. Marcus, I fucking love you.” You declare breathlessly and he grins, pecking your lips. 

“You’ll get everything you want because that’s what I want. You’re what I want. You and my Theo. You’re everything.” He promises and you pull him close, his cock still inside of you and you know that you were always meant to belong to Marcus and him to you. It took eleven years but you and Marcus are finally where you belong: together.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike imagine

[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

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 9 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Marcus Pike x f!reader; Javier Peña x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 9 Summary: Flashback: All rules go out the window the first time you and Marcus are truly alone.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, flashback, workplace romance, oral sex (m receiving), Marcus being the softest saddest boy, bearded!Marcus, ‘good girl’ origin story

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 4.4k

Author’s Note: I wrote most of this at the same time I was writing chapter 8; I just couldn’t get this image out of my head of sad-boi!Marcus, watching his classic films, eating his pint of Ben & Jerry’s… I decided to break up this flashback as well because there is so much I want to do with bearded Marcus and the word count was getting untenable. 

Thank you to my darling, my lovely beta, Kilamonster! I’m forever grateful for your unceasing encouragement and feedback. Besitos para ti 💋💜

Dividers by @saradika!

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

One Year EarlierWashington, D.C. 

Pike had been acting weird ever since he went on that work trip to give a deposition. At first you thought he was just grumpy from being jet lagged, or perhaps the deposition hadn’t gone well. His office door was closed most of the time, which was very unusual for him. 

The poor man looked like somebody had run over his dog. You’d never seen him look so haggard in all the months you’d been detailed to his unit. His shoulders drooped, his shirts were wrinkled, and his usually well-groomed appearance turned a bit unkempt. You had to admit the beard he’d been growing for awhile had a rakish charm about it. He’d let his hair grow out, and the forelock that fell over his forehead was simply dreamy and emphasized his large, coffee colored eyes. Apparently the sad boy look did it for you.

You saw a few members of his team try various things to engage with him, inviting him to happy hours and trivia nights, bringing him coffee and pastries each morning. He was always grateful, insisted on paying for the food and drinks, but declined all invitations. Whispers were starting to circulate about various reasons for the change in Pike’s demeanor. 

You hate rumors. Which is how you find yourself sitting in your car on a Friday night, fully intending to go to the gym, but thinking about Pike instead. This had gone on long enough. Either he needed to be snapped out of it, or needed a friend to talk to about whatever he’s going through. 

Instead of driving to the gym, you stop by the store to pick up a six-pack of beer you’ve seen Pike drink at happy hours, and go to his place. He’s hosted team hangouts there, always making sure to include you. The case you’re on now occasionally results in late nights with a few of the team ordering massive amounts of takeout and working late into the night, camped out in various locations around his living room. You’re always the first to nab the cozy throw blanket off the back of the couch and hunker down into the plush cushions.

Tonight is different. You’ve only been alone with Pike a few times, never for long, and never at his place. Those few times you have been alone were always work related or out at a social function for as long as it took for someone to get back with the next round. By the time you begin to second guess your decision to go over, you’re already in his neighborhood and turning down his street. 

You think to yourself that it’s still not too late to turn back. Then Pike’s face from that afternoon comes to mind – those big, brown eyes of his that are usually so full of passion and intelligence had dulled the last few weeks. With your mind made up, you park in front of his townhouse and grab the six-pack from your passenger seat. 

A few steps from the front door, you pause when it occurs to you that the windows are darkened. His car is there, but the only light you can see is coming from the fan-shaped window at the top of his door. He might be out, or sleeping – you check your watch – at seven o’clock on a Friday night. Or, he might have somebody over, and having a young-ish female agent from work showing up would just be an awkward mood killer. 

You hesitate, then take a step forward, thinking you’ll leave the beer for him and send a text. Shaking your head, you realize that’d just be creepy, and turn around to go back to your car. Just then, you hear his front door open and whirl around to see Pike standing there in a white undershirt and joggers. 

“Hey –”

“Hey!” You cut him off, a little too loudly and flinch. “Hey, sorry, um…” You’re not quite sure what to say at this point, it all sounds too dumb. He doesn’t look angry, just a bit bemused by your presence. Thankfully, Marcus ends the awkward silence first.

“Do you want to come in?” Stepping back, Marcus opens the door a bit wider and you can see that he’s barefoot. You’re not sure why you find that endearing.

“Yeah, thanks.” You step inside, noticing that most of the interior lights are off except for a couple at the back of the house. There’s faint noise coming from the TV in the living room. Not sure what else to do, you stand there and awkwardly hold up the six-pack. 

“I brought beer.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you.” Marcus politely takes the beer and shuts the door. As he walks back to the kitchen, he asks over his shoulder, “Did I miss a group text about a hangout?” 

“No, I just…” Sighing, you hover at the threshold of his kitchen, where he’s opening two of the beer bottles. You decide to lean into the awkwardness and just go for it. “Are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, of course I’m okay. Why do you ask?” Marcus answers far too quickly and casually, so you push.

“You’ve seemed…off lately.” Accepting a beer, you take a swig to steady your nerves. The words all come out in a rush. “Ever since you went to give that deposition. You just haven’t seemed yourself.” 

Marcus watches you silently. You shrug, and admit, “I guess I was kind of worried.” 

You pause, your stomach in knots, sure now that you’ve just been imagining things, and that you’ve overstepped the limits of your professional relationship. Marcus takes a deep breath and places both hands on the island counter, leaning with his arms straight. He fixes you with an unreadable expression.

“Did the others put you up to this?”

“No!” You assure him, stepping forward and putting your beer bottle on the counter. “Nobody put me up to this. Nobody even knows I’m here.” 

Wanting him to believe you, you place a hand on his upper arm, feeling the well developed muscles flex under your touch. 

“Really, Marcus. You can talk to me. What’s going on?” 

Marcus sniffs, then takes a long pull from his beer. 

“Have you ever seen Casablanca?”

~*~*~*~

An hour later, Casablanca plays quietly in the background, and the two of you are settled back on the couch, washing down pizza with more beer.

Turns out Marcus hadn’t expected to see you standing there when he opened his front door. He’d gotten an alert from his doorbell camera and figured it was the pizza delivery guy. You laugh together when he shows you the video captured of your exchange.

“So, wait – you were just sitting here in the dark, watching a classic romance, in your pajamas? Where’s the pint of Ben and Jerry’s?” You’re both laughing at your lighthearted ribbing. You swear Marcus blushes a bit, but the beard and dim lighting makes it hard to tell.

“In the freezer…” You laugh even harder at this revelation. “What? I was saving it for after the pizza!” 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Pike?” You give him a playful push with your foot. “Go get it!” 

Marcus’ smile looks almost back to normal as he gets up and pads off to the kitchen, returning with a pint of Chunky Monkey and two spoons. 

“So,” you start, swallowing your first bite. “Who is she? Or he – I don’t want to assume, of course.”

“Who says there’s anyone at all?” Marcus demures, taking a large spoonful for himself. You sit facing each other on the couch, hunched over the shared ice cream.

“Seriously? The movie, the comfort food, the sweats – it’s Breakup Recovery 101, and you could teach the course.” He chuckles as you knock his spoon away with your own to go after a large piece of walnut.

“I know it’s cliche, but...”

“But it helps,” you finish for him, and he nods. Selflessly, you let him take the chunk of chocolate you were gunning for. The ice cream is starting to make you feel cold and you look around the room.

“What?” Marcus asks, turning his spoon over to lick it clean. 

“Where’s the blanket that’s normally here?” You pat its usual spot on the back of the couch. 

“Oh, hang on, I’ll get it.” While you dig around for another piece of chocolate, he disappears upstairs. A minute later he’s back with the cozy throw. “Sorry, I usually put it out if I know you’re coming over.”

Marcus spreads the blanket over both your laps while you hold the ice cream out of the way. 

“You don’t normally keep it out here?” Marcus shakes his head.

“Nah, I don’t usually need a blanket. But you got cold the first time you came over – for the Superbowl party, I think? I went out and got one so you’d be more comfortable the next time.”

You stare at Marcus, blinking, as he picks through for the good bits. This man, who barely knew you the first time you came over, went out and bought a blanket to keep at his house on the off chance you got cold here again. You don’t even remember saying you were cold at the party, you’d just put on your jacket until the house warmed up a bit. You’re not sure what to make of the feelings stirring inside your chest. 

“Thanks, Marcus. That was really thoughtful.” He shrugs in reply. 

“I like my friends to be comfortable.” And that’s when you remember Marcus sees you as a friend, and you see him as one too. You swallow around a lump and clear your throat. 

“I didn’t even know you’d been seeing anyone. Will you tell me what happened?”

After a deep breath, Marcus tells you everything – about his last assignment, the woman he’d briefly been engaged to when he came to D.C., and the man she stayed behind for. He tells you about seeing both of them when he went to give the deposition. And in return, you tell him what a badass he was for laying it all out for that asshole.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘badass.’ This is so embarrassing, but I actually said I’d grown the beard out for,” he raises his fingers in air quotes, “‘an undercover thing.’”

You try not to laugh, but fail miserably. “Aw, that’s not so bad.” Marcus rolls his eyes. 

“No, really! Once after a bad breakup I dyed my hair blue and sent my ex a glitter bomb.” Marcus laughs and tugs playfully at a lock of your hair.

“I bet you looked cute as hell with blue hair.” 

“Trust me, I didn’t look nearly as cute with blue hair as you do with a beard.” You reach up and stroke the side of his scruff. The shared laughter fades, and you’re left just looking at each other, taking one another in. 

The words bubble up in your chest and flow out, “She was so stupid, Marcus. I bet she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Marcus smiles ruefully and ducks his head, and you leave your spoon in the carton so you can take his face in both of your hands. His cheeks are soft and warm under your touch.

“I’m serious. You’re an amazing agent, an incredible friend, and an even better human being. I mean it when I say it’s her loss.” 

Marcus’ eyes go soft and he swallows. You realize you’re still holding his face and begin to retreat, but he holds one of your hands in place, his fingers cold from the forgotten ice cream in his lap. Closing his eyes, he takes a breath and turns his face to kiss your palm.

“Thank you,” he whispers. 

Your chest is tight from holding back the urge to do – what, you’re not exactly sure. Anything, whatever it takes to bring that smile back to his face and erase the sadness from his eyes. Leaning in, you brush a gentle kiss across his cheek, then another. 

And then his lips are on yours, warm and soft, slightly sticky from the ice cream. Marcus is moving, setting the half-melted ice cream on the coffee table and letting your spoons clatter, his lips never leaving yours. 

Your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer and you can smell the sweetness of the dessert on his beard. When he deepens the kiss, you sigh into his mouth, enjoying how his tongue tastes and feels against yours.

The scratch of the stubble doesn’t hurt, but the hairs on his upper lip tickle at your nose when you suck gently on his bottom lip. He moans, which seems to surprise him, and he pulls away, breathless. 

You try to follow but he holds your upper arms while saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have – so many reasons…”

You can see he’s overthinking everything, so you put it plainly. 

“I want this, and I want you. Is that how you feel too?” 

Marcus says emphatically, “God, yes. But–”

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.” You press your forehead to his and stroke his cheek. Placing light kisses to the corner of his mouth, then the apple of his cheek, the scruff on his jaw, you add a soft, “Please.” 

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose, and his hands flex, tightening their grip on your arms for a second. You lay a kiss at the corner of his eye, the place that crinkles so sweetly when he smiles. Turning his face into yours, he nudges your cheek with the gentle slope of his nose. His arms encircle you, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. 

“Let me help you forget.” 

Smoothing your hands over his chest, you try to slow your breathing. Being in Marcus’ arms, practically in his lap, is making you feel desperate. You’d do anything to make him feel better, anything to make him feel cherished. 

“Just for tonight?” A hint of pleading enters your voice. Slowly, you pull your feet under you, kneeling on the couch. Marcus swallows thickly, and when he finally speaks, his words come out hoarse. 

“Say it again.”

Not quite sure what he means, you pause for a moment, pulling back to bring him into focus. His pupils are blown, his soft lips parted. Marcus looks as wrecked as you feel. 

“Say ‘please’ again.” The words send tingles straight between your legs. 

“Please, Marcus.��� 

It comes out in a whisper, immediately followed by his mouth on yours. His broad chest feels hot under your hands where you grasp the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

He slips his large hands under the hem of your sweatshirt, then molds them to your ass. Putting your arms around the back of his neck, he lifts and helps you clamber over until you're straddling his lap.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he pants between your lips. 

Marcus leaves a scorching trail of kisses and licks down your neck until you gasp and grab a fistful of his soft hair to hold him to the spot that makes you dizzy. Feeling the evidence of his growing arousal, you roll your hips to press against him, sighing from the relief the friction gives you. Marcus lets out a soft grunt and pulls you into him again, this time lifting his hips up to meet yours. 

Unzipping the loose hoodie you’d intended for the gym, Marcus helps you free your arms from the fitted cuffs and tosses it somewhere on the floor behind you. You’re only wearing a lightweight tank top over your sports bra, and, in the back of your mind, you’re happy you happen to be wearing the nice one that actually makes your tits look good. 

Deciding to show them off, you strip the tank top over your head and toss it to the side of the couch you’d been sitting on. Marcus lets out a breath and pauses to admire your body, running his hands up and down your exposed midriff. As his hands caress your breasts, your nipples harden against the soft fabric of your bra, and he swipes a thumb over one causing you to shiver. 

Reaching down, you tug the hem of Marcus’ white undershirt up and he leans forward, allowing you to pull it all the way off. You knew his arms were nice, but his chest and shoulders would have made your knees weak if you were standing. His golden skin is dappled with a light sprinkling of freckles down the column of his neck. You lean over to kiss at the base of his throat, feeling it vibrate when he hums, then lick and suck your way across his neck and shoulder. 

“Your mouth feels good,” Marcus intones huskily.

Smiling, you nip gently at his earlobe before whispering, “It’ll feel even better on your cock.”

“Fuck,” he groans. “You want to suck my cock?”

In answer, you reach between your bodies and palm his dick through his soft jogging pants, then give it a small stroke. He grunts, then turns his head, capturing your lips in another heated kiss.

When you moan, he deepens the kiss and drags his hot tongue against yours. He tastes so good, you’re reluctant to stop, but the size and heft of him through his pants is too tempting to resist. Sliding a finger into his waistband, you give it a playful tug and feel him smile against your mouth. You slip your hand inside and wrap your fingers around his sizable cock. 

“Oh my god,” you murmur, and he huffs a small laugh that gets drawn out into a moan when you grasp him firmly in your fist. 

“I'm flattered,” he says lightly, but as you give him a tentative stroke his brow creases and he lets out a soft gasp.

“Trust me, it's not just flattery.” His breath hitches when you stroke him again and he kisses your bare shoulder. You reach down with your other hand and pull his cock free of his pants to give you more freedom of movement. 

Glancing down between your bodies, you're disappointed that you can't make out much in the darkness of the living room. Setting a slow, easy pace, Marcus groans and rests his forehead on your shoulder, grabbing a fistful of each ass cheek in his hands. 

“Does that feel good?” Your voice comes out low and intimate, almost a whisper.

Nodding, he makes small movements with his hips to thrust up into your hand. 

“Do you want more? Do you want my mouth?” 

He lets out a guttural moan and nods more empathically, pulling back to kiss you again. Breaking the kiss gently, you slide down between his splayed thighs and kneel before him, the plush rug comfortable under your knees. In this new position, you're more acutely aware of how wet you've been getting. 

You can see the top half of his cock trapped between his stomach and waistband, and eagerly reach for him.

“Take this off first,” he instructs softly, toying with the strap of your sports bra with a quirk to his lips. 

Smiling, you obey and pull off the tight garment, watching his face to see his reaction. In the dimness of the living room, the light cast from the TV flickers silently across his face, highlighting the cut of his jaw and cheekbones. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers to himself, and cups your face in his hand. He drags the pad of his thumb across your bottom lip, unconsciously flicking his tongue out to wet his own. You decide you like seeing him from this angle, awaiting his next word or move, basking in his praise.

You grasp at the elastic waistband and Marcus lifts his hips. As his cock is freed, he watches you intensely under heavy lids. Pulling his jogging pants all the way down to his ankles, you let him adjust and get comfortable while you stroke his thighs. 

Your mouth waters, impatient to feel the swollen head of his cock slipping past your lips. Grasping the solid weight of him in your fist, you pull up from the base, delighted to see a drop of precum pearl at the tip. Before it can spill over, you lean in and lick the salty substance away. 

“Fuck,” Marcus’ hips spasm involuntarily, the head of his cock bumping into your mouth. “Shit, sorry.” 

Ignoring his apology, you engulf him in your mouth and swirl your tongue around the ridge, then flick it at the sensitive spot just underneath. Keeping one hand at the base, you gather spit in your mouth and let it drip over the cut head, stroking him a few times to make it nice and slick. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, watching you create a seal between your mouth and hand, stroking the length that won’t fit in your mouth. His moans and sighs fill your ears, hands roaming your shoulders and neck, cradling your head, pulling back your hair. He’s holding back, though. Thighs and abs rigid, arms tense, he isn’t giving himself over to the pleasure.

“I want you to use my mouth,” you tell him, then take him back in your mouth. You take one of his hands and place it at the back of your head, giving yourself a push to indicate that he can pull you down if he wants. Marcus groans and gives an experimental push, but stays tense.

Pulling off him again, you stroke the head to keep him stimulated. “Please, Marcus – fuck my mouth.” 

“Oh, fuck…” Marcus slowly begins to relax, allowing his hips to buck up and meet your mouth as he gently pulls your face down. “Your mouth, it feels so good, you’re so good.” 

He drops his head to rest on the back of the couch. His large hands palm each side of your face and you take him in, all the way to the back of your throat, letting him feel the vibrations of your moans. 

“Ah, hnh, fuck…” Every bob of your head and thrust of his hips elicits a grunt or noise in the back of his throat. You’re sure you must be soaking wet now, and you’re tempted to touch yourself while you suck him off. 

“Just like that…fuck – so fucking good, baby. Take my cock – ah, yeah…” 

The sounds he's making have you moaning and whimpering around his cock, eyes closed, drool coating your mouth and chin. 

“I’m not gonna last if you keep that up– ugh, god.” 

Clenching your thighs, your hips move involuntarily, trying to get some stimulation to your throbbing clit. You need some relief, and press the heel of your palm to your mound, grinding into it in time with every thrust of Marcus’ cock into your mouth.

“Fuck, are you touching yourself while you suck me off? Does it turn you on that much, taking me deep, feeling me fuck your mouth?” 

You answer an mhmm around his cock and look up at him. From the pale light of the TV screen you can see the sheen of perspiration on his chest and forehead, his mouth open, that plump bottom lip quivering slightly. 

He meets your eye as he fucks into your mouth. “Shit, that’s so good, baby, don’t stop – your fucking mouth – ah, god, yeah, keep playing with yourself, good girl.”

Good girl. 

Your clit throbs and you let out an involuntary moan, your eyes fluttering shut. Nobody has ever called you a ‘good girl’ before, but Marcus’ ceaseless praise activates a part of your brain you didn't know existed. 

You need to make Marcus feel good, and you feel driven to perform well enough to earn that ‘good girl’ from him again. You want to taste and swallow his cum as your reward. 

Eyes closed again, you press down and relax your jaw, suppressing your gag reflex around the softer glans as you grip the rock hard base of his cock. 

“Fuck, I can feel your throat, baby. You still touching yourself?”

You manage to whimper another mhm and nod slightly before he's hitting the back of your throat again. Your pussy is on fire, already clenching around nothing, desperate to take Marcus’ cock.

“Unh, yeah, don’t stop, I love how turned on you are by this. I can’t wait to taste you too – do you want that? You want my mouth too?” 

Moaning your assent, you caress a hand over whatever planes of his body you can reach without breaking rhythm, feeling the muscles in his abs and thighs quiver as he thrusts steadily. 

“Oohh fuck, yeah – you're taking me so deep, that’s it, that’s … that’s a good girl.”

There it is again, those two words: good girl. A keening sound comes from your throat in response. Head swimming, you'd swear you're drunk off his cock and his words. 

Marcus’ voice is getting more strained, wavering from guttural to breathy. His cock swells in your mouth and your eyes water slightly.

“Fuck, baby, you’re getting me so close. Do you want my cum?” 

Whimpering, you use both hands to grasp onto his hips, keeping up the pace with your mouth as his hips stutter. 

"I’m so close, where do you want it?” His words are rushed and tense, but you never break your stride, moaning around his cock and making your answer obvious. 

“Shit. Here it comes – I’m cu–” Marcus doesn’t get a chance to finish his warning before his cock is pulsing and shooting his cum onto the back of your tongue. Letting out a hoarse cry, he grips reflexively to your face and hair as his orgasm rips through him.

“Ah, ahh, yes, take my cum – so good, so fucking good for me…” 

As the last shudders ripple through his muscles, he sighs and strokes your face tenderly while you happily milk the last drops of his cum into your mouth. You can’t help feeling a sense of accomplishment and pride in making Marcus feel so good. 

Before either of you can catch your breath, Marcus leans over and captures your mouth in a deep kiss. You both moan as his tongue explores your mouth, tasting himself in every corner.  

“That was incredible,” he sighs between kisses. “You’re incredible.” 

Marcus kisses up your jaw to your ear and whispers, “I want to make you feel just as good…” He drags the tip of his tongue from earlobe to pulsepoint, then makes you lose nearly all your senses as he sucks and nibbles on the sensitive spot.

Still on your knees, Marcus’ assault on your neck has you arched back until you feel the press of the coffee table behind you. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but you are positioned awkwardly enough that you cling to Marcus for stability, the muscles in his back broad and firm under your hands. 

“Bedroom.” It’s the only word you manage to gasp out. 

“Upstairs.” His reply would sound casual if not for the heat in his voice. 

“Show me.” 

Marcus stands, helping you regain your balance on your feet. He kisses your lips again, then pulls back with a sly grin on his face. 

“Say, ‘please.’”

Chapter 10 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

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#rumor has it fic #senorabond writes #rumor has it marcus #saddest boi marcus #lets make him feel better #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #javi x reader x pike #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you

[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.

-- -- --

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang  @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @haylzcyon@wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns  @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry

#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fic #pedrostories #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike #spooky story #love is like ghosts #unfinished #pedro pascal character #marcus pike fanfiction

[pedroshotwifey]

Requested Marcus Fics

One Condition Marcus Pike x fem!reader x Ezra (Prospect) - You and your partner, Marcus Pike, get stranded on an inhabited planet and run into problem after problem. You find yourselves in a compromising position that requires help from a strange man, who comes to you with one condition. (4.9k)

Wifey's Christmas Countdown Marcus Fics

Favor Roomate!Marcus Pike x f!reader - You accompany Marcus as his "date" for his holiday party. By the end of the night, you realize that neither of you want it to be fake. (1.5k)

What to Watch Husband!Marcus Pike x pregnant!wife!reader - Marcus never fails to save the day (863)

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedro pascal characters #fluff #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike smut #marcus pike the mentalist #domestic fluff

[lady-bess]

Just A Date - Marcus Pike

Part of the LadyBess Valentine's special! 8 Characters; 8 Dates 💜

Marcus Pike x GN!Reader Mature/18+ (Minors DNI Please✨) WC: 1.8k Notable Tags: Museum Date, Marcus being a lil' sweetheart, Kissing, Fluff, I let Marcus be an art expert for once, Grand Gesture, Surprise for Reader, Admission of Feelings, SFW, This might be the most sfw thing I've ever written.

Ah, everybody’s favourite sweetheart. The Golden Child of Pedro characters! And rightfully so. He didn’t deserve the treatment he got in The Mentalist, and I’ll never shut up about that. It turns out I have many ‘Roman Empires’ in the PPCU, and his heartache is one of them.

Sure, he might move fast by some people’s standards, but he’s a well meaning guy and has learnt to trust his gut! He is an FBI agent, after all. You don’t do well in a career with the FBI if you don’t have some extent of a trustworthy instinct, so quite frankly if Marcus asked me to jump I would only ask him, “how high?”.

So, in light of his abhorrent treatment, I’m giving Marcus the Valentine’s day he deserves!

He had everything planned out perfectly. Now all he had to do was hope you’d like it as much as he prayed you would.

Marcus had learnt from his mistakes in previous relationships, and had been sure to make sure the pacing of yours was much steadier than what he’d gone for in the past. He was very much a “when you know, you know” type of guy, but even though that feeling was present with you, the last thing he wanted was to scare you off.

You’d been together for a couple of years now, having met by chance in a café one afternoon not long after he’d moved for his new job. He took dating you in his stride, needing to turn over a new leaf since moving away, and you’d been the breathe of fresh air he so desperately was looking for. You’d changed his life, and he’d never been happier than he was now.

You knew everything about his previous relationships; Marcus had wanted there to be no secrets about his previous marriage, or even the reason why he was so solemn when he first arrived in the city. But you’d been understanding, having had your fair share of heartache in your time too, and not a single part of his previous relationships had put you off. Besides, everyone had a little baggage, right?

Marcus picked you up just after five o’clock in the evening, arriving to your door in a smart suit and with a bouquet of roses in his arms. You opened the door and chuckled at him, letting him in for a few moments before setting off.

“You really shouldn’t have, Marcus,” you said, placing the roses in a vase before grabbing your jacket for going out. He shrugged, hands in his pockets as he tried to nonchalantly brush off the (obviously expensive) bouquet he’d just bestowed upon you.

“Well, I did, because I wanted to. Besides, you love roses, so don’t act like you don’t want them,” he teased, chuckling to himself. You rolled your eyes, not able to deny a thing, then kissed Marcus softly as you shrugged your jacket on.

“I do love them, and I love you. Thank you,” you said, and he smiled.

“Anytime, love. Now, shall we?” he said, holding his arm out for you to take. You giggled and took it, hooking your hand around his bicep.

“Come on then, Pike. Show me what you’ve got,” you said, and with that you left your home towards his car.

Marcus got you into his car before driving across town, choosing to take the scenic route to avoid some of the after-work traffic that he knew would be around at the moment. The soft melody of the radio played in the background as you looked out across the sprawling landscape, watching the sun set over the horizon and people go about their nights after a long day of working. You smiled over at Marcus, reaching over and placing your hand on his thigh as he drove.

Twenty minutes since setting off, Marcus pulled his car into a parking lot around the back of an art museum you’d had your eye on visiting for a while. You felt excitement brew in the pit of your stomach as you got out the car, Marcus coming round to you to link his arm around you again.

“We’re finally visiting this place then?” you said, poking Marcus’ nose softly to taunt him. He chuckled, leaning forward and kissing your cheek softly.

“We sure are! I hope this is alright?” he said.

“It’s wonderful, Marcus. You know I love when you go all art-expert on me,” you giggled.

“You’ll regret saying that one day,” he chuckled, “Come on, let’s get inside. I have a surprise for you once we’re in,” he said.

It wasn’t long before you were in the door of the museum, but the entire time your brain had been running a million miles an hour wondering what the surprise could be. Marcus usually had a surprise lurking up his sleeve on dates, but today of all days you were drawing a blank at what it could be given where you were. Perhaps a private tour? Or maybe he’d got you passes for access to the museum beyond tonight?

Your answer was soon given.

As you approached the entrance, Marcus left your side for a moment to speak to someone on the door. You couldn’t make out their conversation, but saw Marcus shake their hand before laughing with them, and then calling you over. He held out his hand for you to take as you got closer, and the man he’d spoken with nodded towards you.

“Good evening,” he said, “And welcome! As we discussed, Mr. Pike, once the two of you set foot inside you’ll have three hours, and then I’ll need you back out here. Is that all good?” he asked. Marcus nodded, squeezing your hand.

“Understood!”.

“Alright, I’ll let you both in! Have fun, and see you in a couple of hours!” the man said, then turning towards the entrance and unlocking the door.

“Marcus, what’s going on?” you whispered.

“You’ll see, my love,” he said, smiling wide like a child in a sweet shop. His hold on your hand tightened as the doors opened fully and you were allowed inside.

This museum had been one you’d wanted to visit for a long time, but the prices always were enough to put you off. For so long you’d only dreamt of being able to set foot inside the doors of this building, and sure enough it did not disappoint once you were past the entrance. Marble flooring spread out across the entranceway, the dazzling pearlescent white shining bright, the surface almost mirrored from how well it was cared for. The walls were an elaborate design of travertine, small fossils littered throughout, and labradorite was used sparingly as intricate decoration. Light bounced around the room from several hung chandeliers and candelabras, creating a warm glow.

“Oh my gosh,” you breathed, standing on the spot and craning your neck to admire the grandeur of the foyer. Marcus watched you, smiling to himself, already feeling proud.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” you agreed, “simply wonderful”.

“For the next few hours, it’s all ours,” Marcus said.

You turned to look at Marcus and smiled wide, laughing in slight disbelief under your breath. All ours? you thought. Was there anything this man wouldn’t do?

“Are you serious?” you asked. Marcus nodded, grinning.

“Yes, sweetheart. Three hours; no staff, no customers. Just us,” he said, “Do you like it?”.

“Marcus, this must have set you back a fortune!” you said, slightly pissed at him for spending what would be undoubtedly a lot of money on tonight, but at the same time you were so enamoured with what he’d done that it was hard to be mad at him. Smiling softly, tears prickling your eyes, you nodded over at him. “I love it”.

“I’m so glad,” he said, sighing in relief as his hands darted up to catch your cheeks in his hold. Pulling you close, he kissed you tenderly, and for a brief moment it felt like it was not just the museum that was deserted; the whole world disappeared around you.

“Thank you,” you whispered against his lips, “For everything, Marcus. You’re wonderful, and I love you,” you said.

“I love you too,” he said, thumbs softly caressing your cheeks. “Now, come along. We have a whole museum to explore, and just three hours to do it,” he chuckled.

“Well then, we best get started!” you said, and with that Marcus grabbed your hand and pulled you off towards the first exhibition.

For more from this series, check out the Just A Date Masterlist! For more works from me, here's my main Masterlist! ❤

LadyBess xox

#pedro pascal #fanfic #fanfiction #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike the mentalist #pike and reader #reader insert #reader insert fic #gender neutral reader #fluff #sfw #valentines day #valentines fic #the softest shit i've ever written actually

[perotovar]

What are you doing here? Well, I was upstairs... giving a deposition, and uh... I thought I would say hi. Stupid idea...

#pedropascaledit #ppascaledit #pedro pascal #userallisyn #xuserannie #userallii #userfanni #useriselin #marcus pike #the mentalist #g:pp #oaks #pioneer of the 'marcus pike deserved better' campaign

[morallyinept]

Marcus Pike in a leather jacket just hits fucking differently... 🖤

#marcus pike #marcus pike the mentalist #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #excuse me sir #but how very dare you

[thetriumphantpanda]

thunderstruck | marcus pike

Summary | You're scared of storms but it's okay, because Marcus always knows how to soothe you.

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Explicit - descriptions of thunderstorms, softness/fluff, rain, established relationship, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, our boy Marcus just being Marcus. No use of y/n.

Authors Note | This is my contribution to @undercoverpena's April Showers Challenge. It's a blessing that I got anything out because this brief gave me so many ideas, but I've missed my man and knew he would be the one I'd want to comfort me through a rain storm. Enjoy.

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Divider by @saradika

Are you busy?

No baby, what’s up?

I don’t like the storm.

They’ve never been your favourite. Something about growing up on the coast, when the rain and wind would bring the waves crashing near your home, and your parents would walk about like nothing was wrong and there wasn’t the immediate danger of your house being washed out to sea. The nights, when the wind would clatter the shutters against the windows and drag tiles from the roof to break onto the ground. It might be Washington D.C. now and you might live in a new apartment building, but it doesn’t make the torrential rain and gale force winds any easier to handle.

You’re sitting on the couch, curtains drawn with all the lights on to try and make it feel less scary, but when the first clap of thunder hits you jump and scream all the same, burying yourself further under the blanket, some childhood wish for that to keep you safe.

There’s a knock at the door a little while later, the only thing that could drag you from the warm cocoon of blankets. Padding gently to the door, you open it, Marcus stood in front of you, dripping wet from the storm outside. He steps across the threshold, arm wrapping around your waist as he dips to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“This feels stupid.” You grumble as you shut the door behind him, following close to his heels as he walks through your apartment, so familiar with it now that it feels like home to have to him here.

���It’s not stupid if you’re scared, baby.” He soothes, sitting down on your couch, opening his arm to encourage you to snuggle into his side, which you do without question.

You can feel his thumb tracing soothing circles on your arm as you settle a little, but it’s short-lived, when a crash of thunder bellows through the room from outside, making you jump and bury your head into the side of his neck with a groan.

“I blame the coast,” You speak softly, “I was always so scared of it blowing our house away when I was small.”

“You know what helps?” Marcus murmurs against your head, another soft kiss placed to it.

“Hmmm?”

“Sometimes you’ve just got to be louder than the storm.”

You look up at him, confused for a second, until you can feel him moving the two of you, laying you gently down on the couch. His mouth sponges kisses across your neck, trailing down across your collarbone before he drags it away to peel your tank top from your body. You hear Marcus hum in approval at your lack of bra, his hands gently pressing your tits together before his mouth is suckling a nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking over it until it’s stiffened to a peak, giving the same attention to the other side until you’re gasping, bucking your hips into his, the bulge in his trousers evident as his mouth trails further south, tongue leaving a trail from your tits and down your stomach until he gets to the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“Lift up.” He murmurs softly, voice almost drowned out by the constant smattering of rain against the windows.

Doing as you’re told, you lift your hips up, letting him hook his fingers into the waistband to drag them down your legs. You miss the weight and warmth of his body when it’s gone, but then you feel his warm palms on the inside of your thighs, pressing your legs open, and then you don’t mind so much at all, especially when you look up at him, watching him admire the already sticky mess accumulating between your thighs.

Marcus moves to run his thumb across your folds, dragging your slick across your skin, but not daring to dip below to where you truly want him.

“Such a pretty pussy.” He muses, moving to situate himself between your legs, hot mouth pressing wet kisses to the delicate skin of your thighs, teasing you by putting his mouth everywhere but where you need it most.

“M-Marcus, please.” You whimper when his face moves, he’s so close to your cunt you can feel the hot of his breath.

“What do you want, baby?” He asks, running that damn thumb over your folds once more, this time though, his other thumb rests to the side, gently pulling your folds apart to bare you to him, “Want me to kiss it a little?”

“Oh god, oh please Marcus, please.”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for it.” He speaks, and you’re about to say something smart when he leans forward and presses a single, open-mouth kiss to your clit.

It’s tiny in comparison to what you really want, but it makes you throw your head back anyway, back arching, trying to press your cunt closer to his face. Thankfully, he takes pity on you, kisses your clit once, twice more, and then you can feel the tip of his tongue, flicking up against your clit, then dragging back down, sometimes circling, working you gently until you’re whining and bucking your hips into his face.

You’d almost forgotten about the storm outside, the movements of his tongue distracting you just enough, until the loudest clap of thunder echoes through the apartment. It makes you scream, jumping slightly, but you feel Marcus’ hands grip tightly to the skin of your thighs, tearing his mouth away from you. You look down at him, mouth glistening with a mix of your slick and his spit, glint across his brown eyes.

“What did I say?” He asks, squeezing at your thighs again, “What did I tell you earlier?”

“Um…” You wrack your brain, trying to remember, “I needed to be louder than the storm?”

“That’s right, my clever girl,” He praises, heat rising across your skin, “If you scream for me, you won’t notice.”

Once again, before you can retort with your smart mouth, he’s back on you, lips closing around your clit, tongue resuming it’s flicking across your bundle of nerves, but then you can feel two of his fingers sinking inside you, easing into your walls, curling up against that perfect spot inside of you.

It makes you cry out, his name dropping from your lips as you arch off the couch, his tongue working in time to the press of his two fingers in your cunt. You’re chanting his name into the room, moving your hips in time to the movements of his hands until you’re teetering on the edge of bliss. He knows, of course he does, the way your walls start to flutter around his fingers, so he slows his fingers, keeping you dangling over the edge but not quite pushing you just yet.

“Marcus p-please,” You whimper, hands tangling in his hair, “Please make me come.”

“You asked so nicely, baby,” He muses against your pussy, letting his fingers curl just perfectly against the spongy spot inside you, “Whenever you’re ready honey.”

It takes very little more, his mouth suckling at your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, and then you’re crashing, skin aflame with pleasure as you do exactly as he told you and scream his name into the living room, body convulsing, gushing around his fingers as they still inside you. You’re clenching around him as his tongue moves gently across your clit to work you through your orgasm until you’re boneless and pliant beneath him.

Marcus drags his fingers from you, letting them run up the skin of your thighs, as he finally relents and pulls away from you, just in time for more thunder to sound out, this time a little further away.

“Well, listen there,” He whispers, fingers moving to undo the button of his trousers, “Storm still hasn’t passed,” He speaks as he drags the zipper down, “Think you can make a little more noise, baby?”

You reach up, hand clutching the back of his neck to pull him back down on top of you, mouth meeting his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he kisses you before you pull away, “I can make all the noise you want.”

#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

[fortunethief]

Yeah... 🫠

#pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller #the mandalorian #din djarin #tlou #star wars #mandalorian #oberyn martell #game of thrones #frankie morales #triple frontier #javier peña #narcos #javi gutierrez #the unbearable weight of massive talent #marcus pike #the mentalist

[absurdthirst]

Casual Neighbors {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: FWB, Oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of abortions,

Comments: Training to be a nurse, your first patient is your handsome neighbor. Which leads to dinner, that turns into a FWB situation since Marcus is rethinking relationships and even having a family. Until you learn that you're pregnant when you are in your ultrasound class.

A/N: We based it alllllll off this TikTok. Yes, we are unhinged.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Marcus is exhausted, he needs to sleep but he’s been working all night long. Too busy trying to solve this latest case. The suspect had been brought in for questioning and held overnight. Marcus ran out of time around six in the morning and the perp had been released, making his department scramble for the evidence to arrest him. Marcus knows it’s him, he just has to prove it. He sighs and makes it up the last flight of steps on the floor to his apartment. In his exhaustion, he misses the last step and goes flying forward, hitting his head on the bannister and splaying over the floor.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” You had been leaving your apartment to go get some coffee and study before your class, leaving your apartment just in time to witness someone go sprawling. Dropping your bag, you rush over towards him, luckily moving and wincing as he slowly shuffles to his knees and groans. “Hold on, hold on, let me look.” You drop to your knees and start to try to get a look at the cut on the man’s forehead.

Marcus groans, trying to get his bearings and he looks up at you with glassy eyes, taking a few moments to recognize you as his neighbor that moved in a few months ago. “God, you’re beautiful.” He murmurs, still lost in the confusion of tripping over combined with his lack of sleep.

“You did hit your head hard.” You joke, looking into his confused brown eyes. He’s sweet, and very handsome, despite the blood that is running down his forehead. You introduce yourself and tut, reaching into your pocket to pull out a pack of Kleenex you carry. “We should get this cleaned up, I’m a nurse- well, I will be one when I get done with my training.”

“I should get to hospital and I-” He stumbles as he stands up, clinging to the bannister. 

“I can help clean you up.” You tell him and Marcus bites his lip, eager to avoid the trip to ER. 

“Okay.” He nods and you guide him to his apartment, helping him when he fumbles to get his keys out of his pocket. 

You help him inside and sit him down on his sofa. “Stay here. I’ll go get my kit.” You tell him and he nods, wincing but slumping against his sofa.

You rush back into your apartment, excited and nervous to treat your first ‘patient’ even though it’s something relatively minor. You’ve already checked for concussion, but you’ll check again. When you’ve pulled out your extensive first aid kit, you walk back to his door and knock on it before pushing it open. “Knock knock, you’re nurse is here.”

Marcus looks up, wincing at how quickly his head moved and he feels like an idiot for tripping up on the stairs. He watches you come and set your kit down on his coffee table and he blushes when you lean in towards him to start cleaning the cut. “Will I survive?” He jokes softly, admiring you as you concentrate.

“It might be touch and go, but I think you’ll survive.” You hum, looking away from what you are doing to smile at him. Telling yourself that you’re not flirting, you’re practicing your bedside manner. “You seem like you’re very coordinated normally, when I see you running out of your apartment in the mornings. Everything okay?” You see that his eyes are bloodshot, he’s obviously tired since you don’t smell any booze on him and he doesn’t appear to have any drugs in his system.

Marcus goes to nod but stops himself because of your hand on his forehead. “Yeah. Just exhausted. Work was a shit show. I haven’t slept for - shit - for like 48 hours.” He sighs, knowing he needs to take a few hours and head back into work. “I- you were heading out?” He remembers, wincing when you clean the cut.

“I was, and you need to sleep.” You tut, dabbing at the cut. “Good news is that you don’t need stitches, but just barely.” You hum, reaching for the antibiotic ointment and the butterfly bandages. “I’ll get you cleaned up and since you don’t have a concussion, I’ll give you some painkillers and then tuck you into bed.”

“God you’re the prettiest nurse I’ve ever had. So - God, I was lucky you were there.” He murmurs as you finish cleaning him up. His head is throbbing now, from the wound or the exhaustion he doesn’t know and he watches you fluster. “Sorry. I- you’ve helped me and I just can’t stop my mouth from blurting out the first thought in my head.”

“It’s okay.” You assure him, giving him a smile and patting his knee gently before you lean back and turn to your bag so you can get him some aspirin. “You seem sweet and for my first patient, you’re very cute.” You flirt, wanting him to feel good.

“Do you want to have dinner?” Marcus asks, flushing when his brain catches up. “I mean…I want to say thank you for helping me. You’ve saved me an expensive ER bill. Least I could do is make you dinner. Just you know, as neighbors.” He adds, not wanting you to feel pressured or awkward.

You grin, shaking out several aspirin into your hand and offering them to Marcus. “That sounds good.” You admit shyly. “As long as you go right to bed and sleep for at least eight hours.” You instruct seriously. “If you don’t feel like you are up to it, you can text me and cancel.” You grab a notepad and a pen out of your kit and quickly jot down your cell for him.

Marcus knows he won’t be asleep too long. He needs to go back to work before he grocery shops but he pretends to take your advice. “Shall we say 7:30? Do you get out of school? Or work?” He asks, suddenly nervous about tonight but he reminds himself this is just as friends. He swallows the aspirin after you get him some water and he takes the piece of paper.

“I get out around 6 so that’s perfect.” You nod. “I’m in school.” It’s easier to just say that right now rather than explaining you worked to save up for school and keep a budget that should carry you through nursing school. “Can I bring anything?” You ask, feeling slightly giddy about a simple dinner.

“No. No. Just yourself.” Marcus insists then downs the rest of the water. “I better get some sleep.” He stands up, swaying slightly, and he reaches for his tie, tossing it down as he shrugs off his jacket. He just wants to get into his bed, pass out and then wake up to plan dinner. “I’ll let you go. I can get into bed.” He promises, kicking off his shoes.

“Okay.” You watch him for a moment, struck by how cute your neighbor is and then you shake your head at yourself. He needs rest and you need to get out of his hair to do it. “I’ll let you get some sleep Marcus.” During his rambling, he had told you his name, but you hadn’t mentioned that he was still wearing his FBI badge with his name and picture on it. “Sleep well.”

****

Passing out in bed, Marcus sleeps for four hours and forces himself to wake up, getting in the shower to get ready to go back into the office. His head hurts but he takes some Tylenol and has a bagel, feeling better and ready to go back into work then go grocery shopping.

For your own part, you had a lot to tell the other girls and the one guy that was in your nursing class. Happy that you had been able to help, which was why you were becoming a nurse to begin with, and snagging a date with a cute guy. When class was over, you had rushed home to shower and pick out something cute yet casual to wear for dinner.

Marcus has a bottle of wine in the fridge, the pasta is boiling and sauce is simmering. He’s not the best cook but he’s pretty proud of the dishes he can cook. When the doorbell rings, he makes his way to the door, dressed in jeans and a button down, he tries to make this casual. This is not a date, it’s a thank you. He opens the door, smiling when he sees you in jeans and a blouse, and God, you’re just as pretty as he remembers. “Hey.” He offers you, feeling a little bashful now.

"Hey." You groan at the smell that is coming out of the apartment. "It smells absolutely amazing in here and I'm going to be in for a treat." 

Marcus is pleased it smells good and he guides you into his home. “You want a glass of wine? I have white but if you want red I can open that. Or if you want rosé, I have that too. Or Prosecco. I can open that.” He rambles, aware that he’s nervous and that’s fully on display.

You give a small laugh, reaching out and touching his arm. “It sounds like you have a great wine selection, but a glass of white wine sounds amazing.” You tilt your head and check for any additional signs of concussion. “As long as you have one with me if you're feeling up to it?”

Marcus nods, “I’m feeling fine now. I had a good nurse.” He winks and makes his way to his fridge to grab the bottle of wine, easily pouring two glasses and handing yours out until you take it. “To my savior.” He jokes, offering a toast as you hold your glass.

“To good timing.” You offer in return, tapping your glass lightly against his. “It made for a good story today in class. How I got my first patient and it was my handsome next door neighbor.” You figure since you already know that he thinks you’re pretty, there’s harm in letting him know the same.

Marcus blushes a little, sipping some wine, and he sets the glass down to continue working on dinner. “Shit. I didn’t ask if you’re allergic to anything.” He curses himself, knowing he should’ve checked. “I’m making chicken Alfredo.” He tells you, hoping you like that and don’t have any problems with it. If not, he can rustle something else up.

“That sounds perfect to me.” Marcus really is a sweet, considerate man. His relief is written on his face and it’s nice to have someone actually care about small details like that for once. “So, Marcus, what are you doing when you aren’t going 48 hours without sleep?” You ask, knowing that he’s in the FBI, but you assume they have different jobs other than just being scary g-men.

Marcus chuckles, “I work a lot but I like to read. Watch TV. Try to work out and go running. Normal stuff. I, uh, I like going to the farmers market on a Sunday.” He confesses, knowing he likes watching the happy couples walk by while he wallows in his singleness.

You raise a brow in surprise. Most men would talk about the sports bars they go to or the dating apps they are on. “All of that sounds great.” You admit, watching as he moves around his kitchen with the ease of someone who is used to cooking this. It’s not a performance simply to impress you. “I didn’t hear about dating in there, though. I’m assuming that there’s not a girlfriend or wife in another city?” You hadn’t seen any women come and go. “Or maybe boyfriend or husband?” You add, not wanting to assume just because he said you were beautiful.

Marcus snorts, unable to stop himself. “I- I have firmly decided against dating for the time being. I had a difficult situation when I moved to D.C. It’s a long story but I was engaged to a coworker, she - she called the engagement off to be with her partner and I have kind of wanted to focus on myself and get settled before I venture back out there.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” The idea that this might be a date dies a swift and disappointing death. You give him a small smile and nod. “Working on yourself is never a bad thing. It’s always good to know yourself better before involving someone else.”

“I really was ready to marry her, I was even ready to give up having kids, she didn’t want them. I- I don’t think I want kids anymore or to get married. It’s so complicated.” He’s been burned too many times. His ex wife had done a number on him. “Anyway, what about you? Am I dragging you away from a partner?” He asks, suddenly wanting to change the subject.

Your heart breaks for him, although you understand that after something painful, his viewpoints on everything might shift. “No.” You shrug and give him a painful look of commiseration. “Painfully single for the past…three years?” You nod. “Yeah. Three years. I’ve been busy working my ass off so I could afford to go to nursing school without having to work full time too. No time to do the song and dance and no desire to put up with the dating app bullshit.”

“I fucking hate dating apps.” Marcus confesses, stirring the pasta into the sauce after draining the water. “I can understand you being busy. What made you want to be a nurse?” He asks, shifting to serve the food in to awaiting dinner bowls on the side.

You laugh at the face he makes when he mentions dating, mirroring your feelings exactly. “Well, I always liked the idea of helping people. Like this morning. But honestly? I couldn’t really find anything else that held my attention longer than a semester or two.”

Marcus carries the dishes over to the table, setting them down and he heads back to the kitchen to grab the garlic bread. “Sit down.” He insists, “I remember when I was in school…I hated it.” He admits, setting the bread down, “I just wanted to get out into the world and make a difference.”

“I feel like that too sometimes.” You admit, reaching over and grabbing Marcus’s wine glass to bring over as you walk to the table. “But there is so much that goes into nursing that I can’t just jump into it. But I’m almost done.”

“You’ll be a good nurse. I can tell.” He winks at you and sits down, picking up the wine glass you just set down. “To impromptu hallway ERs.” He jokes at you and clinks his glass against yours.

“I am happy that my first patient was as nice as you.” You admit after taking a sip of the delicious white wine. “I’m assuming not every one of them will invite me over to their house for a homemade dinner to say thank you.” You set down the wine and pick up your fork. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I am in for a treat.”

Marcus flushes slightly, not used to cooking for anyone but himself. “I hope it tastes good too.” He says and sets his wine down to start eating. He watches you eagerly as you take your first bite, watching for any micro expressions that tell him you don’t like it. He tries to not ask how it is, biting his lip to smother the question.

It takes you a moment. That slight pause where you just absorb the flavors of the meal before you react. Groaning, your eyes slip closed with a small smile on your lips as you chew. “Oh my God.” You cover your mouth with your hand to make sure you don’t show any food. “I need this recipe for Alfredo, Marcus. It’s amazing.” 

To say he’s pleased is an understatement. He beams, ducking his head shyly as you praise him, and he offers you a bashful smile. “I’m glad you like it. I can give you the recipe. I got it online.” He tells you, offering you some garlic bread that he knocked up. He’s so happy you like it, eager to thank you for helping him out earlier.

“God, I can’t. You shouldn’t be this hot and a good cook.” You huff playfully, enjoying the way that the heat starts to creep up his neck. You imagine that if you were to try to feel his skin, it would be very warm. “It’s unfair. That’s what it is.”

Marcus snorts, knowing you’re just flattering him since he invited you to dinner. “Not unfair. I’m complicated. Got too many issues. Plus I leave my socks on the floor. Hairs in the sink.” He jokes, shaking his head as he twirls the fettuccine around the fork.

“Yep, socks, that has to be the deal breaker.” You joke back, grinning at him. You can tell he has a hard time accepting compliments. “Maybe it’s complicated because you have an intense job?” You offer. “I noticed your badge this morning. I bet there’s a lot of times things at work pop up and some women are idiots to let minor things get between them and a good man.”

Marcus sighs, setting his fork down, “sometimes. I mean, my ex was a coworker so she understood. She would rush off too for different ops. My ex wife…she hated it. Thought I was having an affair and making up the ops. Got to be too much and she wanted a divorce. Shit, I’m just spilling all my baggage. What about you? Why’s a beautiful woman like you single?” He counters, picking up his fork again.

“Scheduling.” You tell him with an ironic grin on your face. “Men don’t like to be told that they need to wait for sex because I have to work. Or study. Or sleep. So…” You shrug and fork up another bite of your dinner. “Just me and Bob most nights.”

“Bob.” Marcus chuckles, familiar with the term. “You deserve better than that, sweetheart. Too many people are caught up in media, wanting the perfect person to love them but we are all flawed. You should love someone, including their flaws. I- I’m a huge romantic. Love Actually is my favorite movie.” He confesses bashfully.

“Uh huh.” You nod and finish your bite before you lift your glass of wine. “I love that movie but I have one point that might get me kicked out.” You take a sip and grin. “The Walking Dead guy? His character was dead wrong. He ruined their wedding photos and the creepy board thing was way out of line. He expected her to keep this secret from her husband, he’s best mate.”

Marcus snorts, nodding his head, “you are right. Super creepy and over the line. My ex…her partner…he was in love with her and did everything he could to break us up. Succeeded in the end but gave me similar vibes to that character. I think that movie definitely shows the errors of love. How people make mistakes and sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad. Things happen for a reason. I’m convinced about that. I just - I’m not ready to throw my hat back in the ring.”

“God.” You stare at him for a moment, unsure if he realizes how perfect he sounds. “You definitely don’t deserve to be alone.” You huff, shaking your head. “Or at least have a fuck buddy who appreciates what you bring to the table.”

“Which is?” He snorts, “I don’t have anything to give. I work all the hours I have to and barely have enough time to work out so I’m not in the best shape of my life. I am - I am a desperate romantic and I get inside my head. I need something with no strings attached at all. And that’s hard for me, I’m not emotionless. I like emotions and I want to know someone before I take them to bed.

You might be about to embarrass yourself, make a huge fool of yourself and make your handsome neighbor avoid you like the plague, but no prizes are won unless you shoot your shot. “So fuck me.” You offer. “We’re both busy, single. We live next door to each other and think the other is attractive.” You pose, arching your eyebrow at him. “I’ll give you no strings attached and you’ll let me give my vibrator a break.”

Marcus nearly chokes on his food at your suggestion but then he thinks about it. It’s not silly, it’s smart. You’re a gorgeous woman and he is interested in you. Undoubtedly, he would never turn you away from his bed. You’re his next door neighbor though and he doesn’t want things to get messy in lieu of short term gratification. “Are you- no strings attached? You won’t be upset if I don’t buy you flowers or take you on a date?”

You snort and shake your head. “Flowers die, I appreciate the thought behind them, but I’d rather have orgasms.” You admit with a grin. “If you aren’t interested, it’s okay. No harm, no foul. We pretend like I didn’t say anything, we finish this dinner and go about our evenings alone.” You tell him. “If you are interested, well…..” you smirk and shrug. “We finish dinner and see how we feel after we get the first awkward fuck out of the way.”

His heart pounds in his chest and he hesitates but not because he doesn’t want you. He just doesn’t do this sort of thing, never has. Even in college his friends would make fun of him for not fucking a different girl every night. Maybe it’s his romanticism. “Let’s finish dinner and sit on the couch. See how things go. I want you, I’d be blind to not want you. You’re gorgeous. Let’s eat and then I…I wouldn’t mind my dessert being you.” He says with a smirk despite his flushed cheeks

Smirking slightly, you nod and fork up another bite. “Yes sir.” You tease, knowing that this is crazy but your neighbor is handsome and it’s been a long time since you’ve had a good man in your bed. Even if it’s just fucking, you know he won’t treat you like an object.

Dinner is enjoyed but rushed, Marcus scrambling to put the plates in the dishwasher and you stand up to help him.  He hates when things dry in the pan so you offer to help him and he accepts. “Sorry. Not exactly foreplay.” He jokes as he loads the dishwasher. He knows he wouldn’t be able to concentrate without the dishwasher being on and the kitchen being clean. 

You shrug, drying off the pot, “I’ve had worse.” You confess. 

Marcus shakes his head, “I’m an idiot.” He admits, starting the dishwasher just as you’re about to wash another pan. He grabs it from you, setting it down and he pushes you back against the counter. Inhaling deeply, he leans closer to you, not kissing you yet. His dark eyes on you and he leans in to run his nose along your jaw, enjoying your perfume. “It’s been a while.” He admits, pulling back to look into your eyes, “are you sure you want this?” 

You nod, dumbstruck by how handsome he is. “Words, baby girl.” He orders, and you swallow harshly, “yes.” That word sets a fire off in Marcus’s belly and he leans in to press his lips to yours, his hands grabbing your hips.

It’s surprising how passionate the kiss is. You can feel the built up tension behind it, repressed sexual need and want pouring out. Moaning slightly, you open your mouth and heat pools in core when he deepens the kiss. Sliding his tongue into your mouth and groaning into you. Your own hands slide up his back before you start to push up under his shirt, wanting to feel his warm skin under your fingers.

Marcus groans when your nails scratch his lower back and his hands slide along your waist, squeezing your breasts through your shirt until he can pull it over your head, exposing your bra. He leans in to kiss you again, tongue sliding against yours and he moves to kiss along your jaw and down your neck, trying to not suck too hard on your skin.

You tilt your head, letting him kiss along your throat and the thrilling sensation of arousal takes over. “I’m clean.” You hum, knowing that you should be demanding a condom, you know the statistics on STDs but you want to feel him. It’s been so long. “I- fuck, I’m on the pill.” You moan when his hands quickly unclip your bra and cup your tits. “Y-you?” 

Marcus leans back so he can look you in the eyes, “I’m clean. Got tested a few weeks ago for my quarterly health check at work. I haven’t been with anyone in a while. I, uh, can show you if you want.” He offers but you chuckle, shaking your head. You highly doubt Marcus would lie about that to you. 

“I believe you. I want to feel you. All of you.” You declare and reach out to squeeze him through his pants. 

“Shit.” He hisses, trying to not buck into your touch and instead, he focuses on you. Leaning in, he kisses along your chest until he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking while he enjoys your cries of pleasure.

You’re going to fuck this man right here in his kitchen unless you move somewhere else. Gasping out, you clutch his head to your chest and moan when he bites down gently before soothing the ache with his tongue. “Fuck- bedroom?” You ask, not certain if he would want to go that far. For all you know, he might just want to bend you over the table. 

The guilt settles as he realizes he should’ve taken you to bed. He’s not being a gentleman despite the fact that you’re about to have casual sex, you deserve to be treated properly. “Bedroom.” He confirms, pulling back from you and taking your hand so he can guide you through his apartment to the bedroom he keeps clean and tidy. 

Turning back towards you, he works on unbuttoning his shirt, fingers fumbling slightly until you take over. “Thanks.” He murmurs, enjoying the brushes of your fingers on every inch of skin you expose. His hands grab your ass, pulling you up against him when you have the shirt off of his shoulders and he relishes in the feel of your breasts against his skin. “God, you’re beautiful.” He echoes his earlier sentiment, still meaning it while he leans in to kiss you again.

This kiss is slower, more seductive and you can tell that this man is one who likes to please a partner. Except, you don’t want to be soft or gentle. You don’t need seduction, you need sex. Reaching down, you fumble with the button on his jeans and pull his zipper down, reaching into his pants to cup his cock. “Marcus, I need you to strip down.” you pant, wanting to feel him inside you and squeeze him. 

His groan is wrecked already when you squeeze him through his pants. Marcus can’t deny you anything, that has become clear, and he agrees, shifting to push his pants down. “Fuck baby, take - take your pants off.” He begs, wanting to see all of you. He kicks his pants aside, nearly stumbling while he takes off his socks.

It makes you giggle, watching him hop around even as you start peeling your own jeans down and shucking them. Going ahead and taking your panties off too, thankful you had showered and shaved before you had come over. Although you hadn’t anticipated sleeping with Marcus when you had done so. Standing in front of him naked, you let him look. “Do you want me to ride you or do you want to be on top?” 

Marcus cups your cheeks, bringing your eyes to focus on him. “How do you want me?” He asks, wanting you to decide this first time. “Ride me? Me on top? Me behind you? You tell me what you need.” He demands softly, wanting to please you.

“Fuck.” It’s been a long time since someone’s asked you how you want to take them. Your cunt clenches and you know that you’re already wet enough to take him. Glancing down at his cock, you hum. “I want to ride you.” You decide, knowing that he would want to play with your tits and kiss you while you bounce on his cock. 

Marcus’s cock twitches at the thought and he walks over to his bed, laying down on it and he pats his chest. “First you’re gonna ride my face. Want you to be wet enough to take me.” He orders, “come on. I want to taste you.”

You smirk, shaking your head as he looks up at you. Kneeling on the bed and straddling his waist, you don’t move closer. “No, I want to feel the stretch.” You reach down and wrap your fingers around his cock and start pumping him. “Feel the burn of your cock while I’m in class and know you fucked me.” 

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus hisses, his hands sliding along your waist until he can cup your tits, eagerly squeezing them and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “You’re a dirty girl. I love that.” He admits, loving how you’re not afraid to voice your fantasies, your desires. “Take what you want, sweetheart.” He demands, trying not to buck into your hand.

You enjoy the respect, shuffling up and lifting your hips up so you can place him at your dripping entrance. This man who you technically met this morning is now inside you when you lower yourself down onto his cock. Moaning at how he is stretching you out and not regretting a second of it. Closing your eyes against the thick stretch of him and enjoying how breathless he sounds underneath you. 

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus hisses, watching his cock disappear inside of you and he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. “Holy - you feel amazing, baby.” He groans, fingers caressing your hips as he patiently waits for you to adjust to him and get ready to move. His hands slide up your body to your tits and down to your ass, not able to get enough of you.

“Knew- knew you would want to touch.” You crow smugly, starting to grind your hips slowly before you lift off his cock and sink back down again with a moan. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his and gasp at the angle when he presses up against something wonderful inside you when he’s buried deep. “Fuck.” 

When your walls flutter around him, his hands find your ass and he squeezes, unable to stop himself from smacking your cheek. You gasp into his mouth and he smiles, enjoying your shock. He repeats the action and you rock back onto him, keeping that same angle. “So good.” He murmurs against your lips, “you feel so good.”

You pant in agreement, your hips starting to roll faster, chasing that sizzling spark of pleasure every time he hits deep. It’s been a long time since you’ve fucked someone and had it feel this good. “Fuck it’s so good.” You whimper, holding onto his shoulders and kissing him while you rock on his cock. 

Marcus shifts, sitting up so he can get closer to you, and he grabs your ass to haul you closer. You are now cross legged around him and he uses his new position to thrust up into you, his lips wrapped around your nipple. “Want to feel you cum for me. I- I won’t last long this time.” He informs you with panted breaths, not wanting you to walk away from this without an orgasm at least.

Reaching down between you, you start rubbing your clit. You know that he will feel guilty if you don’t cum and this will help. “Fuck.” You whine, body jerking up on a particularly rough thrust and your clench around him. “Like that.” You beg. “Ke-keep doing that and I’ll cum.” 

He wants to rub your clit but you know your body best. He wants to learn every little thing that makes you tick. The tricks to making you cum and he will, just not tonight. When you’re here next, he will go down on you and make you moan his name. Find out all your sensitive areas. For now, he follows your orders and thrusts up into you, keeping his hips angled the same way so you can seek your pleasure from his cock.

It only takes another three harsh thrusts and your cumming. Fingers pulling away from your clit as you squeal out his name, walls clamping down around his cock in pleasure. “Fuck! Marcus!” You cry out, body twitching backwards and you would fall back if he wasn’t holding you close as he rocks his hips up. 

“Fuckkkkk. Oh fuck. That was - that was hot as hell. Can I cum inside of you, please baby?” He asks, wanting you to be sure and when you nod, he wraps his arms around you. Dragging you into his chest, he thrusts up into you three more times until his cock twitches. Painting your walls with hot cum, he groans into your neck and clings to you.

Both of you cling to each other for a few moments, enjoying the afterglow of your pleasure before you pull back and tenderly kiss his lips a few times. “That was amazing.” You mumble happily, slightly hazy from your orgasm. “Gonna sleep like a baby tonight.” 

“Me too.” Marcus snorts, kissing your jaw. “We gotta do that again.” He declares, eager to see how else he can make you cum. “And again. And again. And again.” He says between kisses along your neck and you giggle, running your fingers through his hair. He rolls you into your back and pulls out of you, groaning at the sight of his cum pooling at your entrance. “Oh that’s pretty.” He coos, sliding his fingers through your folds.

“Someone has a cum play thing.” You hum playfully, your fingers tangling into his hair to play with it. You don’t mind at all, you’re protected and this is fun. You’re more relaxed than you’ve been in months and it’s all due to him. “God, how do you feel?” You ask. “No regrets?”

Marcus can’t deny that. He likes to see his cum pooling in his lover's cunt. Part of him admits that it’s a breeding link but he wouldn’t tell his partner that. Not wanting to make them feel awkward. He smiles at you, pulling his fingers away and shamelessly licking them clean. “No regrets. That was amazing. I loved it. I want - I want to keep doing it. Do you?”

It’s hot to watch a man lick his own cum from his fingers and it makes you moan softly. “Absolutely.” You agree with a quick nod. “So much better than Bob.” You tuck your arm behind your head and look down at him. “We can keep it casual. Just text if we need to release some steam or set up a schedule if it makes you more comfortable.” You don’t particularly like planned out sex on a schedule but it’s not just about you.

“We can text.” He decides, not wanting you to feel like you need to fuck him every Wednesday evening. That feels too mechanical. “Casual and fun. If either one of us isn’t feeling it anymore, we talk. No bullshit ignoring each other. We are adults having fun.” Marcus pecks your lips, “I’ll get you some water.”

“Perfect.” You smile as he walks out of the room before you climb out of the bed to snatch your panties off the floor. Your shirt and bra are in the kitchen so you can’t put those on, but you can start getting dressed again. Since you’re done having sex, you don’t want to make things awkward by overstaying your welcome. By the time Marcus comes back, you are zipping up your jeans. “Thanks.” You smile when you see the bottle in his hand. “Did you get yourself some water or do you want to split this?” 

“No, I'm good. It’s all yours, baby.” He promises, kissing your forehead and he walks back into the kitchen to grab the rest of your clothes after pulling on his boxers. Usually, he’d be asking if you want to stay for a movie but it’s clear that this is just sex and he will respect that. He has to come to terms with the fact that this is casual. He can’t let his romantic heart ruin a good thing.

Once all your clothes are back in place, you walk over to Marcus and kiss him gently. “I had a great time tonight.” You murmur, giving him a wink when you pull back. “Now I’m going to pass out and sleep like the dead until I have to get up.” You pat his chest gently. “You should do the same. I know you didn’t sleep for eight hours.” 

Marcus chuckles, grabbing your hand to place a kiss on the back of it. “Come on sleeping beauty, let’s get you home.” He tangles his fingers with yours and walks you to his front door. “I had a great time.” He murmurs and you nod, “me too.” He opens his door, checking the coast is clear, “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.” He promises and you step into the hall, crossing it to your front door. “Goodnight Marcus.” You tell him after you unlock your front door. “Night.” He offers you a little wave and waits until you’re inside before he steps back into his own apartment. With a smile on his face, he gets ready for bed. What a wild day.

****

“Fuck,” Whimpering, you curl your hands around the blanket under you, trying not to reach up and hold onto him while he moves over you. Rocking into you with hard, deep thrusts as his jaw clenches. Stretching your neck out, you kiss along his jaw, shuffling your legs higher on his thighs and smirk when he groans. Your walls had clenched around him, something you know drives him wild and he twitches harshly. 

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. That - shit - you feel so good. So fucking good.” He groans and turns his head to press his lips to yours. Two months you’ve been in his bed and every fucking time feels as good as the first. He shifts his hips, trying to find that angle you like and grins when you cry out beneath him. He knows your body as good as his own and he uses that to his advantage to make you cum.

“Marcus.” You close your eyes and moan his name again, loving how he always wants you to cum. He’s a fucking generous lover and the times where it’s just not possible for you to orgasm, he still makes you feel like you’ve had a great time. Sometimes it just won’t happen. “Fuck baby.” You whimper, getting closer to cumming with every harsh thrust. 

Marcus can tell you’re close. Loving the whimpers escaping your lips and he reaches between you to rub your clit. “You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” He asks, leaning in to kiss your jaw. His hips continue to keep the same steady pace despite his balls threatening to pull tight. He needs you to cum first.

The pressure of his fingers and the way his cock spears against your g-spot sends you over the edge. Crying out and clenching down around him as a wave of pleasure rushes over you. Soaking him in a hot rush of cum and making his thrusts sound so wet. 

Working you through it, he focuses on his own pleasure. Picking up the pace, he hisses your name and starts to thrust harder and deeper. Grabbing your thighs, he pushes them back towards your chest so he can sink his cock deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. I’m gonna - you’re gonna make me-” He pants and groans, pushing his cock deep inside of you to spill his cum.

You love the moment Marcus cums. The furrowed brow relaxes and his entire body follows suit. Melting into you while he throbs deep, filling you up. The heat from his cum always satisfying and you sigh softly, your hands finally reaching up and stroking his sweaty back. “So good.” You hum softly, kissing him again as he lets go of your legs to let them drop back down over his thighs. 

Marcus takes a few moments then pulls out of you, kissing along your neck and he grunts when he stands, reaching for the wipes he now keeps on his nightstand to clean you up. “You want something to eat?” He asks, pulling on his boxers after he tosses the wipes.

“I shouldn’t.” You sit up and sigh. “I have a ton of studying to do when I go home, but I know you will argue that I won’t eat if I don’t eat here.” It’s a part of him that you adore. Even though this is casual, Marcus is still a man who likes to take care of people and it shows. “So, yeah.” You nod and reach for your shirt. “I’ll eat with you.” 

“Good. You want breakfast for dinner? I have bacon. Pancakes. Eggs?” He asks and you nod. “Take your time here. I’ll go start the food.” He bends over to peck your lips and makes his way into the kitchen after grabbing his t-shirt. He knows this is dangerously overstepping from “friends with benefits” but he wants to take care of you. The lines are blurring and that terrifies him but there’s nothing he can do except go with the flow. Not if he wants to keep you in his life.

You jump into his shower, cleaning up even more than the wipes. You know Marcus won’t mind, he’s told you to clean up however you need to since he cums inside you every time. Redressing, you make your way out to the kitchen, smiling at the domestic scene as Marcus makes you pancakes. “So how is work going?” You ask, sitting at the stool at the bar and watching him. 

“Good. Been crazy. We have this case…a famous piece of art was stolen from a senator's house and no one knows how it was taken. No camera footage has been altered. No one in or out. It’s bizarre.” He admits, sliding a pancake onto your plate while he turns back to the eggs and bacon.

Humming, you shake your head, amazed at the things that Marcus gets to see and the people that he gets to meet. “Fun.” You reach over and grab his water bottle and twist the cap off to steal a drink. “Betcha it’s an insurance grab.” You tell him. “They are always trying to pull shady shit.” Marcus hums, and you grin - knowing he’s not going to tell you anything about an active investigation. “We are about to work on ultrasounds this week.” You are excited about that. “Should be interesting. Getting to see organs on the inside.” 

“Oh that’s cool. My girl is getting so close to being a nurse.” He winks at you, turning back to the stove and you stare at his back. He called you his girl. Marcus meanwhile, is cursing himself for letting that slip. He’s crossing boundaries and he knows you don’t want more than just fuck buddies. Neither does he. It’s less complicated, he’s less likely to get hurt.

It’s awkward for a few moments, the silence settling between you before you clear your throat. “So, I am probably going to be dead after the test coming up next week.” You inform him. “It’s going to be days of studying so I don’t flunk out. Don’t be surprised if I come beating on your door at 2AM, needing to cum. On the weekend of course.” You add, never wanting to interrupt his work schedule because of your needs. 

“You can knock on my door whenever you want.” He reminds you, “I’ll make you cum whenever you want.” He winks and slides the eggs onto your plate. “Just make sure you do well on your exams. Then maybe I’ll reward you.” He winks at you, already thinking about buying you something nice. He knows it might overstep but you deserve it after working so hard.

You chuckle quietly and wonder how he would reward you. “Hmm, then I’ll make sure to study extra hard.” You promise, groaning at the smell of the food and you take another drink of your water. It’s easy with Marcus and you know that you should probably end things, because you are getting too deep but you don’t want to. It’s fun and you really like him. 

Marcus smiles, taking a seat at the kitchen table and he watches you dig into the food he made. It would be so easy with you but he can’t risk it. He’s been hurt too many times and you are just starting your career. You’ll probably move away when you get a job offer, or find some hot doctor to date. “Better study hard then, baby.”

“When I do pass this fucking thing and get my degree, I am taking at least a month off from everything.” You tell him with a groan after you fork a bite of his pancakes up. He really does spoil you at times even though he doesn’t have to. “And I’m going to do nothing but walk around my apartment naked, sleeping, eating and hopefully fucking.” You wink at him and grin. 

“We can definitely accommodate that.” He winks, taking a bite of his pancakes and he is eager to have you pass this exam so he can celebrate with you. Maybe he can even take you to dinner. “Ultrasounds are first.” He reminds you, wanting you to know he remembers what said earlier.

“Ultrasounds first.” You agree, quickly finishing your dinner and it’s automatic to get up and help Marcus clean up the kitchen. He always grumbles that you don’t have to, but you would feel like you are taking advantage of him. You rinse off your plate and load it into the dishwasher before you lean against the counter. “I should probably go.” You hum, not wanting to but you know you need to. “Let you relax.” 

Marcus sighs, reluctant to let you go but he can’t just keep you here all the time. “Okay baby. I’ll see you later.” He pulls you close, pressing his lips to yours, and he smiles against your mouth when you peck his lips. “Good luck tomorrow.” He murmurs, guiding you over to the door and you quickly rush across the hall to your apartment. You offer him a soft “goodnight.” He winks and shuts his door, sighing to himself. He’s too deep and he’s gonna break his own heart.

****

“Once you spread the jelly across the surface, make sure you press the wand into the skin firmly.” Your instructor speaks out across the room, five different tables laid out with students stretched out on them with their shirts lifted up. You are on the first table since you want to see how it looks first. 

“Ohh it’s cold.” You always heard people say the jelly was cold but it’s freezing. “There has to be a warmer or something.” 

“We will make a note to the suppliers.” The instructor chuckles as she walks past, your fellow student sitting on the stool to press the wand into your skin. The instructor stands there, pointing out your organs until she stops talking, eyes wide. “There’s your womb.” She chokes out and your fellow student’s eyes widen. “And there’s your baby.” She chokes out and everyone scrambles to look at the screen, their gasps echoing in the room when they see the shape on the screen.

“What?” Your own eyes widen in disbelief, lurching up off the table and moving the wand away from your uterus for a second before your classmate brings it back and the baby reappears on the screen. “There’s no- it’s a trick right?” You ask breathlessly, confusion and terror, joy and absolute shock rushing through your entire body as you manage to tear your eyes away from the ultrasound to look at your instructor. Needing to see that she is playing a prank on you and will start laughing. “I can’t be preg-pregnant.” 

Your instructor bites her lip, “you might want to get a test to confirm but…it looks like you’re pregnant. Congratulations.” She offers softly, seeing the shock on your face and she reaches out to take your hand. “I know it’s scary but you can leave now. I won’t keep you here for the class. You can go home.”

She prints out a few pictures for you and you gather your things, almost in a daze. Shocked that you have a baby inside you. You know that birth control isn’t one hundred percent but you hadn’t had any issues with it before. You drive to the doctor on auto pilot, demanding to be seen right away. You need a blood test to confirm what you know to be true, but you need the test. 

**** 

Marcus is coming home when he sees you standing at his door. He frowns when he sees your face. “Hey baby. What’s wrong?” He asks, immediately walking up to you and he works on unlocking his front door. “Come in.” He orders, guiding you into his place and he sets his briefcase down to look at you. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” You shake your head, thoughts scattered and you’re not able to focus like you normally would. The blood test confirmed it, and from the scans, you know the approximate date of conception. It lines up with when you were with Marcus. It was a week that you only slept with him one time. “I need to talk to you.” You rub your hands on your pants and take a deep breath. “Marcus, I- I’m pregnant.” 

Marcus stares at you, searching your eyes, and he chuckles after a moment. “Haha. Very funny. What is this? Trying to make me have a heart attack?” He jokes and shakes his head. When you continue to stare at him, not laughing, he pauses and stares at you. “You- you’re - seriously?” He chokes out.

Your hands shake as you pull out the scans and the blood test that shows positive for pregnancy. “I was in my- my ultrasound class today and I- the instructor showed me.” You manage. “I- I’m so sorry, Marc. I’ve been taking my birth control. This is my fault. I’m just-” You break off, unsure of what to say while he takes the paperwork from your hand. 

Marcus stares at the scan and the results. He always imagined this moment to be joyous. To be in a committed relationship that he’s happy in and have a stable environment for his child to come into. He always imagined he would be crying with happiness at the prospect of being a father. Yet right now, he feels sick. He’s not ready to be a father. He doesn’t have the house or the dog or the yard. He’s not married. “I- I don’t know what to say.” He says honestly, frowning at you.

Six words seem to crush your soul. You had imagined that he would be surprised but ultimately happy. Or at least warmer. Instead he is frowning at you and that alone makes tears pool up in your eyes. “I- it’s okay.” You manage, wiping your eyes and nodding. “I just- I wanted to - to tell you. You don’t have to say anything.” 

Marcus doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t anticipate this and he needs to process. “I, uh, I need to - to process this.” He admits and hands you back the scan. He is terrified, scared to lose you since you clearly didn’t want to be in a relationship and neither did he. This was supposed to be fun, casual. “Have you…have you considered what you want to do?”

“I- I don’t know.” You admit quietly, tucking the scans back into your jacket and giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “I just - I guess I need to process too.” Process is code for not wanting to deal with it, you know that. He doesn’t want a pregnancy with a woman he was just casually sleeping with and by his reaction, that hasn’t changed. “I just wanted you to know.” You turn around and grab your bag. “I’ll go and let you….process.” 

He wants to drag you back and make you stay but he can’t. He needs to think about what he wants. You’re in school, you have your entire future ahead of you. He’s finally getting somewhere in his own work after having to prove himself. He’s been married, he’s been engaged. He’s done the right thing and both times he’d been burned. You aren’t like his exes. You are so different. You’re incredible. Smart, beautiful and you rock his world like no one else. He wants you but he can’t hold you back. You’ll hate him if he forces you into suburbia before you get the chance to live your life.

When you get back to your apartment, you just….deflate. Closing your door, you lean against it and let the hot tears that you had been holding back go. Rolling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation crashes over you. You’re pregnant. Not different than if it were by a one night stand. Marcus clearly isn't interested in raising a child and you don’t know if you want to take up the mantle of single motherhood. The other brochures in your pocket weigh it down, making you wonder if you shouldn’t schedule an appointment. 

Marcus doesn’t know how long he’s on the sofa just staring into space but he keeps running through different scenarios. Trying to figure out what he should do. If he was old fashioned, he would head over to your apartment and he would get down on one knee and propose to you, be there as a husband and a father. He doesn’t want to be insincere. You’d look straight through him if he did that. “Shit.” He rubs his cheek, knowing he needs to talk this through with you. He stands up, making his way over to his front door and he opens it, stepping into the hallway to knock on your door.

You lift your head off the sofa where you had been laying when you hear the knock on the door. You know it’s Marcus. It has to be. Making you wonder if he’s already come to some grand conclusion while you are still reeling from the news. Groaning, you get up off the couch and walk over to the door, opening it and leaning against it as you look at your neighbor. “Hey.” 

Marcus awkwardly stands there, tilting his head as he looks at you. “Can, uh, can I come in?” He asks and you nod, letting him walk inside. You are apprehensive and he clears his throat, realizing he’s never been inside of your place before. “You have a nice place.”

“Thanks.” You wonder why the small talk but you just decide to go with it. “Can I get you something to drink?” You don’t wait for an answer, turning on your heel and walking to the kitchen to grab some water for you and him. You can feel his eyes on your back but you don’t know why he is here, but you’re sure that it will be a serious talk. Opening the fridge, you grab two bottles and turn to set one on the counter in front of him where he had come to stand and open yours. 

Marcus takes the water and leans against the counter, looking at the pamphlets you have there. One for pregnancy symptoms and another for abortion. “Do you…are you considering it?” He asks, placing his finger on the brochure.

“I’ve made an appointment.” You admit, not meeting his eyes and looking around your apartment. “I- I figure I can cancel it or change my mind if -” You shrug your shoulders and swallow harshly. “I don’t know.” You’re slightly overwhelmed right now, unsure of what to do or how to feel.

Marcus hates the thought of you aborting the baby. He wants it. He realizes that now. He wants the baby and he wants you. “Is that what you want?” He chokes out, staring at you. He wants to know what you’re thinking, desperate to find out.

“No.” You shake your head and sigh. “But I don’t want to be a single mother. I just-” You close your eyes, more tears slipping down your cheeks. “I wish I didn’t fuck up. That I didn’t put you in this mess. You- you must hate me.” 

Shaking his head, Marcus moves fast to wrap his arms around you. “No. Baby, no. You - I could never hate you. I-” He pulls back so he can look into your watery eyes. “I love you. I’m in love with you. Shit, that should terrify me after all the shit I’ve been through but I love you. I want you. I want this baby.”

“You don’t have to say that.” You promise him, shaking your head. You know that he doesn’t want a baby or a relationship. He had told you that he had just wanted casual, that he wasn’t ready and it certainly wouldn’t be with someone who didn’t have their life together. “I promise you- you don’t have to-” You break off with a small sob, knowing you love him. 

“Please listen to me. Believe me. I was scared. I am scared. I’ve had my heart broken too many times and I - I wanted you to enjoy your career, your future without me dragging you back. I didn’t want to hold you back. I want you, fuck, you’re all I think about. I love you. Please believe that. I love you.” He pleads, wanting you to believe him. He needs you to believe him.

Closing your eyes, your chin trembles and you nod. “I- I fucked up.” You admit quietly. “I should have ended things a month ago.” You tell him. “When I knew I wanted more than just casual, but I promise, promise, that I didn’t mess with my birth control. I didn’t- I wouldn’t do that.” 

“No. No. I know you wouldn’t do that. I love you. I have for a while. I should’ve told you that a long time ago. Baby…do you- I want you to be my - my girlfriend. I want more. I want you.” He promises, suddenly terrified of losing you.

You give a tiny giggle at being asked to go steady when you are literally carrying his child, but you nod. “I’d like that.” You tell him gently. “Although no more wine when you feed me.” Your hand comes down to your stomach in awe, realizing that you are going to have to completely change your life around. “Since I’m pregnant.” 

Marcus’s hand covers yours, swallowing harshly, and he is terrified but so excited. “You’re pregnant.” He declares in awe, leaning in to kiss you. “I love you. I mean It, I loved you before I found out and the baby. I’ve been a scared prick but I won’t be scared anymore. I’m ready for this”

“If you aren’t…that would be okay.” You offer, knowing that this is just being sprung on him. You know it takes two to tango, but you had also taken the responsibility of birth control on when you had let him cum inside you. “I don’t want to push you to take on anything you don’t think you can handle.” 

“I can handle it baby. It’s…it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I just gave up on that dream, having not found the right person but I’ve found her. I love you. Please don’t doubt that. Let me - let me be a father, a partner.”

You bite your lip, considering his words as you look into his pleading eyes. You can tell that he wants to pull you into his arms. Marcus is sweet and loving and you are lucky that he wants to love you and do this with you. “Okay.” You agree softly. “Although we have to figure out what we are going to do.” You both only have a one bedroom apartment, not needing as much space and now you need more. “But for now, I- we can worry about that later. I’m not having the baby tomorrow.” 

Marcus knows he will already start to plan moving forward. He will find a house for you both. He wants to take care of you and his child. “No, we have plenty of time. Have you eaten?” He asks, worried you haven’t eaten today after all the drama.

You can’t help but grin at him, loving how he always wants to feed you. It’s like providing food is his love language. “I haven’t had anything.” You admit quietly. “I was too unsettled to eat and haven’t really thought about it.” 

“You’re gonna come to mine, let me feed you, and I want you to stay in my bed tonight.” He orders softly, not wanting you to spend a single night away from him from now on. “I’m gonna take care of you baby.”

“You promise?” You ask softly, a smile on your face and lean in to kiss him gently. 

“I promise.” Marcus tells you solemnly. He might not have wanted anything more than casual, and he was right, he was lousy at it. His romantic heart had struck again and this time he had managed to find the perfect girl and discover that she loves him like he loves her along with having a baby on the way. Casual had quickly become serious and Marcus couldn’t be happier. 

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike smut #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike the mentalist

[qveerthe0ry]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—“

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

#Pedro pascal #Pedro pascal x reader #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal fanfiction #Pedro pascal characters #x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike smut #the mentalist

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note:  I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning   Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter. 

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush. 

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?" 

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?" 

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school. 

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue. 

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?" 

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point. 

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?" 

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing. 

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times. 

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.” 

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped. 

"Glad to hear it." 

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing. 

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months. 

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer. 

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation." 

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance. 

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way. 

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out. 

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace. 

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms. 

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.” 

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile. 

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.  

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in. 

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket. 

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi. 

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?” 

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag. 

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake. 

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already. 

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up. 

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer. 

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.” 

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.” 

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece. 

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer. 

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes. 

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly. 

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart. 

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting. 

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly. 

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi. 

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar. 

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set. 

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance. 

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly. 

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake. 

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.” 

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes. 

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place. 

“I mean - don’t stop.” 

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases. 

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his. 

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.” 

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is. 

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside. 

“Get home safe, cariño.” 

“You too, Javi.” 

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place. 

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh. 

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women. 

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face. 

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his. 

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity. 

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle. 

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing. 

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art. 

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.” 

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions. 

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening. 

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track. 

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain. 

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?” 

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow. 

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio. 

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face. 

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres. 

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet. 

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint. 

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place. 

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks. 

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body? 

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital. 

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over. 

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art. 

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire. 

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie. 

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone. 

“Diaz, you got this?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.” 

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear. 

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously. 

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer. 

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.” 

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door. 

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes. 

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip. 

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place. 

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby. 

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested. 

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit. 

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all. 

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice. 

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice. 

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him. 

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin. 

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure. 

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass. 

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends. 

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.” 

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly. 

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head. 

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead. 

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder. 

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.” 

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile. 

“Thank you,” you simper. 

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning. 

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men. 

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise. 

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches. 

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest. 

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants. 

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass. 

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is. 

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately. 

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.” 

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.” 

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you. 

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.” 

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit. 

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne. 

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.” 

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office. 

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office. 

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind. 

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office. 

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right. 

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk. 

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you. 

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants. 

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck. 

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips. 

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…” 

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted. 

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question. 

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place. 

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open. 

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.” 

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue. 

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.” 

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him. 

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window. 

“Tran,” he mouths. 

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off. 

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.” 

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.” 

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike. 

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.” 

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet. 

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption. 

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.” 

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.” 

You sigh, and think for a moment. 

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.” 

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.” 

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them. 

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” 

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

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