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daddy-dins-girl · 15 hours

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Playdate - Chapter Ten

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pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 7.4k

Chapter Summary: Of all the ways you managed to dream up in your head about seeing Dave again, this was never how you would have imagined it actually playing out.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI. (SPOILERS IN THE TAGS!) Angst. Alcohol consumption. Brief violence and mentions of blood. Dave's feelings deserve their own warning 🫠. Dave's idiocy also deserves its own warning (we're working on him okay?). Dave gets a little pushy/forceful/needy with Reader but there's no actual threat or non-con, but figured I should mention it (you are held against a wall at one point but never physically hurt or threatened). Mentioned smut (including sex toys, anal play, light bondage, etc.).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and just being amazing in general 💜

Notes: This chapter starts off with Dave's POV and switches to Reader, I just figured we could use a little insight into Dave.

~ DAVE ~

Knelt down on one knee on the lawn of his ex-wife’s house, Dave could give a shit about the wet grass stain he could feel seeping into the denim of his jeans as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around both his girls, giving them one final goodbye hug. He pulls back slightly, frowning when he sees their wet faces staring back at him. He has to swallow the hard lump in his throat to hold back his own tears that want to fall so he can be strong for them so instead he plasters on the best smile he can manage and brings both hands up to ruffle the hair on both their heads.

“Don’t be sad Angels, I’ll see you again in two weeks okay?” he assures them and they both slowly nod their heads. He knew it would be hard dropping them off today after having them for the entire summer, not only for them but for him as well. It was going to be difficult to go from seeing them every day back to once every two weeks. Not to mention he was now saying goodbye to the only distraction in his life that was holding him together these past couple of months.

“I miss you already Daddy,” his youngest, Alice pouts before her chubby little arms wrap around his neck once more and squeeze. Dave lets out a little chuckle and hugs her back tightly before pressing a kiss into her hair.

“I miss you too, babies,” he sighs.

“Why don’t you girls go inside and wash up now,” his ex-wife Carol finally speaks up from up on the porch at the front door. “Dinner’s almost ready. Steve’s making your favorite,” she announces and both girls' faces light up like kids at Christmas as they finally pull away from their father.

“Sketti and meatballs!” Alice shouts excitedly.

“Bye Daddy,” his oldest, Molly, says one final time, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she takes her younger sister by the hand and leads her up the porch steps and they disappear into the house.

“Said the magic words huh?” Dave chuckles, standing up to his feet and dusting off his jeans.

“Sketti and meatballs” Carol shrugs, a fond smile on her lips. “You look good,” she says after a moment. “Better than the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dave trails off, not wanting to get into why he came to her all but desperate a couple of months ago to let him take their children for an extended summer vacation. “Thanks again, I had a really great time with them.”

“Of course,” she nods. “Did you want to stay for dinner? I’m sure Steve made enough to feed an army. God knows I love him but that man can’t measure pasta to save his life,” she jokes of her new husband and Dave lets out a small chuckle but shakes his head.

“I should probably get going, let you guys have your family dinner.”

“Ok well… the usual time then? Two Saturdays from now?” she asks and Dave nods.

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay. And Dave?” she says just as he turns to head back to the driveway.

“Yeah?” he answers, turning back to face her.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“Sure,” he smiles, unconvincing even to himself before he heads down the driveway and gets into his car.

He hadn’t been very candid with her about why he suddenly needed to “get away” and wanted to take his kids on an impromptu summer vacation, but she read him like a book anyway. “What’s her name?” is all she’d asked when he’d shown up on her doorstep a couple of months ago looking tired and distracted. “Doesn’t matter” he’d carelessly shrugged back, not meeting her gaze. Carol had pursed her lips and hummed her agreement but otherwise didn’t push. She knew better. Dave wasn’t exactly one for expressing his feelings, even when they’d been married.

The weeks that follow since bringing his kids back to their mother seem to pass by in a blur as he throws himself full force back into his work, even working on the weekends that he’s not with his kids, mostly as a distraction rather than a necessity. He doesn’t want to be reminded of what his Saturday nights used to be, before. And despite his ex-wife’s wishes he knows he’s not taking proper care of himself. He’s working too much, drinking too much (apart from the days when he has his children of course) and certainly not eating enough. He feels pathetic. Like some lovesick puppy and it’s definitely not a feeling he’s used to. Hell, he didn’t even feel like this when he got divorced or when his now ex-wife got remarried. He bought them a damn wedding present and danced with his daughters standing on his feet at the reception hall. Not that he was thrilled to be a divorced Dad or anything, but he couldn’t argue with Carol when she told him he wasn’t giving her enough of himself. He did feel like shit for months after the separation but after a while it faded and he was able to carve out a new life for himself and he was fine. Happy might have been a stretch, but he was existing just fine.

He of course hadn’t expected you and your husband to turn up barely a year later and turn his whole life upside for several months. It had started out as just fun. Blowing off steam, getting his dick wet, he was far from complaining about any of it. He loved how obedient you both were to him immediately, filling a void in him that he hadn’t engaged in nearly as much as he wanted to. Sure he’d had some rough fucks in his day but that was different than what he had with you. Having a partner - partners - that you built a trust with just brought everything to a new, heightened level and that, well, he hadn’t quite experienced before. But along with trust, of course other feelings start to emerge, feelings Dave had long since given up on expecting to have at this point in his life. And having these feelings for a fucking already married couple did not help his situation any. It was a mistake, he realizes in hindsight, spending your birthday with you both. An entire weekend wrapped up with you, spending the night together, waking up together, having meals together, it was… well, for Dave, it was everything. Everything he never even knew he was looking for and of fucking course he had to find it with two people who already had each other.

And now? Now what the fuck was he doing? Drowning his sorrows in the bottom of a bottle of overpriced bourbon at a bar, by himself, on a Friday night. Just like he’s found himself the past countless Friday nights, hoping he’d wake up the next morning and be able to forget about the two people who had apparently taken up permanent residence in the tight cavity of his chest, refusing to be let go.

He was fucking pathetic. And probably needed to get laid, too. That was one thing he could surely do something about easily enough. He’s been coming to this same bar every Friday night for a month now and one cute waitress in particular never seemed to stray very far from his table and he wasn’t that great of a tipper. He’d barely managed a second glance in her direction his past few visits but maybe tonight he should change that. The drinking wasn’t enough of a distraction anymore and this week was his off-week from seeing his kids so he didn’t have that to keep himself occupied either.

Mind made up he signals the waitress over to his table - whatever her name was. She’d told him probably a dozen times but fuck if he could remember it. It didn’t matter, after tonight he doesn’t plan on seeing her again and he’ll make sure she understands that before he actually leaves with her. For now, what’s the harm in a little fun? A decent pair of tits and a tight pussy is all he needs to get his head back on straight he thinks. And judging by the way the waitress basically comes bouncing over to him the moment he waves her over, it isn’t going to be much of a challenge. The only challenge for Dave will be when he closes his eyes as he sinks inside her, hoping, praying that it’s no longer the image of you that’s emblazoned on the backs of his eyelids.

~ YOU ~

It’s been nearly four months since your birthday. Since you last saw him.

In the time since that first weekend after Dave had disappeared from your lives, you and Marcus had found your rhythm again. Your lives are back to normal and, realistically, maybe even better than they’ve ever been. You were communicating so much more now and your physical relationship (which, you’d never had much of an issue with to begin with) was definitely thriving. Due to the increased communication, the two of you were always not only willing, but eager to talk more while in bed about anything you were particularly craving and put in the effort together for each other. It had really started the night Marcus had taken charge (a week after your birthday) and fully blossomed from there. There was one Sunday morning back a few months ago where the two of you laid in bed together with your laptop in front of you and were online shopping for fun new sex toys you both might enjoy. You filled your cart without judgment or shame and Marcus hastily typed in his credit card information when you were done browsing. The moment you heard the ‘swish’ of the order confirmation being sent, Marcus snapped the laptop closed, tossed it to the far corner of the bed and then all but pounced on you.

Early on when the two of you were still navigating your post-Dave waters Marcus had even asked you if you still wanted someone else in your lives. The role Dave was meant to (and had initially) played, you assume he meant (before it had gone and gotten complicated). You could tell by the way he asked you, his voice unsure and hesitant sounding, that it wasn’t something he wanted. And in all honesty, you didn’t want it anymore either and you were quick to assure him of that. Not only was Marcus indulging and fulfilling anything you desired, but whoever it was, they’d never be Dave anyway. It didn’t have to be said out loud that he was the only extra piece you’d both ever want in your marriage, you both knew it already.

Sunday mornings seemed to be when you’d find yourself thinking of and missing Dave the most, when you’d look around your bedroom in the aftermath of what your Saturday night had been. Saturday nights had become your routinely scheduled evenings where you and Marcus would get extra adventurous in bed, typically breaking in more of your new toys you’d purchased and just letting loose and taking out all your stresses of the week on one another.

One particular Sunday morning you remember lying next to Marcus who had just opened his beautiful sleepy eyes and you brushed his hair back from his forehead and then let out a little giggle followed by a sad sigh when your gaze caught site of the black fuzzy handcuffs that were still looped around one of the spokes in the headboard.

“He would’ve loved to see you like that,” you murmur, eyebrow raised playfully and you actually see Marcus’ ears turn pink and he bashfully hides his face in the pillow for a quick moment and laughs.

“You think so?”

“I know so baby. God you were so hot, at my mercy like that.”

Your blood begins to run hot just thinking about it again now. How he’d submitted to you. He’d laid down on his stomach, arms stretched above his head where you’d cuffed him to the bed and then you sat back on his thighs, massaging his ass with one hand while the other prepared the lube and the plug that the two of you had picked out together on your impromptu online shopping adventure a couple of weeks earlier in the other. It was the first time he’d ever let you do anything like that to him, though you’d discussed it a few times beforehand, and you were both pleasantly surprised how hot you found it.

You’d slowly fed him the plug, all the while gently rubbing his back with your free hand, soothing him and telling him how well he was doing for you. You still can’t erase from memory the way your breath hitched when he replied in a low, quivering voice, “yeah, I’m being a good boy?” God, the way the arousal instantly flooded you it was a miracle you were able to continue what you were doing and not abandon it all together to take care of yourself.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy,” you assured him, hand leaving his back to smoothing across the globes of his ass instead

Once you’d gotten it all the way inside and ensured he was comfortable you’d began to slowly maneuver it partially out and then back in, over and over again until it got to feeling so good for him that you’d gotten off his legs and let him get up on his knees when he’d begged you to let him fuck you.

You slid underneath his body, never uncuffing him, wriggling up the bed until you were face to face and left the plug seated deep in his ass as you helped guide his leaking tip to your entrance and he pushed inside. His hands were able to grip the spokes in the headboard so he had some leverage while still held captive in his position and he railed into you deep and hard, moaning like you’d never heard him before for the entire time, like he was on an entirely different plane of pleasure he hadn’t yet experienced.

Afterwards when you both lay spent and chests heaving with exhaustion you’d uncuffed him, gently removed the plug and gathered him in your arms, letting him cling to you with his head resting on your chest. You kissed and played with his hair, murmuring into the top of his head what a good boy he was for you and he just held you tighter until you’d both fallen asleep.

You loved your playful, risque and experimental Saturday nights, but you also loved the quieter, more intimate times as well. You loved waking up on a Sunday morning and lazily making love for hours, refusing to leave the comfort of your marital bed for most of the day. You loved weeknights sprawled out on the sofa relaxing after dinner and watching TV when you’d start necking like teenagers until he’d shove your pants down and slip inside of you, fucking you slow and deep until you both came and then he’d carry you up the stairs to bed. You loved nights when you were both too exhausted from your work days to do much of anything but still wanted to be close so you’d make out a little until he got hard and he would push inside your warm heat and then just wrap his arms around you and hold you until you’d both fall asleep with him inside you.

At the end of the day, well and truly, this had been what you both had wanted, originally. Dave was meant to come in, spice up your love life a little bit, teach you both a couple of things and then leave you to your lives with your newfound sexual knowledge. He’d done that, and yet, there was no denying that you still felt like a piece was just missing now.

A Dave York shaped piece.

You didn’t like to bring him up often to each other anymore. All it did was cause sadness for you both. You’d talked a lot early on and had eventually both admitted out loud your feelings you had for Dave but now there was no use bringing up his name anymore. He was gone and you had to accept it. It didn’t mean you couldn’t miss him, because oh, you missed him. All the time. But there was no use dwelling on something you had no control over, you had to move on. And you had, for the most part.

Or so you thought, until one Friday evening when your work colleagues managed to drag you out with them to a bar and there in the flesh, across the room of the dimly lit tavern, sat the one and only Dave fucking York.

You’d nearly spilled your drink on yourself when your head had turned and you saw him in your peripheral. He looked handsome as ever, wearing dark jeans and a white button up shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, top couple of buttons undone showing a teasing amount of perfect sun-kissed skin. Wherever his “emergency sabbatical” took him, it was apparently somewhere spent mostly outdoors in the sun you presume. His face looked a little thinner as well, his features more sharp and refined and you have to wonder if he’s been hitting the gym a lot more recently.

The only thing, frankly, that didn’t look good on him right now was the tiny blonde currently seated in his lap holding up a tray of shots you assume were meant for another table before Dave had intervened when something pretty caught his eye. You could practically feel your blood boiling at the sight before you, those deft fingers that knew your body all too well pulling and teasing at the belt loops of the tiny denim shorts the waitress was wearing while she threw her head back in laughter at something he’d said, eating up whatever attention he was willing to give her and you can’t say you blamed the girl. When the sly, sexy grin crossed his lips and he buried his face in her hair to undoubtedly whisper something absolutely filthy next to her ear and you saw her bite her lip in response, it felt like a hard slap across the face and everything happening around you instantly turned to white noise as you focused all your attention on the man across the room who, far as you could tell, hadn’t noticed you yet.

Before you do anything you quickly dig into your purse hanging on your chair for your phone and send a text to Marcus letting him know that Dave is here. His reply of ‘holy shit’ comes back near instantly but before you have a chance to type anything further you hear a loud voice bellowing from behind you for service, waiting for their shots apparently, and the tiny blonde regretfully starts to peel herself off of Dave’s lap to attend to her duties. Unfortunately Dave’s eyeline drifts to where the voice comes from, which you happen to be right in the cross hairs of. You see the tiniest flicker of shock etch across his features before his carefully crafted mask slips perfectly back into place and he gives you a small shit-eating grin that you wish you had the courage to slap right off of him. Eyes not leaving yours he simply picks up his beer and pulls another sip from it before he reaches out, grabs the hand of the waitress about to walk away and tugs her back into his lap, wrapping a possessive arm around her. His gaze never leaves you, even as his head tilts down to press his lips to the girl's shoulder.

Asshole.

Tears well in your eyes before you can stop them. He’s being a prick on purpose and you simply hate him in this moment. Dave York was a lot of things, but you’d never known him to be mean. Until now.

Not able to look at him another second you hastily push back from the table, your chair screeching across the hardwood loud enough to stop the idle chit-chat amongst your table of coworkers as they all stop to stare at you, having no clue what’s going on.

“I’ll be right back, just… need some air,” you explain curtly, not offering anything further or waiting for anyone to offer to accompany you.

You vaguely hear one of them calling your name questioningly as you stand up from the table and storm off towards the exit, passing Dave who’s now downing the entire tray of shots like they’re water.

Good, drink yourself half to death, you fucking idiot.

When the cool evening air hits you the moment you step outside it's like a brief reprieve and you take a deep breath, tears freely spilling down your cheeks now that you hastily try wiping away with the back of your hand. There’s a small crowd standing outside the front doors smoking cigarettes and vape pens but the chatter amongst them halts to a dead silence when the door slams shut behind you in your haste to get outside. Not in the mood for any onlookers, you quickly head off in the opposite direction and take the left turn down the alley at the side of the building for some privacy until you can catch your breath and, god willing, get your body to stop trembling. You realize too that you’d left your purse and your phone inside and you can’t possibly go back in there right now, not like this.

“Fuck,” you sigh into the desolate alley, stopping to lean your back against the cool brick and hanging your head, burying your face in your hands. The emotions of it all, of seeing him again, hits you like a ton of bricks and you let out a loud sob, your legs practically buckling from underneath you causing you to slide down the wall and squat down, elbows resting on your knees and face still buried in your hands as the now quieter sobs continue to rack your body.

You’re feeling just about every emotion under the sun right now and they’re all pouring out of you at once. You’re angry, jealous, sad, irritated, but maybe worst of all you’re reminded of just how fucking badly you still miss him. How badly you weren’t over him. And you hate yourself for it.

“Gotta light?”

That voice… of course you recognize it the second you hear it, even with his words slightly slurred and your face practically buried between your knees, and of course he had to follow you out here. The moment your head raises to look at his smug smirk with the cigarette dangling between his perfect lips you scowl, quickly rising to your feet and taking the two short strides over to where he stands in the middle of the alley and you snatch white stick from his mouth and immediately snap it in two, tossing it carelessly to the ground between you.

“Hey!” Dave barks at you, his voice sharp and loud as it echoes off the walls of the tight alleyway.

As if he has any right to be the one pissed off right now.

“Oh you don’t even smoke,” you argue back immediately, not in any type of mood to be taking shit from this man.

“I’m a social smoker,” he shrugs and you doubt even that’s the truth, he just wanted a reason to follow after you.

“You’re an asshole,” you bite back, not missing a beat.

He scoffs. “Somebody’s in a mood. Maybe you need that cigarette more than I do.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

He’s on you before the last syllable even leaves your lips, both his large hands on your shoulders shoving you backwards until your back hits the wall and he’s crowding your space, leaving barely an inch of space between your two bodies that are now breathing heavily with adrenaline. You can smell the alcohol on him and you know he’s had a lot to drink. If you weren’t half buzzed already you could probably get there just by the smell wafting off of him.

“Think you’d rather I fuck you, hmm? That where all this attitude is coming from Baby?”

His hips force yours further into the unforgiving brick behind you as his hands leave your shoulders to grip your waist instead and you can feel the hard outline of his obvious desire pressing against you. You bite your lip to suppress the moan that’s begging to escape your throat but it slips through anyway; barely registering but he hears it. Of course he does. You can see the way the corner of his lip turns upward into a sly grin.

“There’s my girl.”

“I’m not your anything! You fucking left Dave. You left!” You raise your hands up to shove hard at his chest but he’s like an immovable wall.

“I know.”

His voice is suddenly soft, dare you say, remorseful sounding. You hate how your resolve and anger instantly starts to wane the moment he lets his guard down even the slightest bit.

“I know,” he repeats it again, softer, quieter, his forehead coming down to rest against yours where he slightly shakes his head back and forth. One hand lets go of the grip on your waist and he gently rubs the back of his knuckles up and down the top of your arm, just a barely-there touch that’s already causing goosebumps to raise on your flesh.

“What do you want?” you ask, trying to sound stronger than what you know you’re actually capable of right now. “Why did you follow me out here?”

“I want what you want”. His voice is suddenly at your ear and an involuntary shiver runs through your entire body. “Come home with me,” he tries, his voice slurring just slightly and you roll your eyes and attempt to put space between the two of you again. This time he’s not expecting it and you do manage to push him back a few inches and he wobbles on his feet.

“A drunk fuck so you can disappear again the minute it’s over, you think that’s what I want?” You’re practically screaming at him now, but you don’t care, he deserves it.

“C’mon,” he huffs, sounding annoyed as he quickly crowds your space once more, this time he manages to grab your hands and hoist them above your head, pressing them into the wall so you can’t push him off you again. “One last time for old times sake, huh? Let me fuck this attitude right out of you”

“I’m married, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Hasn’t exactly stopped us before,” he smirks and then lowers his face down so he can nuzzle into you, his nose grazing your ear and his smooth cheek brushing against yours and for a moment you feel yourself melting into his soft touch.

Your voice lacks the conviction you know it should when you rasp out a quiet "Dave, stop”. You won’t go home with him, you know you won’t. You’d never hurt Marcus like that (again), but the smell of his familiar cologne on his shirt collar, the way his warm skin feels pressed against yours and how your body seemingly just fits into the contours of his own you can’t find it in you to immediately try and push him away again either. It’s been so long, you want to just feel him. Just for a moment.

“Kiss me,” he tries, voice suddenly at your ear before he moves just slightly until his lips hover on yours. He doesn’t force it on you, waiting for you to make that final move and close the distance between you. It takes everything in you, but you manage to turn your face away and you hear his desolate sigh in response, hot breath fanning your cheek.

“Take a hint buddy,” a deep voice suddenly interrupts and both your heads snap to the side where you see an enormous man standing at the opening of the alley, an unlit cigarette between his lips. He must be a good six inches shorter than Dave but easily has over 100lbs on him. He’s a very wide, stocky man with a long ponytail and a studded leather vest over top of a faded t-shirt and covered in tattoos, looking like he belongs in some type of biker gang. You immediately recognize him as the man from earlier who tried to summon the waitress from Dave.

He fishes a lighter from his pocket and brings the flame up to light the cigarette and takes a long drag before breathing a large cloud of smoke out.

“She’s not interested,” he repeats when Dave doesn’t loosen his hold on you. “And you’re paying for those six shots by the way, prick.”

“What, you think she’s saving herself for you?” Dave laughs, incredulous. His hands suddenly leave yours, allowing your arms to drop down to your sides and he takes a step back from you, fully turning towards the man who’s now taken a few tentative steps into the alley. Dave reaches a hand into his back pocket fishing out his wallet. He pulls what looks to be a fifty from the bill fold, scrunches it up to a ball and throws it in the direction of the man standing in front of him before closing his wallet and returning it to his pants.

“There, now fuck off.”

“What’s your problem man?” The bystander asks, flicking his cigarette away and taking two long strides forward, the fifty note left crumpled and forgotten on the ground.

“My problem? My problem is fucking assholes who can’t mind their own business. Go fuck off and get your micro dick sucked somewhere else.”

Your brow furrows as you listen to Dave seemingly intentionally picking a fight with this complete stranger. This was not the calm, cool, collected Dave that you’re used to.

You didn’t like whoever this Dave was.

“Wanna try saying that to my face, shithead?” The shorter man challenges, taking another step towards Dave.

“Dave, just leave it,” you try but he waves a flippant hand at you, not even bothering to look in your direction.

“How bout I get you a stepstool and you say it to mine, small fry.”

“Don’t need a stool to lay you out right here on the pavement,” he challenges right back, taking yet another step closer until they’re just inches apart, the shorter man apparently not intimidated whatsoever and likely rather comfortable in a fight, you assume. What he doesn’t know, however, and what you do, is Dave’s extensive military training. Even drunk you have no doubt he could easily kill this man and barely break a sweat, if he wanted to.

“Leave it alone Dave, c’mon, I mean it!” You try again but you might as well be talking to the wall behind you, as neither of the men are paying you any attention any longer. Ironic, since you’re half the reason the fight started in the first place. Men.

“Tell you what,” Dave begins, voice smug. “First one’s free,” he finishes, raising his arms up in the air, defenseless.

Before you even have a chance to plead with them once more the other man swings, clocking Dave right in the gut that has him doubling over for a few brief seconds before he quickly rights himself again, and, to your astonishment, starts laughing.

“That it?” Dave laughs, back to his full height again. “C’mon, again,” he goads.

This time the stranger's fist connects with Dave’s face, causing his head to swing left with the impact he puts behind it. You quickly scramble over to Dave who lets out another chuckle as he wipes the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and turns back to face his foe.

“Pussy,” Dave taunts before spitting blood to the ground at the man's feet. “Why don’t we call the waitress out from inside, she probably hits harder than you do.”

“Dave!”

You watch it happening like it’s in slow motion, how the man grabs Dave’s head with both hands and smashes it into the brick wall and Dave, for whatever reason, doesn’t even fight it. It makes you think of those videos you had to watch in Drivers Ed as a teenager, how the drunk driver in the scenario is typically the one to survive a collision because their response time is so slow their body just lets go and goes with the flow rather than bracing for impact. The part that really tears you up inside though is you don’t even think it’s the alcohol, you think he’s doing it on purpose, wanting to get hurt. You hear the loud smack as his forehead hits the brick and you instantly surge forward, taking the brunt of his weight as he collapses into you and you both slowly slide down to the ground with him in your arms because you can’t hold his weight.

“Get up, you piece of shit!” the stranger yells, furious, and you scream, covering Dave’s body with your own where he lays in your lap as the man winds up to kick Dave while he’s down.

“Enough!” A third man’s voice shouts and relief floods your whole system as you recognize it’s Marcus. In a flash he’s crossing the alley, grabbing the stranger by his shirt and shoving him into the brick and holding him there. Marcus was definitely ‘a lover not a fighter’, but he could certainly hold his own when it came down to it if need be. You’re not scared any longer.

“You alright Honey?” he asks, quickly chancing a glance over to where you’re kneeled on the ground with Dave’s head in your lap, surveying the laceration above his eyebrow.

The man in Marcus’ grasp looks at the two of you confused, then when he notices Marcus’ wedding ring where his fists are cuffed in his shirt, his eyes widen in disbelief.

“Holy shit, is this your wife? I just did you a favour pal,” he scoffs, lightly shoving at Marcus and Marcus backs off just slightly, letting go but staying close in case the man wants to go at Dave again who’s practically unconscious at this point.

“Look it's fine just… go back inside please,” Marcus huffs before he turns back to you and frowns. “Think we can get him up?”

Between the two of you and Dave’s slight cooperation (as much as he can manage with not only how intoxicated he is but how he surely just got few screws knocked loose thanks to that brick wall) you manage to get him up and he looks around a little disoriented, shaking his head while you and Marcus flank either side of him and hold him up.

“Marcus? You’re here,” Dave slurs and then turns his entire body into him and practically collapses into his arms in what you think was meant to be a hug. Marcus manages to hold Dave upright, both his arms holding under Dave’s armpits to keep him on his feet.

“I’m here,” Marcus croaks out. “I’ve got you.”

“The fuck?” the stranger mutters, shaking his head as he watches what must surely be a very strange reaction to a husband finding another man hitting on his wife in a dark alley. “Good luck with… well, all of that pal,” he says with a wave of his hand in the direction of the three of you before he turns on his heel, bends down to pick up the discarded fifty and heads back out of the alley and presumably back toward the bar.

“I’m drunk,” Dave suddenly breaks the silence, pushing back slightly from Marcus and wavering on his feet. His brows furrow in confusion and he wipes at his forehead. When his hand comes into his eyeline and he sees blood smeared on it, his features scrunch up again. “And I think I hit my head?”

“It’s ok, do you think you can help us get you to the car? It’s close,” Marcus tries to explain to Dave who manages a small nod. You get behind Dave and lift one of his arms up and turn him slightly, draping his arm over your shoulders as you move with him to stand at his side, Marcus now holding up the other. Thankfully Marcus had hastily just parked the car in a loading zone directly in front of the bar after you failed to answer any of his texts or calls so the walk was quick and you managed to get Dave shoved into the front passenger seat. You quickly run back inside to grab your purse and phone and say a quick goodnight to your coworkers and then hurry back out to the car. Dave mumbles off his address once Marcus slides into the driver’s seat and Marcus gives a non-commital grunt of acknowledgement before he pulls away from the curb and drives away. Barely two minutes later Dave’s head is tilted all the way back into the headrest and he’s passed out. You lean forward from the backseat to address Marcus.

“We can’t take him home like that. What if he has a concussion or something?”

“I’m not taking him home” Marcus quickly responds, shaking his head.

With a satisfied sigh you lean back into your seat.

What a fucking disaster.

Barely ten minutes later Marcus pulls into your driveway, hitting the button clipped to the sun visor to open the garage. The last thing he needs is for his neighbors to see the two of you dragging a bloodied half unconscious man into your home in the middle of the night.

You only manage to get him as far as the couch on the main floor, an upstairs bedroom too harrowing of a feat to attempt you presume with Dave’s inability to offer much of his own assistance. With a loud grunt you manage to drop him down to a seated position on the sofa and he immediately falls back into the soft cushions.

“Stay with him, I’ll get some water and something for his head,” Marcus says and you nod your head.

He’s only gone a minute or so, taking a little longer because he couldn’t find the Aspirin bottle right away, but when he returns with two extra strength tablets and a full glass of water he stops in his tracks just inside the living room.

Dave is flopped on his side, face resting on your lap facing where Marcus stands while your hands delicately card through his hair.

He’s murmuring quiet little ramblings with his eyes closed, something about “fucked up” and “so sorry” and you just gently hush him, running your fingers through his sweat damp hair.

“We need to clean him up” you tell Marcus when you notice him standing there. There’s blood still smeared across his forehead but thankfully not very much, he hadn’t been actively bleeding for very long. At least you know he doesn’t require any stitches.

Marcus sighs and crosses the room, getting down on his haunches in front of the couch in Dave’s direct eye line.

“Hey Buddy,” he tries softly. “Need you to sit up for me, have some water and take these.”

Dave grunts, noncommittally, but ultimately does try and push himself up. You both help until he’s back into a seated position and Marcus hands him the two white tablets. Dave stares at them for several seconds before tossing them back into his throat and swallowing without water. You tisk at him and shove the water glass into his hand.

“Drink,” you order. He does. He finishes near the entire glass in one go and your eyes widen in surprise.

“There,” he sighs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can I go now?”

You’re so frustrated you could smack him. One second he’s being a total asshole, the next he’s trying to kiss you, then he’s purposely getting the shit beat out of him, then practically crying in your lap, and now he’s back to being obstinate again.

He was right about one thing. He is fucked up. And you don’t think it’s just the booze.

“I’m sorry, no,” you shake your head, trying to sound less angry than you feel. The last thing you need is to pick another fight with this unpredictable man right now. “Baby, you’re bleeding”

The endearment slips out completely by accident. You don’t even notice you’ve said it but both Dave and Marcus do, their widened gazes turning to you at the exact same moment.

“Dave,” you quickly try to correct, shaking your head.

He lets out a little snort and nods his head, like he’s willing to let you get away with your little slip up.

“You hit your head really hard, you can’t be alone tonight. If you can make it upstairs you can have the guest room, if not, we can make up the couch. In the morning you’re free to go, I promise.”

“Fine,” he relents, shoulders dropping.

“Think you can help us get you upstairs?” you ask and he nods his head. Both you and Marcus throw one of his arms around your shoulders and help him up, taking each of the steps up the staircase slowly. Dave seems to be somewhat coming out of his fog and much more helpful this time, thankfully. You’re pretty sure it’s just the alcohol working against him now, his brain mostly cleared from the fog of the head trauma. Once you reach the top of the stairs you go to turn towards the guest room but Dave plants his feet and attempts to twist his body away from it, toward the direction he knows your and Marcus’ master bedroom is instead. You and Marcus both share a look behind Dave’s back where you’re holding him and after a moment Marcus gives you one solitary nod, acquiescing to Dave's wishes.

Once inside the room you unravel yourself from Dave as Marcus sits down on the edge of the mattress, bringing Dave with him to sit next to him. You head off to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and come back into the room to gently wipe away the blood and dirt at Dave’s forehead.

“What the fuck were you thinking,” you mutter as you clean him up best you can, shaking your head slightly. He doesn’t answer and you don’t expect him to, nor do you really even want him to in his condition. He needs to sleep it off, maybe you’ll get some clarity in the morning.

Once he’s cleaned up Marcus lifts Dave’s arm off of him and puts it into his lap. He isn’t sure what to do next so he leaves Dave there and wanders off to the bathroom to find you where you’re rinsing off the washcloth in the sink.

“What do we do with him?” he asks quietly.

“Well… honestly it’s probably better we’re in the same room anyway, that way if something happens in the middle of the night we’re there,” you reason and Marcus nods.

“Ok…” he sighs, following after you as you exit the bathroom and flick off its light.

You stop just outside the bathroom when you see Dave passed out in the middle of your bed, all his clothes - including his shoes - still on and you sigh.

“I got it,” Marcus says, going to the end of the bed and untying the laces of Dave’s shoes before placing them on the ground. That’s all you undress of him though, he’ll be fine sleeping in the rest of his clothes. Marcus was already in sweats and a t-shirt but you were still in work clothes so go over to your dresser and fish out a pair of pajamas and quickly change. Once you’re ready for bed you turn out the lights and both you and Marcus crawl in on either side of Dave. You can’t help but reach a hand out and brush it through his hair as his light snores fill the quiet, darkened room.

Fuck, you really missed him.

Taglist (if you want to be added - or removed!, lmk!) @senaar-ika @suzdin @boliv-jenta @prolix-yuy @vabeachazn @seasonalobession @pedroshotwifey @nerdieforpedro @chronically-ghosted @macabremads @survivingandenduring @theywhowriteandknowthings @axshadows @iamasaddie @vickywallace @lincolndjarin @its-nebuleuse @janaispunk @missladym1981 @heareball @staywildflowahchild @guelyury @anotherpedrolover @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @runningmom94 @yorksgirl @harrington-thedad @missyorkswhore @disassociation-daydreams

#dave york #marcus pike #ppcu fanfiction #dave york x marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #dave york fanfiction #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #dave york x you #dave york smut #marcus p #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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flightlessangelwings · 7 months

Text

While we’re in Latino Heritage Month, let’s stop assuming your reader doesn’t know/speak Spanish in your reader insert fics. Especially if you’re writing for Pedro’s, Oscar’s or other Latino characters please.

EDIT: After some criticism of how this was originally phrased, let me change it into a question/request instead- Can we as writers please try to be more inclusive with our reader insert fics so poc and others can feel represented and see themselves too? Including taking out a quick throwaway line about reader not understanding Spanish. (Keeping the original phrasing above so anyone who missed the post to begin with can still see how I originally phrased it)

If you have a throwaway line of “he said in Spanish that you didn’t understand” or something similar, just take it out. Have something like “you didn’t hear” instead and let the reader interpret how they want. Or use italics to indicate Spanish. Or have the translation right there without mention of anyone translating for them. Simple. Or if you don’t want to/feel you cannot change it, then please have something in with your warnings so Latinos/poc can skip it if they choose.

And let me tell you why this is so frustrating (even for me as someone who is not a fluent speaker). It’s because Latinos look to these characters and actors for representation. We see ourselves in them. And when you clearly do not have a Latino person in mind when writing, you’re saying we don’t belong here. In a space where we should feel welcomed and celebrated. Representation matters. Inclusivity matters. Please try to be more inclusive with reader fics so we can all enjoy and immerse ourselves in your writing.

ALSO EDITING TO ADD MORE FROM A REBLOG SO EVERYONE CAN SEE MY CLARIFICATION: (under a cut for length)

This is nothing new, poc have been asking for years now to be inclusive in fics and yet it’s still a battle. We’re not asking for a lot, and certainly not asking anyone to change their style or creativity or anything like that. Literally simple edits: take out the word “blush” don’t mention hair, don’t mention not understanding Spanish, not making reader blood related to a white character, etc. Literally tiny things that would not change the story at all but make a world of difference.

Here’s an example too: a few years ago it was not common for writers to label the gender of their reader as it was usually assumed the reader would be a woman. But, people advocated to label readers as f/m/gn/whatever to be more inclusive and asked writers to strive for gender neutral readers when possible so that more readers felt seen and welcome. Now it’s a common thing to do. Why is making the readers race ambiguous any different?

Yes sometimes posts like this come across harsh, but know that they’re not meant to be. Poc aren’t trying to demand anything, we just ask to broaden your langauge when writing reader insert so more can see themselves in your work. It’s incredibly frustrating to ask for inclusivity and be met with hostility and rudeness in return and a refusal to think about poc so yes sometimes the wording gets harsh out of that frustration. But I encourage y’all to focus on the message more and maybe think about why poc in fandom get snippy like this. We do need to have an open conversation, yes. Just look in the comments at the Latinos and poc who are upset by the exclusion and feel hurt by it. How you you white fans feel if roles were reversed and none of the fics included you? Not fun, right?

And to those who say write it yourself: I do. I’ve been a x reader writer for years now and I do strive for inclusivity in my work. But I’m only one person and this is bigger than any one person. This isn’t about what I personally find acceptable or what I personally what. It should be a collective effort among writers as a whole to strive to include as many as possible in their works and not white code your readers. It’s not about demanding writers write it a certain way, it’s about asking writers to consider others who don’t look like them who also want the immersion and the escape that your fic brings.

#inclusivity #pedro pascal #oscar isaac #pedro pascal fandom #oscar isaac fandom #joel miller x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #frankie morales x reader #santiago garcia x reader #javier peña x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #javi gutierrez x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #pero tovar x reader

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wardenparker · 6 months

Text

Mother Knows Best

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: Food/alcohol, meddling mama, cursing, reader is an unapologetic nerd, flirting with books, BDSM mention (but no portrayal), vagina sex, protected sex (wrap it before you tap it), praise and a little dirty talk. Summary: Marcus Pike's mother has a tendency to overstep a little. While she means well, any time she has ever tried to set him up it has always turned out terribly. This time, though, she's pretty sure she has it right when she arranges for Marcus to go on a blind date with the youngest member of her book club. Notes: This all kind of sprang out of a TikTok I found about a bookshop date idea. And I'm not sorry about it in the least. Also, subtle shout out to my brother-in-law's band is buried in conversation 🎶

"Marcus sweetie, what are you doing on Saturday?" Donna Pike is pulling weeds in her garden with her younger son in a lounge chair nearby, and she tries to make the question as nonchalant as possible. It's Sunday now and she might as well be asking what he wants for dinner. Although her idea of what he might be doing for dinner on the night in question is almost definitely different than whatever Marcus might have in mind. He has been back in Washington D.C. for almost four months and has spent the whole time sulking – something that no mother likes to see.

Marcus is probably more relaxed than he's been in a few months. Finally deciding that he is better off without Teresa since she would rather be with someone else more than him. His eyes half closed as he holds his beer, he answers without even thinking about it. Or why giving his mother an empty day without plans wasn't a good idea. "Nothing." He hums, smiling slightly at the thought of not having any work or responsibilities.

"Oh?" Donna smirks, glancing over her shoulder to see Marcus has his eyes shut as he sits in the sun. "No dinner plans? Drinks with coworkers?" She asks carefully, keeping her tone breezy as she weeds the tomato bed.

"Not a damn thing." He admits again, not seeing the smirk on his mother's face, otherwise alarm bells would be sounding in his head. Instead, he's plotting what he will do with his day off. Hopefully sleeping until ten is the first thing on the list. Then he might take a book out to the Mall lawn and read in the sun. Pick up one of those touristy drinks to sip on as he does.

"So..." Training one eye on him as she pulls another weed up from the root, Donna's lip curls into a smile. "You would be free for dinner, then?"

"You want me to take you to dinner?" Marcus's father passed nearly eight years ago and when he could, he would take his mother out to a nice dinner. Making sure that she felt special. "Sure."

"Not exactly what I had in mind, sweetie." Donna is all-out grinning at this point, and maybe even a little evilly. "Do you remember my telling you about a new girl joining our book club? She works with Marjorie Klein at the Library of Congress?" Every time Marjorie talked about her new colleague it seemed like the younger woman would be a perfect fit for their group, so six months ago they had offered up the empty spot at their table. Now, every time Donna Pike sees or hears from you, she seems to become more and more convinced that you would be perfect for her youngest child.

"Mom...no." Marcus shakes his head and immediately drowns the rest of his beer bottle and desperately wishes another would appear. "No, no, you aren't setting me up, again."

"But Marcus she's such a good match!" She won't say 'perfect' because that will make Marcus revolt and probably run away screaming. But she has such a good feeling about this one. "And I might have already scheduled the date with her..." Might is such an innocent lie. She definitely already scheduled the blind date with you after giving you a few background details on her baby boy.

“Mooooooooooom.” The sigh Marcus gives is one of extreme frustration. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but no. I can get my own dates.” The truth was, his mother had horrible taste in choosing women that she thought Marcus would be interested in.

"Oh yeah?" Donna tucks her proverbial tongue securely in her cheek. "Is that why you've been hanging around your old Ma's house so much the last few months? Because you're so good at getting your own dates?" She tilts her head at him and waves one hand, dismissing the tease immediately. "She's sweet, Marcus. And so smart. You don't have to marry the girl, but it's hard to get back out there sometimes. Just...give it a try?"

“It’s— I just got out of that thing with Teresa, Ma.” He reminds her and notices the expectant look on his mother’s face. She’s well meaning, really she is, but god does she meddle. “You already told her I would go out with her, didn’t you?”

“The thing with Teresa was months ago.” Donna’s grin spreads like wildfire. “She’s a nice girl and I called in a favor to get you a table at Founding Farmer’s because I know you like to keep the first date kind of casual.” Something she considers a mistake, but she knew that if she had gone and made a reservation somewhere more upscale then Marcus would squawk.

“Jesus Christ.” Marcus groans, slapping his hand over his face and imagining how boring and completely incompatible this woman is for his mother to talk about how nice and sweet she is. All the other girls she has tried to hook Marcus up with since he was a teenager have been a train wreck. “What time?” He sighs, resigned to his Saturday being ruined.

“Seven-thirty.” Crows his mother, who definitely made sure that the reservation was early enough in the night that they could do something else afterward. “I really think you’re going to like her, sweetie.”

He thinks he’ll be wasting an hour of his life but he grunts in response, already dreading Saturday.

******

You’re probably taking this far too seriously, all things considered. The book club of mostly middle-aged and older ladies that you had been offered a place in by one of your coworkers has been really nice. Everybody sits around and drinks and gossips about the book characters like they’re real people, and there is always good food. You like the ladies in the book club, you really do. But this whole idea of a blind date with Donna Pike’s son has you nervous for some reason.

Blind dates don’t typically go well for you but you’re honestly kind of desperate. It’s been nearly a year since your last date that even qualifies as mediocre and at this point you would say yes to just about anyone halfway decent. And with that in mind, you kiss your cat goodbye and smooth one hand down your floral sundress before slinging on your leather jacket to keep out the autumnal chill. If nothing else, maybe you’ll have a nice meal tonight.

Marcus sighs as he checks his reflection in the mirror one more time. He had opted to leave the suit at home, but couldn’t dress down completely casual. The restaurant that his mom had chosen would be nice enough that slacks, a polo and a sports coat wouldn’t look too out of place. Despite his reservations, he is wanting to make an effort. He sniffs his cologne to make sure he didn’t douse himself and picks up his keys. Off to see what a nightmare this would be, although he hopes that this girl won’t throw a glass of wine in his face when he reveals he’s a federal agent.

Founding Farmer’s is bustling when you arrive, packed to the gills and you wonder if the younger Pike brother thought to make reservations. For now you adjust the (admittedly cheesy) flower in your jacket lapel and slide over to the bar to order a cocktail. If he stands you up, you at least want to have a drink in hand to soothe the embarrassment.

There had been a fierce internal debate on if he should stop outside the little flower stand that was just a block down from the restaurant to buy some flowers. Romantic Marcus would do it, and even though he had not asked this girl out, she deserves the niceties that had been bred into him after watching his father continuously court his mother through their marriage. When he enters the door of the Founding Farmer's, he can see why he had to park two blocks away and is grateful that his mother had made reservations. "I— I have a reservation. Marcus Pike." He tells the frazzled hostess. "But I'm waiting for someone...." He cranes his neck to look around, not sure exactly who he is looking for. His mother had been very vague with the physical description, which doesn't help on a blind date.

You hear him before you see him — sitting just a few feet behind the hostess stand is strategic, and you hear him give his name. The most careful sneak of a peak nearly has your jaw on the ground and you sit straight up again immediately. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely drop-dead movie star level gorgeous. And he’s carrying flowers identical to the one tucked into your jacket, making you smile unexpectedly. “Marcus?” You turn slowly on your stool, hoping you’re not about to make an idiot of yourself.

He hears his name and looks around again, his eyes searching until they fall on a lovely looking woman wearing a pretty sundress and jacket. A flower in her lapel in a move that immediately makes him grin at the old-style charm of the gesture. He nods and says the name his mother gave him, finding himself hoping that you are that person.

“That’s me.” Sliding off of your stool with your glass in hand, you put out your other hand to him and smile. His mother absolutely failed to mention that her son is an absolute dreamboat. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I feel like I’ve heard a hundred stories about you and your brother already.”

You're pretty. Maybe it's shallow, or vain even, but Marcus had been worried when his mother had focused so hard on how nice and sweet you are. He's not the type of man who insults someone because of their looks, but physical attraction is a basic for any romantic relationship and some of the women who would be just ‘perfect’ for him in his mother's eyes didn't fit in any of the categories. Not even intellectually. He shakes your hand firmly and smiles. "It's all lies, I swear." He jokes, offering you the flowers. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage because I know your name and that you are sweet."

"The ladies in the book club sort of adopted me." The flowers are beautiful, and fresh, and you inhale the scent happily as the hostess leads you to a small, secluded table in the corner. "And I..." You laugh self-consciously, shrugging a little. "I just want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. It was all Donna's idea. So if we don't get along or something, it's no hard feelings."

"I have to apologize." Marcus shakes his head, enjoying the sounds of your light, nervous laugh. "My mother likes to meddle, so if you weren't actually interested, I will understand." He moves to pull out your chair for you when the hostess indicates the table and looks at you expectantly. It's your choice if you wish to sit down or not.

Maybe it's shallow – to take one look at him and know for sure that you're at least going to ride out this dinner to see what he's like. But then, isn't that what blind dates are, at least a little? Judging a book by its cover and then taking a peek to see what's inside? "I think it would be a shame to miss out on making a new friend, even if that's all this amounts to," you tell him as you sit down.

He can agree with that, admire it even. Smiling again and he wonders if that's all this will amount to. "What are you drinking?" He asks, nodding towards your glass that you had brought from the bar.

"It's called a Farmer's Daughter," you tell him, holding up the half-drunk glass of delicious fruity-boozy goodness. "Vodka, lime, passion fruit, raspberry...something else that I didn't know what it was so I can't remember what it's called. Domaine de something?" Shrugging shelf-consciously, you offer him the glass to try a sip. "It's fantastic."

It's charming the way you offer him a drink. He takes it and tries a small sip. "That's good." He agrees. "I was going to suggest a bottle of wine, but perhaps another of these?" He asks you.

The hostess nods and disappears after leaving your menus, and you sit back in your seat a little bit more comfortably than before. "This place has their own spirits. It seemed too good to pass up, and turns out that was the right choice." A small smile plays on your lips and you really don't know where it's coming from but you feel strangely confident tonight. "So you're usually a wine guy?"

“I am.” He nods, knowing that he would happily split a bottle with good conversation and laughs. “Are you more of a cocktail girl?”

"Usually." Again, you shrug, but offer him a smile. "But only because I know nothing about wine. I'd like to learn, if I found that I knew somebody who wouldn't mind teaching me."

“Well, if you like, we can have one more of those delicious cocktails and I’ll order a bottle of my favorite wine for you to try?” He offers. “Or perhaps just a glass to share, and if you don’t like it, we can explore what you do like?”

"That sounds like fun, actually." Normally when a guy offered to 'teach' you something it was just him insisting that he knew all the best of something or had every fact memorized. Marcus isn't like that and you relax just a little bit more with this discovery. A little bit of sharing and get to know you is perfect for a first date.

“Yeah?” He grins and nods, admiring your sense of adventure and that smile that you are giving him. “Okay, so the wine I like is kinda of dry, a red. That sound okay?”

"Sure." You agree brightly, basically up for trying whatever he suggests. "Like I said, I know nothing about wine. You could be ordering the stuff that comes in a box and I would just trust you that it's good."

He laughs, enjoying your honestly. “No boxed stuff, I promise.” He tells you and thanks the waiter when he comes back with your cocktail. “I’m sorry, but could we also have a glass of the Marqués de Riscal Rioja Reserva 2012?” He asks with a small shrug. “I couldn’t decide what I wanted, and now I do.”

Oblivious to the fact that that could have been an entendre, the waiter just nods and walks away, leaving the two of you alone at your cozy table again. "So..." you can't help the way your cheeks have gotten a little warmer in the last few seconds. "Is there anything you would like to know about me up front? You said your mother didn't tell you much."

“She did tell me that you work at the Library of Congress.” Marcus nudges the new drink towards you and takes the half finished one. He’s already drank after you, so it’s nothing to him. “So what do you do there?”

"I am a preservationist in the Children's Literature Center." Your work is delicate, and it is important, but some people find it unbelievable that your entire career is dedicated specifically to kids' books. "I'm part of the team that is digitizing rare children's books so that their contents will never be lost."

“Wow.” He’s impressed, knowing that is important work. Literature sound be preserved for the future generations to enjoy, much like art. “That’s— that’s gotta be pretty interesting day in and day out.”

“It’s no game of cops and robbers.” His mother had bragged about his promotions more than once, and you can’t help but smirk slightly when his ears turn red. “But I keep busy.”

“So you know that I’m a federal agent?” He asks, not sure what all his mother had rambled on about. Knowing her, she had told you about every girlfriend he had.

“Yes. Donna is extremely proud of you, so we all heard all about the last promotion.” Taking a sip of your drink, you feel just a touch of warmth is your cheeks that is all attraction and not from the cocktail at all. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Thank you.” He bites his lip, caught between being embarrassed his mom was talking him up and enjoying the congratulations. The joy of his success has been sucked away by the Teresa thing, but he’s been trying to get back on track. “She’s just happy I’m close.”

“She’s very glad you’re home.” You can absolutely attest to that. It’s sweet, actually. They clearly get along well. “It sounds like if she could get your older brother to move back, she’d be in heaven having you both here.”

“Don’t think he’ll be moving to D.C. anytime soon.” Marcus admits. “But she’s happy to get out of the cold to go visit him during Christmas.”

“Louisiana always sounded like fun to be. Like a completely different world from anywhere else.” Probably that thought comes from having grown up in the thick of the Canadian border, but still. It seemed romantic to think about. “She said he’s in New Orleans?”

“Yeah.” He nods and grins. “He keeps telling me to come down for Mardi Gras.”

“Sounds like fun.” He has just one perfect dimple and you swear this is the first time you’ve understood why anyone would swoon. “Are you liking being back in DC, at least?”

“What’s not to love?” He asks, looking up again when the waiter returns with the glass of wine. “The museum, the Mall, the historic sites. I love walking through the Smithsonian.”

“I will absolutely drink to that,” you agree without hesitation. “This city is pretty much perfect as far as I’m concerned.”

He hums as he hands you the glass. “Try a sip of this, it’s dry but floral. I love this with a good cheese board.”

“A charcuterie guy, too? Nothing I love more than Adult Lunchables.” The grin on your face grows as you take the glass, giving it a sniff like you have any idea whatsoever what to look for, and take an adventurous sip. “Ooh that’s…I don’t know what I was expecting but that’s great. It’s like…it’s rich but it’s not heavy, if that makes sense?”

He nods and grins at you. “Now, imagine it with a funky cheese and a tart grape. Or a salty cracker.” He tells you, proud that you enjoy it. “Maybe a glass with dinner?”

“Absolutely.” It’s like a wake up for your senses, and even though you enjoy the sweet cocktail that you had ordered initially, the wine sounds like a decadent and very mature option for dinner. “Do you have any idea what you’ll order for food yet?”

“I figured I was going to order the braised short ribs with wilted summer greens and braised carrots.” He tells you, having looked at the menu before he ever arrived.

“Sounds pretty perfect.” When the waiter comes back you fill out your order, getting a basket of the kettle corn that the waiter gushes over to start with and ordering your dinners with another glass of wine so you can both indulge a little as you get to know each other.

“So, were you as nervous about tonight as I was?” The wine is being passed back and forth between you as your cocktail has been abandoned. He takes a sip and raises a brow at you in challenge.

"Terrified," you admit with a small laugh, but there is no point in trying to act smooth or more charming than you are. You're a slightly awkward person in general, and sometimes that can be charming all on its own. Or so you've been told. "I'm not...great at dating. Then the book club ladies took it upon themselves to figure out whose son was closest to my age and, well...here we are."

He laughs at the image you paint, all the ladies tossing out their eligible sons’ birthdays like trading cards. “Well, hopefully, you are enjoying yourself.” He offers with a grin, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in. The liquor and wine are loosening him up slightly, but it’s more that he’s enjoying conversing with you. Something he’s really missed about dating or being in a relationship with someone.

"I really am." His laugh is deep and rings in his chest, making his smile a little broader every time and making you wish that you had thought of something compelling or deeply interesting to tell him about yourself before setting foot in this restaurant tonight. But you had feared the worst, and expected the mediocre, so maybe that was the entire reason you found yourself enjoying this night? Simply by being handsome, intelligent, charming, and interesting, he was already blowing every single expectation you had out of the water. "Hopefully you are, too?"

“I am.” He gives you a small, self-conscious shrug. “My mother doesn’t have the best record when it comes to setting me up.” He admits. “The last one was a part of some antigovernment group and threw a glass of wine in my face when she found out I was, quote, a ‘fed pig’.” He tells you with the air quotes.

“That…” It takes a beat of extreme self-control not to laugh at how ridiculous that is, but you manage to keep yourself together. “Please say she didn’t know that this girl was anti-government when she set you up?”

“She had met her in her favorite bookstore.” He shakes his head and laughs. “Didn’t have a clue but she had to find another bookstore because it was the girl behind the counter.”

“But she tries to find you girls that read, huh?” That encourages you a bit. That Donna considers her son that intelligent. After all, he can’t be a slouch – not in art crimes. He has to at least have a little history and culture under his belt.

“I don’t want to always talk work, or politics.” He admits. “She had raised me to love reading and I’m forever grateful for that.”

“What do you like to read?” The question is automatic for you – something that you always ask new acquaintances and especially dates. It’s an important part of getting to know someone. “Personal curiosity as well as professional. I promise.”

“I can read anything.” Marcus tells you. “But, I spend so much time reading reports that I really enjoy fiction. Thrillers, intrigue. Even the odd romance novel.” He blushes when he admits that but he’s not going to lie.

“A good romance novel is entirely underrated. They’re great character studies. Plus?” You grin and pick up a piece of popcorn. There are only a few left in the basket and you’re enjoying the salty-sweetness with his dry wine. “Anyone who claims they don’t enjoy love stories is either lying or a bummer.”

“It’s like not liking classic movies.” He agrees with a grin. “I feel like some of the emotion has been lost. You give me Casablanca any day and I’ll show you a movie that is about loss as much as it is love.”

“I dumped a guy once for not liking classic movies,” you admit, albeit a little sheepishly. “He said that black and white was dumb because life is in color so ‘why weren’t all movies?’ And that all the stories were too trope-y. Can you believe that? Where did he think the tropes came from in the first place?”

“They are the model for the tropes.” He chuckles. “We had a class when I was in high school where you read classic literature and watched classic movies. I think it should be standard around the country. It helped shape my love of black and white movies.”

“I used to watch them with my mom whenever I was home sick.” Those memories are still so vivid for you, and precious. It had felt like a personal insult and not just a preference when the previous guy had talked down about classic cinema. “She got to see Katharine Hepburn in Coco in New York City when she was little and just worshipped her ever since. So, of course, I did too. And we would just watch everything we could get our hands on.”

“Oh wow.” Marcus is impressed and he shows it. “It would have been something, I’m sure.” He agrees. “I’m not all classical though. I like a good mix of modern as well. My old band used to play in Texas and I would go see them.”

“That’s right.” Donna had told you all about his band, of course, but it had slipped your mind while you got distracted over how attractive Marcus is. “Bass player, right?”

“Yeah.” He huffs out a small laugh, wondering if his mother had complained that he hadn’t wanted to cut his hair when he was playing, or if she was bragging. “And some vocals. Mainly backup.”

“Don’t downplay it.” You grin, watching his cheeks turn pink yet again. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. And getting on stage? I think I’d panic. That’s something you can be really proud of.”

“It’s not that bad.” Marcus tells you. “Just pick the prettiest girl and imagine them – uh –” he falters for a second. “Kissing you.” He supplies.

“Is that how you get past stage fright?” You have definitely never heard of that particular tactic before and you nearly giggle with how embarrassed Marcus looks admitting it. “Seems like we ought to get you back on stage then, shouldn’t we? That’s a very nice fantasy to let yourself play out.”

“Nahhh it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a stage.” He admits. “I like to just drink a beer and dance with the pretty girl.”

“Oh yeah?” The impulse to insinuate yourself into that situation is deep but you just smile, knowing very well that your cheeks and ears are burning with the thought. “Sounds…pretty perfect.”

“Yeah?” He grins and there’s a partial idea forming for later tonight if the rest of dinner goes like it is now. “Does it sound good to you?” He asks. “What’s your ideal date?”

“I—” Clearing your throat slightly, your skin burns even more. “Dinner and dancing, probably? Or going to see a screening of an old movie together.” Taking a sip of the wine before you hand it back to him, you brace yourself for the tingle you’ve been getting whenever your fingers brush. “I saw a TikTok the other day of a bookstore date, too. That looked fun.”

“A bookstore date?” He’s intrigued on that what that would entail. He leans in and snags the wine glass to take another sip. He should really order another glass so you each have your own, but there is something oddly fun about sharing. “Tell me about that.”

“It’s silly.” But somehow, you think he might like silly. “There’s this list of prompts. And you roll a die to see which prompt you get and you’re supposed to go all over the bookstore looking for a book to read that fits the prompts. It’s…to a librarian it sounds fantastic…choosing books for each other and having an automatic something to talk about on the next date, ya know?”

“That sounds like a great date.” Marcus agrees, liking the adventurousness of it. “A really good date. Maybe even you have to call the other person to read them a portion of the book that appeals to you.”

“I haven’t had anybody read to me in ages…” You can feel how soft you get in response to the idea but you just can’t seem to care. Every few minutes Marcus Pike seems to get more and more perfect. “That sounds absolutely dreamy.”

“You haven’t?” He’s surprised at that, and then there’s a little fantasy that plays out in his head. Calling you every night that he could and reading a few paragraphs to you while you are snuggled in your bed. “Maybe that will change.” He hums.

"I think I'd like that." The way he says it makes you feel so hopeful, like maybe this night is going as well for him as it is for you, and you bite your lip to hold back a full-force grin. "I think I'd like that a whole lot."

Marcus actually hates when the waiter comes back to order the meals, allowing you to order first and he puts in his order for his own meal and asks for another glass of wine. “Do you want one, or do you want to keep sharing?”

"I'm not going to lie, I kind of like the sharing," you admit with an embarrassed grin. This waiter just smiles politely and steps away, having seen plenty of good and bad dates over his career and not really thinking anything of the request.

“I like it too.” He admits with a matching grin. “Although if we order dessert, we’ll need to change to different wine.” He tells you.

"Ah, so my education continues?" He wouldn't have brought it up if he wasn't thinking about it in the back of his mind, and that makes your smile grow. "I know I've seen Dessert wines listed on menus before but other than knowing they exist, I don't think I could name anything else about them."

“They are sweeter, crisper.” He tells you. “Meant to enhance the flavor of the desserts. We will have to see if we have room.” He grins. “My sides are meant to be shared.”

“Maybe we’ll have to come back?” You venture, hopeful at the idea that tonight is going well enough to lead to a second date.

“It is a very good wine list.” He tells you with a grin. “Although there’s this little place down near the Potomac that is a wine bar paired with your – what did you call it? Adult Lunchables?” He tilts his head. “I think you might like that.”

The fact that he picks up on the thread immediately makes you flush warm again and grin so broadly that your cheeks ache. “It sounds perfect,” you admit. “Although I think Donna might float just a little if she finds out we’re planning date number two before the entree is even served on date number one.”

“We don’t have to tell her.” His own grin turns slightly mischievous. “Let her dangle for a bit before we let her know about that. It’ll drive her crazy.”

"You know I'm going to get just as many voicemails as you, right?" The devilish smile highlights his dimple far too perfectly and just about has you swooning, but you manage to keep it down to just a girlish giggle. "Are you going to be a bad influence on me, Marcus?"

“Depends on what you think is bad.” Marcus quips, winking at you as he leans back. You are charming, funny, sweet. All things that his mother had noted but he’s also attracted to you. And thoroughly enjoying this date.

Confidence looks very fucking sexy on him, and you end up leaning forward instinctively when he leans back, like he's pulling a string somewhere inside your ribcage when he goes. "Maybe I like bad. And I'm just making sure I'm going to enjoy myself?"

There’s a split second where Marcus has a choice on if he’s going to make a dirty innuendo, just like you have. “Oh, I guarantee you’ll enjoy yourself.” He promises, that grin turning slightly salacious. “Multiple times.”

He knows full fucking well what he’s doing, and the poorly timed sip of wine you have just taken nearly comes out your nose when you quickly cover your mouth with one hand to keep from spitting it everywhere or even choking on it. “Guarantee, huh?” When you can breathe again and don’t have wine in your mouth anymore, you manage to raise one steady eyebrow at him. “You’re a very confident man, Agent Pike.”

“It’s a money back kind of thing.” He teases, enjoying the easy banter and the fact that you are leaning into the atmosphere rather than getting offended by it.

“Oh, I see.” You tease right back, loving the freedom in the atmosphere between you. “So I’m investing in my future enjoyment?”

“Exactly.” He hums, nodding in an exaggerated manner. “You understand perfectly.”

******

“I don’t think I can do it,” you groan playfully, looking over the empty plates of the amazing dinner you just shared and knowing that dessert would have disastrous consequences. “I think I might pop like a balloon.”

“It was a lot of food.” Marcus admits, his own stomach edging just on the cusp of being overly full. “Plus the wine. So I don’t think I can make room either.” He sighs and leans back to rub his belly just to tease.

“It’s a good thing it’s a beautiful night for a walk.” The thought had been brewing for a while, and you offer Marcus a hopeful smile. “Only if you’re up for it, of course.”

“Absolutely.” The check is discreetly placed by his elbow and he shakes his head when you move to your purse. “This is my treat.” He insists, pulling out his wallet and putting his credit card down without glancing at the bill.

“Then next time will be mine,” you insist, having a feeling that Marcus is not at all the kind of guy to let that fly, but at the same time you have to wonder when the last time was that he allowed anyone to take care of him.

He hums, not agreeing or disagreeing. “So, where would you like to walk?” He asks. “There’s a lot of little shops and bars nearby.”

Pennsylvania Avenue is certainly lively, and since you had taken the Metro you don’t particularly care what direction you head in. “We could always head toward the Mall and let ourselves get distracted along the way?” You suggest, wanting to leave the night wide open for anything or everything.

“That sounds good to me.” Marcus brought his car, but the neighborhood is relatively safe and the parking isn’t by the hours. “Do you have comfortable enough shoes on?” He hadn’t noticed your footwear, but he wants to check.

“I’m not really a heels kind of girl,” you admit, hoping that that won’t break some kind of weird unconscious rule he has in his head. You’ve been told before that you should dress more femininely but the idea that high heels are the only feminine footwear seems utterly ridiculous. “And I’m always up for a walk.”

“That’s good.” He chuckles and when both of you stand from the table he kicks out a foot and shows his comfortable loafers. “I have to wear dress shoes at work, but I’m never going to bash comfortable footwear.”

“I learned a long time ago that knee-high boots go with almost any dress or skirt.” You take his arm when he offers it – very gentlemanly – and before you know it you’re out in the crisp night air. The moon is high and the streetlamps are bright, and you sigh a little contentment. Tonight is so, so much better than you thought it was going to be.

“That sigh is either a very good sign or a bad one.” He teases, looking over at you with a playful grin. “Can I ask which?”

“It’s good, I promise.” And as if to prove you, you send him a beaming smile. “I was just thinking how nice the night is, that’s all.”

“It is a nice night.” Marcus agrees. The air has just a bite to it without being bitter and yet it is still cozy. The dark night is illuminated by the streetlamps and the noise from bars and shops spills out onto the sidewalk in muted tones. “It seems magical, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” You agree with a grin, but for you, that magic is pouring off him – not the street around you.

******

“Hey look.” It’s a building that he hasn’t really noticed before but maybe it’s because he hadn’t been looking for it before. “Do you want to stop?”

“Sure.” You’d agree to almost anything right now and you shrug. “What is it?”

“Well, the name is Tomes and Tannins, so I’m thinking it might be one of those trendy wine shop slash bookstores?” He grins at you. “Why don’t we find out?”

“That is a level of fancy I never thought I would reach,” you admit with a grin and let him lead you inside. It’s deceptively mood-lit inside but with enough supplemental lights that you can read everything you need to, and there are cafe tables with chairs smattered around some mismatched armchairs and ever sofas with drink tables at either end. It’s cozy and welcoming, and obviously meant for you to stay a while.

“Hmmm this looks promising, right?” He asks, looking to see if you approve. “Interesting place.”

“Books and wine? Sounds amazing and looks even better.” A beaming smile of affirmation is all for him and you nudge him toward the stacks. “Where do you want to start?”

“Well…” he smirks slightly. “Show me that date idea that you liked? Picking out books for the other to read?”

“Oh!” Somehow you had already forgotten, and grin guiltily as you pull up the list of twenty prompts on your phone. “You’re supposed to roll a die to find out what numbers you get. Roll a die, find a book for each of us that fits the prompt, and just keep going until we decide we have our arms full.” Digging into your purse, you come out with a d20 from when you play Dungeons and Dragons with your friends and hold it up. “Do you want to go first?”

“Ladies first.” Marcus grins and motions towards a bookshelf. “Roll there and we will see what we come up with.”

Normally a high roll would be a great thing to get, but as you stare at the 17 that pops up on the die, you skim down the list on your phone and feel yourself smirk. “Number seventeen. A book that inspired a tv show or movie.”

“Now is this for me to find for you?” Marcus asks seriously. “Or is this your criteria for my book?”

“I think we’re both supposed to pick a book for each other that fits the category.” The video hadn’t exactly been clear, but that is how you interpreted it. And it sounded like the most fun way to do it anyway.

“Okay. So we each find the other a book that inspired a tv show or movie.” He agrees. “I say I roll and then we separate. We don’t show the other the book until we are done picking them out.”

“Alright.” You hold up the d20 to offer it to him. “Roll away, G-man.”

Marcus plucks the die from your fingers and puts it in his palm to close his fist around him. Grinning as he blows on it playfully like he’s rolling dice in a casino. “Here we go.” He tells you before tossing it down.

It's playful and sweet, and you giggle softly when the die hits the shelf and comes up with the number 5. You consult your list, tilting your head with a grin when you read what category he ended up with. "Number five. A book with an overly long title."

He hums and nods. “Why don’t we add a little bit of a challenge?” He asks. You tilt your head curiously, obviously interested. “We have ten minutes per book, so twenty minutes total. When the twenty minutes is up, we meet at the tables to have a glass of wine and exchange books.”

"Deal." The element of a game makes you smile even more broadly, and you hold up your finger before he can jet away from you. "One more thing?" You ask and wait until he nods. "I want to know your least favourite book of all time. Just so I don't grab it by accident."

“Honestly?” He gives you a guilty grin. “I hate the Lord of the Flies.” He admits with a small shrug. “Hated when it was required reading.”

"You are in no way the first person I've ever met who hated that book," you promise him, smothering a little laugh in the process. "I did not like Gone With the Wind. Couldn't even force myself to be empathetic with any of the characters, which is a shame. The plot is interesting."

“The movie is better, at least it’s watchable.” Marcus admits. “I always hated the scene after the little girl died.”

"Alright." Pulling out your phone, you set a timer for twenty minutes and watch him follow suit with that mischievous smile painted back in place. "Ten minutes for each book, and then we meet right back here for wine and to trade titles."

“Good luck.” With a wink, Marcus whirls around and rushes off, already having a title or three in mind.

It becomes a sort of secondary game – any time you run into each other in the maze of shelves you immediately guard the books you are carrying with your entire bodies and back away or even sprint away from each other so that the surprises won't be spoiled. It has the two of you giggling like idiots and has definitely attracted the attention of some of the other patrons, but no one seems to really mind. Who could possibly mind people having fun in a bookstore?

When he finds what he wants, Marcus barely resists hiding it under his jacket as he rushes up to the counter to make his purchase. Wondering if you will call him out or be disappointed. So he has a backup plan in case. Taking his bag and looking around the bookstore as he walks towards the table you agreed to meet him at.

You use an entire eighteen minutes debating whether or not it's cheating to just grab two of your favourite books to see if he'll like them before you finally just do it. They do fit the categories and he did say that he likes romances so one of them is only sort of a stretch. Grabbing the two novels, you head to the register and then back to the table, only to see him already sitting there. "You were speedy," you observe, raising one eyebrow as you sit down across from him at the table.

“I know what I want.” Marcus tells you, biting back the grin that he wants to display and feeling giddy for his reveal. He motions towards the board that displays what wines they have available. “Do you want to get a glass before we exchange?”

"Sure." He's being cheeky and it's sexy as hell, so you nod and bite back a grin. "You're the wine guru, so I'll try whatever you say is good."

“I think something sweet.” He decides. “A nice Shiraz for us to share?” He asks, wanting to know if you want your own glass or to share again.

"A shiraz to share sounds perfect." Not that you know what the hell shiraz is besides the obvious conclusion that it's wine, but the sharing part is what sounds best to you.

“Okay.” He nods and shoots you a wary look. “No peeking while I order.” He orders playfully, pointing at you. “I’ll be watching.”

He steps up to the counter and you dutifully put your hands on top of the brown paper bag stamped with the shop's logo that you paid for, not peaking in the bag he bought despite desperately wanting to. He comes back in less than three minutes but you're already near squirming in your seat because the suspense is killing you.

“Okay. This is a glass of Layer Cake.” He tells you. “Sounds good, but it’s honestly a first for me too.” He was feeling adventurous and wanted a new experience with you. He’s had shiraz, but he wanted to try this at the same time you did.

"So it's a new adventure for both of us, then." That somehow makes it feel romantic and not just sweet, but it would be silly to say so. "You take the first sip, I insist."

He chuckles. “So I can make sure it’s not poisoned?” He teases. “As you wish, my princess.”

The 'princess' bit makes your cheeks burn, but you don't want to admit that you want to know whether or not he likes it first. There's something about trying wines that makes you nervous and you don't want to accidentally end up loving something that he thinks is subpar. Maybe that's trying wines that is intimidating you, or maybe it's just that you like him. You can't tell, honestly.

Picking up the glass, he sniffs and hums before taking a sip. “Oh this is good.” He groans. “That would be good anytime you wanted wine.”

"Well now I'm excited." He hands the glass over to you and you take a sip, immediately sighing. "Oh, that's fantastic. That would have made me a wine person ages ago."

“I’m selfishly glad that you are exploring it with me.” He admits, admiring how you savor the wine and take another small sip.

"Feel free to be selfish, then, because this is fantastic." Handing the glass back to him, you waggle your bag in his direction with excitement. "Number seventeen or number five first?"

“You want to go first?” He asks, not caring at all. “Sure. Why don’t you surprise me?”

"Your librarian date is excited about books. This should be no surprise." Laughing as you reach into the bag, the book on top is what you decide to go with and you pull out an old faithful favourite. "Number five. A book with an overly long title." You tell him, presenting him with a copy of Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg.

Marcus bites his lip and takes the book. “Okay.” He nods. “That is a long title.” He’s a little worried that you won’t like what he had chosen now.

"You look nervous." He does take the book, though, not reject it. "Have you read it before? It's okay if you have...or if you didn't like it." You're not one of those people who believes that a couple has to like all the same things, after all.

“No, no, I haven’t read this one.” He promises. “I can’t wait to see what it’s about. Especially since you seem to love it.”

"I do." It would be kind of useless to claim otherwise, and you sit back in your chair to accept the glass of wine from him. "What did you find for number five?"

“So…” he flashes you a small grin. “I kind of…cheated.” He admits. “I chose a book that is both five and seventeen.” He admits. “But now, so have you so I’m completely thinking that I fucked up. But I’ve got a corny ass back up.” He rushes out to assure you.

"You say cheating, I say creativity." You do bite your lip though, before admitting, "I actually have two of my favourite books that worked for what we rolled...so this is kind of just my excuse to show them to you. Which is also cheating. Just a little."

At least you aren’t mad. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a beautiful hardback book. “My book for you is this. The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure.” He slides the book in front of you.

It probably isn't the reaction he expects to have you almost tear up at the table, but you gently place your hands on the book and draw it closer to you like it is something delicate and precious – which, to you, it is. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I mentioned wanting to be read to, does it?" You ask him with a grin. "Marcus it's perfect. And believe it or not...despite this being one of my favourite movies? I've never read the book."

“You haven’t?” His jaw drops and he shakes his head. “I don’t know which I like better, the movie or the book.” He admits. “I have my own copy at home.”

"I've read Cary Elwes' book, but somehow not the novel." The way he lights up at having made a good choice for you might be the most adorable thing you've ever seen. "I guess that's finally about to change."

“I did get another book but I decided it was a bit much after.” He admits, slightly flustered that he bought that book. But it has been made into a movie.

“What was the other one?” His ears have turned red and now you have to know, even nudging the wine glass back toward him in case he needs a little courage.

He blows out a breath and pulls out the other book from the bag. “Okay, but don’t judge me.” He begs, revealing the front of Fifty Shades of Grey.

“Why Marcus, is this a hint?” He has turned an even deeper shade of red and you can’t resist another giggle before batting your eyelashes at him.

“I— no, I don’t mean— it’s just that—” he sputters and chokes on his words before he heaves a sigh and drops his chin to his chest. “Fuck. I knew I should have just found something else.”

“You only should have grabbed something else if you didn’t mean to flirt with me,” you tell him honestly and pull your own book that inspired a tv show or movie out of your paper bag to hand him. The Duke & I by Julia Quinn now has images from the Bridgerton tv show splashed all over the cover, making it unmistakable. “You said you like romance novels sometimes,” you defend, shrugging your shoulders.

“I’ve not read this.” He admits, reaching for the book to read the inside cover. “It sounds interesting. This is a show right?”

“Bridgerton.” You nod, wondering what - if anything - he’s heard about it. “Most people call it something like… ‘horny Jane Austen’.”

He snorts and chuckles to himself as he continues to read it. “Then I see why it appeals.” He jokes. “Nothing like love and sex.”

“Technically isn’t that what this is, too?” You ask, waggling the copy of 50 Shades at him. “Just… kinkier.” It’s an honest question, really. Since you’ve never read it.

“It’s – not bad but you can tell that whoever wrote this is just guessing at what they think BDSM is about.” Marcus tells you.

"So...do that mean you do know what BDSM is about?" It's an intriguing thought, to imagine this otherwise very clean-cut looking guy being into anything kinky, and you can't say you hate it. Not at all.

"I—" He never should have opened his mouth. He never should have opened his goddamn mouth. If it was possible to get any hotter, Marcus swears his face would just burst into flames. This isn't something that his mother would know because there is zero chance in hell he would ever tell her. "I was undercover." He explains. "The people I was— associating with, they were into that kind of scene." He bites his lip. "I had to do a lot of research on it, but I've never actually, you know, uh, practiced it." He assures you.

"Please don't think I'm judging," you reach over the table quickly to give his hand a squeeze and shake your head vehemently. "Honestly, if anything? I find it very...interesting. But have never practiced any of it, either."

"I just don't want you thinking that I'm—" He shrugs slightly. "I don't know what I'm trying to say. Normally I'm more confident than this, but not this time." He chuckles quietly.

"You don't want me to think you're kinky?" You ask, tilting your head slightly. "It's not a bad thing to be. But...I'm sorry if I did anything to shake that confidence." With a half-smirk, you shrug one shoulder in admission. "I promise you'd be extremely confident if you could hear the monologue in my head tonight."

"You didn't do anything, I promise." Marcus reaches out after you had pulled back and takes your hand again. "My last...relationship. She's the one that kind of screwed with my head." He confesses quietly. "But I want to know about this internal monologue of yours."

"The coworker." Of course his mother had told you about his ex-fiancée. She hadn't wanted you to feel like she was throwing you into an unknown situation. "From what your mom said...she sounds like she was a little...dishonest? And that's bullshit. I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

"It's done." There's nothing he can do to change it, and he's not sure that he would want to now that he's looking back on the situation. "But I'm hoping that I can get that confidence back."

"Well, if you hadn't said anything, I never would have known that this is the less confident version of you." His hand dwarfs yours, the warmth of it completely welcoming and overtaking all your senses. And it's so, so welcome.

"Is the book, alright?" He asks. "You can just read the first one if you want."

"Oh, no." The grin you aim his way is mischievous. "I'm definitely going to read both. Who knows? I might learn something."

"Have you seen the movies?" He asks curiously.

"No..." You can feel your cheeks heat up all over again. "It always seemed...I don't know, maybe I'm just really vanilla, but they always seemed so close to porn to me?" Not that that is a bad thing. And not that you don't watch your share of porn. Just usually not of the BDSM variety.

"It was actually pretty tastefully done." Marcus admits. "I've seen them. My ex wanted to see them, so..." He shrugs. "You go see them."

"See? You're already a font of information compared to me." His hand is still covering yours and you shiver a little at the innuendo of it all. Of how warm and tempting he is. "I guess I'll have to catch up. Educate myself."

It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell you that you can watch the movies together, but that might be too forward. Instead, he grins. “Sounds like you have a research plan.”

"Apparently so." Under the table, the toe of your shoe finds the back of his leg completely by accident as you shift in your seat, and you grin guiltily. "I was about to apologize for that," you admit, knowing that it must have seemed like you were trying to play footsies or something under the table. "But honestly? I'm not sorry."

“Really?” His brow lifts and he shoots you a grin. “You like playing footsie?” He asks, his own foot reaching out and tapping yours gently.

"I think it's kind of cute, honestly." The innocent shrug is accompanied by a bright, smitten smile, and you nudge Marcus's foot back playfully.

“Best part of cuddling is sliding your foot along the leg of your cuddle buddy.” He tells you. “Or letting your hands wander.”

"Mmm...it's hands." And he has such huge hands...the possibilities are endless. "It's definitely hands."

“You’re a touch kind of girl?” He asks, intrigued by the idea and he wonders if your love language is physical touch. He’s noticed that you’ve reached out several times when reassuring him.

"Touch is a powerful thing." You reason, not making a single move to take your hand out of his. "It can be intense or gentle, reassuring or electrifying. It can be almost anything."

“Electrifyingly reassuring.” Marcus quips, squeezing your hand gently. He picks up the wine with his free hand and takes a sip.

"Like it's exciting but at the same time...feels kind of...right?" Which is exactly how you feel about him, and you're kind of going out on a limb admitting it but you don't think he's gearing up to reject you.

It does, he looks down at your joined hands and smiles. "I think so." He hands you the wine and hums. "Now, we have a couple of options for the rest of the night, if you're up for it." He grins. "We can continue to walk and talk. Or...." He shrugs. "I have my car back at the restaurant and I can drive you back to my place and we can have a cheese board and read to each other?"

He knows what he’s offering — not even in a salacious way — and that a night of reading books is like catnip to a librarian. You can’t help but get excited for it. Even the most boring night in the world would be improved by this, but tonight? With how it’s going? It sounds practically like foreplay. “What are we waiting for?” You ask, grinning, and take the last sip of wine from the glass. “We both have brand new books to read and my guess is that you definitetly have a couch big enough for two. I’d say that decision is easy.”

"Yeah?" He had expected you to say no. It's the first date after all. Beaming at you, he motions towards the wine. "Do you want to get a bottle of this to take with us?" He asks. "It would go good with any of the adult Lunchable things we can get."

“You’re going to keep teasing me about it, but I stand by that description.” You do nod though, having thoroughly enjoyed this particular glass of wine even more than what he had ordered at dinner.

He chuckles. "It's a good one." He admits. "I've never looked at it that way, but now I can see why you say that. I used to beg my mom to buy Lunchables."

“And now you love charcuterie. Which is the very same thing in a much neater package.” It’s silly, but you’ve always liked silly. It can really open a person up.

He squeezes your hand. "You finish that glass and I will see about getting us a bottle to take home." He tells you, letting go to stand up and quickly walk back to the counter. Feeling incredible about this date and almost hating that he had ever been dreading it.

Two sips and a purchased bottle later, the two of you are out the door of the little shop and heading back in the direction of the restaurant to retrieve Marcus’s car. The night is clear and crisp now and even though the city lights glow brighter than the stars you can sweat you feel the distinct light of the moon before anything else.

“How did you come to dinner?” He asks as he guides you towards his car. “If you feel more comfortable following me, I can give you the address.” He huffs. “Although I should probably do that anyway so you can send it to a girlfriend.”

“I have to admit, it’s comforting to have a guy even acknowledge that kind of thing.” Especially that he’s a federal agent, and doesn’t seem to feel entitled to your obedience or safety based purely on that fact. Instead he dutifully gives you his address after you tell him that you took public transportation to get here, and you send it off to your best friend.

“I understand.” He admits. “The number of people who disregard others safety or their own drives me insane sometimes. At the end of the day if someone gets offended for wanting to feel secure, they don’t have good intentions.” Marcus tells you. “Plus, my mother would kick my ass.”

“She definitely would.” You can agree to that, and thank him quietly when Marcus opens the passenger door for you to get into his car. The address he had given you was in Georgetown so you had a short but nice drive ahead.

“So what kind of music do you like?” He asks as he starts the car and looks behind him to back out of the spot. “Feel free to change it to whatever you like.”

“I would never change Pearl Jam.” Is the very serious reply he gets from you, as the alternative rock station he has programmed on his satellite radio is currently playing ‘Even Flow’. “There was a band that played in my college town that did all 90s rock covers and they were the absolute best shows to go to.”

“That had to be awesome.” Marcus hums. “I was too busy playing to really see a lot of shows and I regret it. But I loved being in the band.”

“Well then I guess we’ll have to find some live music to go see.” There seems like plenty of common ground that you can pick up on together and that is a very good sign if nothing else. “If the sound of a 90s influenced jam band doesn’t make you want to run for the hills, The Southern Ocean is playing at The Runaway this weekend.”

“I’ve never heard of them.” Marcus admits sheepishly. He’s been focused on work and not really out on the social scene the past few months. “Are they good?”

“I mean, I think so.” It’s not exactly surprising that the name is unknown to him and you glance over at him while he drives. “Their bassist is a friend, so I try to support whenever I can.”

“Then that’s definitely something I would want to check out.” Marcus nods. “It’s always good when you see friends play.”

“Would you want to come with me?” It’s only slightly presumptuous to plan out a second date when you’re still in the middle of the first one, but you like Marcus. You like him. He’s smart and handsome as hell and sweet, and even balances flirtation and respect on the perfect level. Honestly, you can’t imagine what kind of an idiot his exes were to let him get away.

“If you’re offering.” He smiles. “Who the hell ever resists an invitation from a pretty girl to go see a band?” He shakes his head. “I might be dumb, but I’m no fool.”

“You’re not dumb. Or a fool.” That’s exactly the kind of thing you don’t put up with from guys you date and you were glad to be able to rule it out very early with Marcus. You exchange a small smile at the next light when he pulls up to it and for the rest of the ride you sing along with the music and just enjoy yourselves.

When he pulls up to his house, Marcus is sort of panicking. Wondering if he had picked up this morning after he had dropped his clothes on the floor from his run. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he was a slob.

“Home sweet home?” You guess, looking up at the picturesque blue house with its literal white picket fence. It even has a gate out front that someone lovingly painted flowers on in lieu of adding a name.

“Yeah.” He chuckles and gives a small shrug. “It was a hell of a deal when I stumbled on it and I jumped.”

“It’s beautiful.” The lawn is dotted with wildflowers from what you can see in the dark, and suddenly the mental image of stargazing with him on a blanket is impossible to shake.

“Thank you. Luckily, I pay a wonderful company to keep the yard looking nice because I don’t have time to do it.” He admits with a small laugh.

“They do a much better job than the landlord at my duplex,” you offer him a smile before he slides out of the car and goes around to your door to let you out. The front door is a mere six steps away and Marcus’s house is even sweeter and more inviting once that door is open. It’s like somebody built the set of a Hallmark movie in real life just for this handsome FBI agent.

“So, this is home.” He knows that it’s decorated more than the standard bachelor pad and he’s okay with that. He’s not the type of man to just have a chair and a tv in the living room. “Make yourself comfortable, I can put your coat in the closet if you want?”

“Thanks.” It’s the most intimate contact you’ve had tonight besides holding hands, and you swear you can feel your skin tingle when he slides your jacket off your shoulders for you before hanging it beside his in the closet. The little shiver that runs through you is a private thrill and you know you probably look dreamy as hell as you follow him past the living room to the kitchen.

“How about you arrange the cheese board while I open and pour the wine?” He asks as he opens the refrigerator to pull out the sliced cheeses and meats he keeps there because he likes them.

It sounds wonderfully domestic, and you agree to it easily as he pulls out a small board and sets it down on the counter. Packages of Gruyère, havarti, and something marked Seriously Sharp cheddar all fill out the board and you do your valiant best at attempting to fold and rolls the slices of cured meats into petite little roses for the two of you to enjoy demolishing together. Some fresh grapes and cherry preserves join the tray, and Marcus produces a half of a baguette seemingly out of nowhere once the wine is poured. It’s all deceptively easy, the way you seem to work with and around each other, and by the time you make it back out to the living room you know you’re just completely gone for this man. His little smiles, deep laugh, and soft demeanor have you utterly relaxed and so, so smitten.

“Do you want to put on some music?” Marcus asks. “Maybe we can just relax. Lean back and read to each other?” He’s leaning into the idea that you would like this and he wants to make sure that you enjoy yourself.

“What do you want to read first?” It sounds like possibly the most romantic idea in the world – just sitting and reading to each other in comfort with an indulgent (and savory) dessert. If the thought of curling up with him and finding out what it feels like to be close to him is anything, it is fairly close to perfection.

“Ladies choice.” He hums quietly, moving over to the record player he has sitting next to the collection of vinyl’s. It’s not to look snooty, he’s been obsessed with them since his mother played them while cleaning, claiming it sounded better. For classical music, it does. It brings back a sense of nostalgia, sets a mood.

“Rachmaninov?” The melody sounds familiar, like something out of a dream, when it starts up and the name seems to drudge itself out of the depths of your memory. “That’s got fantasy and romance written all over it.”

He hadn’t chosen the music with that in mind, but he smiles. “Too much?” He asks, even though he doesn’t feel like you will think that.

“Not at all.” In fact, just the opposite. It feels just right. “But it feels like The Duke & I or Princess Bride for sure.”

“Okay.” He smiles as he moves over to the couch and toes off his loafers to reveal the dress socks he had been wearing underneath. “You can get comfortable.” He promises, taking off his sports jacket and removing his tie.

Getting Comfortable on a date for you would usually lead to sexier things than snacks and reading — but then, is there anything sexier than reading in the first place? For a librarian that seems impossible. So instead, you follow suit and toe off your boots to curl up in the couch beside him.

It seems almost natural to have you curl into the crook of his body and Marcus opens his arms slightly. “How about I read to you to start?” He asks softly.

For most people this might be a recipe for falling asleep, but tonight the sound of his voice is vibrating through the thin fabric of your dress as you lean against him. The lingering scene of his cologne mixed with the wine and new book smell in a way more intoxicating than alcohol ever could be. “You’re dangerously comfortable,” you warn him, drawn right against him like a magnet.

"I don't mind being called that." He laughs quietly, trying not to jostle you too badly as you snuggle against him and he settles into opening the new book. Hearing the spine creak open slightly and he wonders if you are like him and prefer hardback over paperback books. At least for gifts.

“All we need is a fire in the fireplace and we’re just about as picturesque as I can imagine.” It’s dangerous to turn your head to smile at him from this angle because it brings you within about two inches of his perfectly tantalizing lips, but you remind yourself to behave. This is just the first date. No need to rush.

“Not quite cold enough yet.” He can’t help but look down at your lips, imagining kissing you in front of a cozy fire after a night in. Or maybe coming home to relax after a night out.

“Soon.” The moment is so soft, and you watch his eyes drift down to your lips the same way yours did to his a second ago with a warm buzzing in your chest. Whether you mean the fire or the kiss should be soon is entirely up to him to decide.

“Should I start to read?” He asks quietly. Feeling the moment start to grow into something warmer, sweeter.

“Yeah—I—um…” Any hesitation on your part is strictly attraction based, and you move your head a safe distance from his lips so as not to get distracted. “Please.”

Marcus turns his eyes to focus on the book and not on you. “The birth of Simon Authur Henry Clyvedon Fitzranulph Basset, Earl Clyvedon was met with great celebration.” He keeps his voice low, intimate between the two of you as he was reading you a story before bed.

It’s simultaneously the most relaxing thing in the world and causing you to be completely on edge, the way Marcus’s rich voice seems to roll right through you as he begins to read. Every place that the two of you are touching seems to be on fire and you cannot decide if you want to jump him or take the world’s most luxurious ride on his narration alone.

He feels you stiffen in his arms and he wonders if you’ve change your mind. “Everything okay?” He asks, wanting to check in with you. He had anticipated you melting against him, but you seem on edge and if it’s something he’s doing, he wants to fix it.

“Of course.” There’s nothing wrong with how relaxed you feel right now, but you know you’ve been a little tensed against him. You had just been hoping that he wouldn’t notice. The fact that he looks at you incredulously says he definitely did. “I’m—” Flustering, you clear your throat as gently as you can manage and bite back a smile. “I’m a little distracted,” you admit, wondering how well complete honesty will go over with him.

“Cold?” Marcus asks. “There’s a blanket right over your other shoulder.” He hums. “Snuggle against me and curl under it. I meant it, make yourself comfortable.” He’s not sure if it’s the change from having your jacket and boots on that’s distracting you, but he doesn’t mind the idea of being under a blanket together.

Not entirely sure that snuggling more would distract you less,” you pull the blanket down anyway and do as he suggests. It brings the two of you even closer and you have to tamp down the coil tightening even further in your gut. Keep your shit together. You’re a grown ass woman! “There.” You smile, but looking up at him brings your eyes to his lips again and you don’t even realize as your tongue darts out to wet your own lips at the sight. “All better.”

His eyes drop down to your lips and he all but groans at the sight of them wet. “Good.” He croaks out, clearing his throat. “That’s good.” It’s hard to tear his gaze away from you, but he needs to so he doesn’t overstep.

“Mmhmm.” Nodding is like a reflex, and for all your determination you just can’t look away. “Very good…”

There’s a moment where Marcus wants to put the book down and give into the desire to kiss you. But that wouldn’t be what you had planned when you came over here and if something happens, he’s determined to let you lead. “So, uh, where was I?”

“I think—” But the thought isn’t there. You have no idea what the last thing he read was, despite how much you love the sound of his voice. Every sense has been taken over by the buzzing hum running through your body and the spark of his skin touching yours. “I don’t—” You could bluster. Or try to skim the page and guess. But your impulses are a hell of a lot stronger than your good sense tonight. “—I really want to kiss you—”

Marcus groans quietly and the book snaps shut with a definitive thump. “I really want you to kiss me too.” He admits. “You should go with your instincts.”

“Instincts are important,” you nod as wisely and seriously as possible even as you’re turning into his side. Those warm puffs of breath that have been ghosting over your skin make you shiver, and you just have an unshakable feeling that this is that start of something completely wonderful. “Oh yeah?” You hum, close enough to nudge his nose with yours.

“Yeah.” Marcus exhales roughly, feeling like he is about to vibrate out of his skin. Despite his complaint to his mom that it was too soon since Teresa, he feels that this is nearly perfect. You’re perfect and he’s painfully attracted to you.

It only takes the smallest movement to fit your lips against his, but the response that floods your body is monumental. It really should only have been a quick, light, gentle kind of first kiss — but he did say to go with your instincts. So instead your hand comes up to graze the line of his jaw when the blissful feeling of having him kiss you back makes you feel like you might vibrate out of place right there on the couch.

It’s innocent, really. The kiss doesn’t go much deeper than the exploration of each other in that first pressing of lips and yet he feels like his heart is about to explode out of his chest. The only reason you pull back is to check in with him. It really is. Because that simple little first kiss might be the best first kiss you’ve ever had. His smile is a little dreamy, almost goofy as his eyes flutter opened after closing on their own. Looking at you as if you had hung the moon after that kiss.

"You look how I feel," you tell him, grin splitting your face clean across as you tuck tightly into his side. That pure joy radiating from his smile is the same feeling filling up your chest right now.

“Like you could tap dance on air?” He asks with an answering grin of his own. Wanting to pull you close and kiss you again, but resisting.

"Maybe." Neither of you were expecting the giggle you share, but it makes you both smile that much harder and you shift slightly against him. "And...like I didn't want to stop..."

“That too.” The book falls to the floor as he shifts slightly. His eyes are darker now, the lust and desire making his amber eyes turn to onyx. “You don’t have to.”

The momentum sweeps both of you up in a way you didn’t expect at all. As soon as he agrees to wanting even a little more you feel like the whole world tilts on its axis. You shift in his arms to surge toward him, lips pressing against his in earnest and barely managing to swallow a moan when he pulls you in tighter. It has you throwing caution to the wind and taking advantage of the open-mouthed kiss to taste him with your tongue — and letting a second moan out when he tastes just as sweet as you thought.

His arms wrap around you, not wanting you to shift too far away as he drowns in the kiss. Letting the feeling of your tongue caressing his completely overrule any semblance of thought beyond you and making sure you are aware of how much he is enjoying kissing you.

Trying to get as close to each other as you possibly can, you turn one more time in his arms and shift forward without ever breaking the kiss. His arms hold you steady, following wherever you’re going next, and in a moment of impulsivity and bravery you swing one leg over his lap to straddle Marcus completely on the couch.

Groaning, he absorbs your weight easily and his hands slide down your sides to squeeze your hips. He’s not upset you’re in his lap, quite the opposite. It makes his kiss just a little more frantic, trying to devour you a bit more.

Marcus has big hands. You know that already. But feeling them on you is totally different. His grip is firm but gentle, sweeping up and down your sides, and you’re suddenly hyper aware that you chose a dress and leggings and that those things provide no barrier between his body and yours. You can feel damn near everything underneath you and that is a blessing as well making you hyper aware of the warmth radiating off of him in waves.

He pants against your lips and feels like he’s underwater. Knowing that he is starting to harden underneath you at the warmth of your body, your core pressed against him.

The only thing that could possibly reel you back in at this point is him — the very same thing that is driving you crazy. But before you start grinding against him or even so much unconsciously moving your hips, you need to make sure he’s okay with it. You’re both panting heavily when you press your forehead against his, and your hands grip his shoulders tightly for balance. “I can stop…” you promise him, knowing that reeling yourself in now will be easier than later. “If you don’t want—more—”

“No.” The word is more whimper and plea than command and he wouldn’t do that anyway. “I— I’m good. I want—” He shakes his head and leans in to press his lips to yours again.

He wants just like you do, if the growing bulge beneath you is any indication, and you are not the slightest bit upset about that in anyway. It isn't what you came here for – or why you went on this date in the first place – but fuck if it isn't feeling like the perfect way to cap off the night.

The subtle circling of your hips has his fingers digging into your thighs as the most delicious groan rips out of his throat. Unsure if he wants you to stop or to just grind on him until you’re panting his name, he slides his tongue down your jaw and to your neck to follow it up with tiny kisses.

"Fuck— Marcus." The iron grip you had on his shoulders has slacked only so you can run your hands down his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer under your fingertips just as fast as your own as he dusts kisses along your neck and raises goosebumps in his wake.

“So sexy.” He murmurs into your skin. Scraping his teeth over your pulse and sucking lightly. Enjoying the tremor that runs through you and the way you press down against his cock as you moan. He’s hard and starting to ache now, twitching every time you move.

“Unbelievably hot.” The first time you deliberately tilt your hips and rock your core over him, you both moan and you melt against him with your fingers fumbling for his buttons. “C—can I?” You manage, even though you feel like your voice is shaking. “Want to touch you, baby. Please?”

Exhaling on a shudder, Marcus gulps in air greedily. "Whatever you want." He croaks out. "I— fuck," His eyes close and his head tilts back slightly, exposing his Adam's apple. "I want you, but this stops wherever you want it to." He's not the type of man to push beyond your comfort, but if you said you wanted him inside you, he'd already be asking about protection. Not feeling like this is some sort of rebound, it feels like the beginning of something wonderful.

“I don’t want it to stop,” you admit, pausing with your fingers already in the first button of his shirt to find his eyes. This is not your usual first date M.O. but there is something here. Something very real and new between you that has wrapped itself around both of you together.

“We don’t have to stop.” Marcus promises you breathlessly, biting back a groan of pleasure when your hand splays across his chest, touching his hot skin.

"Thank god." Your own moan is a soft and breathy thing as you lean back to watch the broad expanse of his chest come into view with every button you manage to wrench open.

He manages to chuckle, even though he wants to just pull you closer and rip your clothes open to touch you, but he just pulls you close.

It's so damn easy to sink into him. For both of you to let your hands wander and your kisses migrate across each other's skin. He's stronger even than he looks at first glance and that is very strong – to the point where you really wonder if he might be able to just lift you up and carry you off. And that is just about the sexiest thing you can think of.

Keeping his hands on top of your clothes is going to be a real fucking challenge. Especially now that you have stripped him of his dress shirt and his undershirt. Squeezing and caressing every inch of skin you are baring, even the back of your tender neck while he scatters kisses along your lips.

The way he grabs and bunches your dress in his hands but doesn't reach further makes you groan, wondering if he's hesitant or if he's just waiting for permission. It really only takes a few seconds to realize there is something hesitant about the way he is kissing you or palming your hips and breasts over your dress, so you take one of his hands and guide it under the hem of your dress in invitation.

Marcus moans when you guide his hand under your dress, giving him permission to touch you and it becomes his mission to touch every inch of your body. Both hands slide up and down your thighs in sweeping passes, over your panties and to your stomach.

"Fuck." His hands are burning hot, making you shiver counterintuitively and lean into every touch. At this rate you may leave a damp patch from grinding down on him, but you don't even care. The friction is too good to ease up on. The only way you're moving off is so Marcus can get his pants off.

"That's right, baby." He agrees, unable to stop twitching every time you grind against the hard bulge in his slacks. "Fuck is right." His thumb sweeps under your breast right before he slides up to cover it with his hand, right over the bra and squeeze possessively. "You want to take off your dress for me, sweetheart?"

It's not even worth wasting breath on a reply, you just tear your hands away from his chest to pull your dress up over your head. It gets tossed somewhere on the floor and instantly forgotten about as you pant for your breath back and watch Marcus's eyes drink you in.

He didn't know that he could look so many places at once. Your tits, mouthwatering and begging for his attention. Down to your pretty panties that he wants to rip off and bury his tongue inside you to hear you squeal his name. Back up to your face and he nearly growls as he rushes in to kiss you again.

The momentum nearly knocks you backward but Marcus's arms are there to hold you steady. If he has his way you'll be staying skin-to-skin for a whole lot longer tonight and you have absolutely no problem with that. Every time his cock twitches under you, you can't help but moan, and soon it's going to be just a litany of that sound over and over.

Deft, sure hands reach back to undo your bra, making the first move to strip clothing off of you. Pulling the straps down your arms and immediately reaching up to cup your breasts and fill his hands with them. As simple as it might be to get a simple piece of clothing off of you, your high-pitched whine says everything about how eager you are to be rid of every stitch. "You have the best hands," you moan when he pinches your nipples and rolls the tight buds between his fingers for the first time.

"You have the best tits." Marcus hums, almost chuckling as he watches your head drop down to your chest and then roll back. "Fuck, that's it," he groans when you circle your hips on his cock again.

"S—swear this isn't what I was expecting—" You manage to breathe out, trying to assure him that you never expected sex tonight. "But fuck, baby."

"Me either." He agrees, kissing your jaw and then down your chest. His hot mouth moving towards your breast until he's pulling your nipple into his mouth.

“Mar—Marcus.” The heat of his mouth makes you keen even as your head drops back and the fingers of one hand tangle in his short hair. At this point every time you grind your hips down it’s like you’re trying to reach his cock inside his pants, and you know he’s as hard as you are wet.

He huffs and blows his breath against your nipple as he lets go of it, smirking up at you before sucking it back into his mouth. Knowing that tonight is nowhere near what he had imagined it being like and yet he can't be mad at it. He's eager to feel more of you.

“Feels so damn good.” The contrast of hot and cool on your skin makes your eyelids flutter and you rock in his lap.

He moans in agreement, his tongue flicking over the stiff peak and he loves how it puffs up even more in his mouth. Pulling off only to attack your other breast with equal enthusiasm.

Every flick of his tongue sends another shiver down your spine and as much as you just want to ride it out and see if you can cum only from having your tits sucked on, you want him more. One hand stays threaded in his hair but the other reaches down between you, finding the thick bulge of his cock in his pants and squeezing experimentally to see what makes him moan.

Marcus’s breath is ragged, shuddered against your skin and he pulls away because he might bite down too hard if you do that too well. “Fuck, baby.” He groans when you squeeze him again.

"I—" You breathe, panting when he twitches in your hand and you can feel how thick he is. "I have a condom in my wallet." It had been just a nothing idea, to throw one in while you were getting ready. More of a joke to yourself about how you always seem to be so overprepared. But now? Thank god you did.

"Yeah?" He kisses up your neck again and his tongue slides against the sensitive skin behind your earlobe. "I have one too." He admits. He's always carried one, but not because he expected sex, but because it was surprisingly handy to have at times. "Do you want to use yours or mine?"

"Yours first, mine second." It might sound a little overconfident, but something in you tells you for certain that this isn't just a one-time thing. Besides that, Marcus's hazy, lust-filled grin at your comment is worthwhile.

"Good girl." He groans out, twitching against your core at the thought of multiple rounds after you've both caught your breath and recovered.

That makes you moan reflexively, and you don't even pretend to demure over the reaction. It's honest and it's real. Who doesn't want to be praised during sex?

"Oh you like that." He chuckles and leans in to kiss your lips again softly. "I'll keep that in mind." He will, he will take note of every damn think you like.

"Not even going to pretend I don't." You lean forward to nip at his neck in turn before stepping back from him with a groan. With two feet on the rug, you already hate the distance between you. But you'll take care of that as soon as you strip his pants away.

Marcus pouts slightly but he quickly unbuckles his belt and unzips his pants so he can lift his hips up so you can pull his pants down. Black boxer-briefs under black trousers is very adult of him, and you're far too focused on the thick length trapped under that last layer of fabric to tease him about boring underwear. Instead you toss him his wallet from the back pocket of his pants and slip off your tights while he fishes for the condom packet.

Catching his wallet, Marcus opens it and pulls the condom out and tosses it on the coffee table before he bites his lip. Looking at you before he lifts his hips again and pushes down his boxer briefs.

Broad shoulders and a thin waist give way to long legs, but your attention is focused on his dark eyes until you let your gaze drop to his lap. The head of his cock is bordering purple, dripping precum, and it gives a distinct twitch against his belly when he watches you watch him. The perfect moment of quiet before the storm that is about to take over, you crack a grin at Marcus and take a step forward. That cock is going to feel so fucking good inside you.

"I take it you approve?" He asks, smirking himself as he holds out his hand to you. "Now, I want you to take off your panties for me, sweetheart."

“Oh, these things?” With your thumbs hooked into either side of your panties, you grin a little wider before slipping them straight down your legs to pool at your feet. “Gone.”

"Fuck." He groans, cock jerking again at the sight of you completely bare in front of him. "You're so beautiful. I'm lucky to be able to touch you."

You hum, shaking your head and making a show of walking the three steps you need to need to be ready to crawl back into his lap. “I could say the same thing.”

He chuckles and rips open the condom to roll down his length. Biting his lip while he studiously applies the prophylactic, he looks back up at you with his hand wrapped around his covered cock. "Then touch me again and make me believe it." He teases.

Never having known a single man who didn’t like having his cock ridden, you fit one knee on the outside of each of his hips and sit yourself down directly over his core, replacing his hand with yours and wishing you had had the opportunity to suck his cock just a little before he applied the condom. Next time, you tell yourself, rocking over the tip of his length and watching his Adam’s Apple bob dramatically until you start to slide that length inside you an inch at a time.

His hands find your hips again. Not to rush you, but to hold you as you slowly start to engulf his cock. Moaning out your name when you get the first two inches inside your hot body and your walls squeeze him tight. "That— fuck, baby, you feel so good." He praises breathlessly. "How— is it good?" He can barely think straight, but he wants to make sure you are comfortable.

“Perfect.” Barely holding onto your last shred of control, you are determined to make sure you both latch on to the bliss of this moment before anything else. “Fucking perfect.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders but the slight pain just adds to how good the way you sink down onto him feels. Groaning again as you keep taking him, wrapping him up in the heat of your body. "Good."

“Goddamn.” When he’s fully seated inside you, you pause long enough for both of you to catch your breath. “Tell me when I can move, baby.”

"Anytime you want to move." He moans, wanting you to move now, but he's not the one who is on top. "You set the pace, baby."

That in itself is enough encouragement, and you raise up on your knees right away to the musical harmony of a moan ripping out of each of you. “Fuck you feel so good,” you moan, barely keeping your eyes open as you set an even but energetic pace. It feels that good, but you want to be able to watch him.

Breathing out shakily, Marcus can't even speak. Too overcome by the pure pleasure that comes when you start to move. Rolling your hips and clenching down around him, you fit like you are perfectly molded around him. Eyes fluttering when you start to lift off his length, but then take him even deeper when you sink back down.

The sounds of sex are distinct – sloppy and wet and loud – as the two of you find a rhythm together. If you believed in Fate you’d say he felt like he was made for you, but as it is you really can barely form any thoughts at all. He fills you in a way you don’t think you’ve ever felt before and every perfect man goes straight to your clit as you ride him.

His fingers are still grazing your hip as his thumb presses against that little button that drives women crazy. Humming when he starts to work quick, small circles on top of it as you move. Wanting to match the rhythm for your pleasure. Your hands are everywhere, pulling in his hair and bracing on his shoulders, grazing down his chest and even reaching behind you to lean backward and get a slightly different angle and groaning loudly when it strikes you just right.

Letting you lead doesn’t mean that Marcus does nothing. His hips rock up every other thrust to make sure that you are impaled on his cock. Toes curling every time, he groans out your name again and again.

Curses and praises fall from your lips, punctuating the litany of moans with colorful encouragement and pleas. Every time he thrusts upward you feel like you’re going to have all of your insides rearranged, and it’s so fucking good you never want it to stop.

“Fuck. Baby.” Marcus leans forward and presses his forehead to your clavicle. “You’re taking me so well. Love it.” His mouth sometimes gets filthy when he’s lost in a moment and it’s no different today. “Pretty little pussy clamped down over my dick.”

Fucking hell. He even talks dirty. You keen in response, a moan so animated and turned the fuck on that you’re picking up the pace and pawing at your own tits in Marcus’s face. It’s beautiful to watch your tits bounce and your hands pluck at them, but he’s a hands on kind of guy and he lets go of your waist so he can lavish attention on them.

It’s an automatic switch. When his hands move to knead your tits and pluck at your nipples, you replace one of your own on his shoulder and let the other drift to your clit to run the same circles that he was just a second ago. You’re hurtling desperately close to cumming and you can’t wait to hear what dirty little praises he’s going to come out with when you clamp down on his cock even harder.

Marcus moans and groans with his nipple in your mouth. His eyes watching your fingers dance over your clit and he’s memorizing the fact that you enjoyed the way he had been touching you. His hips rocking up fast to punch up into you. Feeling you getting closer to your peak with ever gasped squeal you give him.

“So—fuck— so fucking close,” you manage between pants and moans as your body starts to lock down all at once and that coil in the base of your spine tightens beautifully like you were warning it and not just him. “Oh fuck, I’m cum—”

The second he feels you tense up, Marcus pops off your tit and his arms wind around you like steel bands. Holding you in place so he can take over. Thrusting up into you while you start to cum. “That’s it.” He hisses. “Cum for me. Soak me baby. Show me how good my cock feels.” He groans, the hard, sharp thrusts knocking his breath out but he fucks you through it, still babbling. “Like a vice, like a fucking vice. Come on baby, give me all of it.”

The filthy babbling almost breaks you, with the way that it shakes through you and makes you gasp at breaths even with how much you’re panting. Sparks flash white behind your eyes as Marcus’s hips start to stutter, and you’re vaguely aware of a stream of your own encouragements — or maybe just begging him to cum so you can see how gorgeously unwound he looks when he hits his peak. You can’t be sure which it is, or if it’s both, but either way his arms tighten around you that much more and he groans in your ear like sin incarnate.

"Fuck you're so good." Marcus breathes. "I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fill your little pussy up." That's not going to happen because of the condom, but logistics don't exactly matter right this second. All that matters is that he's going to be buried inside you as he cums. "Fuck baby, fuck." He chokes out, giving one more thrust and grinding up into you as he whines your name into your ear. Spilling into the condom in hot waves of pleasure.

“Holy shit.” You’re the first to break into giggles, when you finally have your breath back. His arms were so tight around you at the end that you might feel a little bruised tomorrow but you can’t find it in yourself to care at all. That’s the best ride you’ve had in ages and it was only the first time.

Humming, Marcus leans in and nuzzles his nose against your neck. Panting to catch his breath. "Holy shit is right." He gives his own little giggle because he's feeling so loose and good.

“Let me know when I’m getting too heavy.” With your forehead pressed to his shoulder and the feeling very slowly returning to your extremities, you’re still not sure about moving immediately. “My legs aren’t working yet. You turned them into jelly.”

"You can stay right here as long as you want." He promises with a grin, his spent cock twitching inside you. He will have to hold to condom when he pulls out, but it's worth it. "Want me to read to you now while you recover?"

The awe and adoration in your expression when you pull back from him is unmistakable. He’s going to read to you post-coitus?! “You’re actually perfect,” you sputter out in disbelief, though you’re absolutely not saying no.

He chuckles and sends you a warm smile. "It's the least I can do," he teases, "since you did all the work." His hands slowly caress your spine and he’s enjoying the way you feel against him.

“And I’ll gladly do all the work again for round two if that’s the response I get.” Not even teasing, you nudge your nose against his and steal a kiss, savoring the taste of perspiration mixed with Marcus’s kiss.

He hums against your lips and slides his hand up to hold you in place to deepen the kiss. "Thank you." He murmurs when he pulls away. "For this. For making it easy to enjoy the best damn date I've had in a long time."

“No need to thank me.” There is so much softness in it that you melt a little bit more, nuzzling into him right there in his lap. “I’m gonna have a hell of a time trying to make sure our second date beats it.”

It makes him laugh, a giddy, carefree sound and he sigh happily. "We should just keep it going then." He decides. "That way we don't have to think of ideas to top this."

You could float away on the sound of his laugh, just reveling in this joyful energy. All the same, you pull back again and find his eyes carefully. “You asking me to stay the night, handsome?”

"What kind of date would I be if I sent you home when your legs are Jello?" He asks playfully, leaning in and nudging your nose with his. "Especially since it's my fault."

“Fault. Generous gift. Same thing.” You both grin, indulging in more kisses until you’re sighing into him all over again. “In that case, I think we should go upstairs,” you murmur. “Read in bed until we either want to go again or fall asleep.”

"Do you want some water?" He asks softly, knowing you might be thirsty after all that work. "I can get you some before we go up?"

“Perfect gentleman.” You hum softly, knowing you need to climb out of his lap but wanting one more kiss first. “Water would be amazing.”

He gives you another lingering kiss, smiling against your lips when you start to pout as you lift off of him. He slides his hand between you to hold the base of his cock, keeping the condom from moving. "Good. My room is the last door on the left." He tells you. "I'll be up in just a second, as soon as I get rid of the condom and get some water."

"Okay." Even though you pause to gather up your stuff, you don't bother getting dressed. Sauntering upstairs naked has an air of comfort and unexpected sexiness to it that you can't deny, but you do stop off in the bathroom to do the extremely unsexy task of cleaning up and having a quick pee. By the time you get out, you barely have a second to slip under the covers before Marcus appears in the doorway.

"Bottle of water, like the lady ordered." Marcus put away the cheeseboard and wine, gathering up his own clothes before coming upstairs. He wants to make sure you are comfortable. Grinning, he walks over in his boxers to hand you the water. "Need anything else, sweetheart?"

"A little company, that's all." Did he manage to get more attractive in the less than five minutes you were apart? That's wholly unfair.

"Company I can definitely provide." He smirks slightly as he walks around the bed to climb in beside you. "Comfortable? Need another pillow?"

"Not gonna lie." As he slides in next to you, you move toward him like a magnet. "I was kind of hoping for a human pillow."

"That's my favorite type of pillow to be." His arms open up to let you settle against him. "Especially when I'm going to read to you."

"Absolutely perfect," you murmur happily, laying your head down on his chest as he picks up the book. Tonight really was, without a doubt, the best date you've ever had. You're going to have to do a hell of a job hosting the next book club meeting as a thank you.

He picks up reading again, basically just starting over. Keeping his voice low and the only light is from the lamp on his bedside table. Letting the atmosphere stay intimate. It might be the first date, but it was going to hopefully the last first date he has.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #blind date

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thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

Text

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

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rosepascal · 3 months

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Pedro Character Writer Blog Rec List

In no particular order here are some Pedro character writers + their masterlists. This is an ongoing list so it will be updated continuously

If there is no masterlist link it means I couldn't find it.

If you think an acct should be here plz let me know and ill add them!

@coulsons-fullmetal-cellist - masterlist (Dieter Bravo)

@chronically-ghosted - masterlist (Javier Pena, Dieter Bravo, Max Phillips, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike, Frankie Morales)

@grogusmum - masterlist (Pero Tovar, Javi G, Oberyn Martell, Ezra, Frankie Morales, Din Djarin)

@huffle-punk - masterlist

@beardedjoel - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@punkette1026 - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike)

@thefrogdalorian - masterlist (Din Djarin)

@jobean12-blog - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@burntheedges - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Din Djarin)

@theywhowriteandknowthings - masterlist (Javier Pena, Dieter Bravo, Frankie Morales), Joel Miller, Dave York, Din Djarin)

@covetyou - masterlist (Joel Miller, Dieter Bravo)

@janaispunk - masterlist (Joel Miller, Dave York, Javier Pena)

@gasolinerainbowpuddles - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@missredherring - masterlist (Agent Whiskey, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Eddie BTVS, Ezra, Frankie Morales, Joel Miller, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Maxwell Lord, Oberyn Martell, Tim Rockford)

@hyzer34 - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales)

@beskarandblasters - masterlist (Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Ezra, Dieter Bravo, Tim Rockford, Mr. Ben)

@studioghibelli - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@pimosworld - masterlist (Frankie Morales, Joel Miller, Dave York, Javier Pena)

@toomanystoriessolittletime - masterlist (Agent Whiskey, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Max Phillips, Joel Miller, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Maxwell Lord, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, Javi G, Javier Pena)

@magpiepills - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Dieter Bravo, Javi Pena, Marcus Moreno, Ezra, Marcus Pike)

@lincolndjarin - masterlist (Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Agent Whiskey, Frankie Morales, Javier Pena, Ezra)

@thot-of-khonshu - masterlist (Frankie Morales)

@gg-pedro - masterlist

@punkshort - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@wheresarizona - masterlist (Javier Pena, Joel Miller, Dave York, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, Agent Whiskey, Javi G, Marcus Pike, Max Phillips, Oberyn Martell)

@joelalorian - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@iamasaddie - masterlist (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales, Veracruz, Dave York, Oberyn Martell, Marcus Pike, Tim Rockford)

@auteurdelabre - masterlist (Joel Miller, Dieter Bravo, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales)

@undercoverpena - masterlist (Javier Pena, Frankie Morales, Joel Miller, Marcus Pike)

@fhatbhabie - masterlist (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales, Dieter Bravo)

@sweetenerobert - masterlist (Joel Miller, Dave York, Dieter Bravo, Frankie Morales, Oberyn Martell)

@whxtedreams - masterlist (Joel Miller, Javier Pena)

@anabdaniels - masterlist (Agent Whiskey)

@psychedelic-ink - masterlist (Agent Whiskey, Dieter Bravo, Din Djarin, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Max Phillips, Joel Miller, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Oberyn Martell, Pero Tovar, Javi G, Javier Pena, Ezra)

@hellishjoel - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales)

@mypoisonedvine - masterlist (Javier Pena, Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Dieter Bravo, Marcus Moreno, Marcus Pike)

@flightlessangelwings - masterlist (Din Djarin, Veracruz, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike, Pero Tovar, Marcus Moreno, Javi G, Ezra, Agent Whiskey, Max Lord)

@penvisions - masterlist (Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Javier Pena)

@popcornforone - masterlist (Dave York, Javi Gutierrez, Din Djarin, Tim Rockford, Oberyn Martell, Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike, Max Phillips, Mr. Ben, Joel Miller, Marcus Moreno, Dieter Bravo, Max Lord)

@idolatrybarbie - masterlist (Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike, Dieter Bravo, Max Phillips)

@albertasunrise - masterlist (Frankie Morales, Marcus Pike, Ezra, Din Djarin)

@princessanglophile - masterlist (Oberyn Martell, Din Djarin,

@tightjeansjavi - masterlist (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Dieter Bravo, Frankie Morales, Javi G)

@morallyinept - masterlist (Ezra, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales, Javier Pena, Dave York, Agent Whiskey, Oberyn Martell, Dieter Bravo, Marcus Pike, Din Djarin, Max Phillips, Marcus Moreno)

@thelastofhyde - masterlist (Javier Pena, Joel Miller)

@honeyedmiller - masterlist (Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Frankie Morales)

@welcometodrama - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@lumoverheaven - masterlist (Joel Miller)

@swiftispunk - masterlist (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Ezra, Frankie Morales, Tim Rockford, Marcus Pike, Javi G)

@dilfspitdrinker - masterlist (Joel Miller, Frankie Morales)

@ghotifishreads - masterlist (Joel Miller, Dieter Bravo, Frankie Morales, Tim Rockford)

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mountainsandmayhem · 7 days

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Wonderful Tonight

Marcus Pike x Pregnant Female Reader - 18+

Summary: Marcus Pike takes care of his very pregnant wife, shaving her legs (and more) and then treats her like the delicious meal she is. CW: pregnancy, shaving, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v (you can't get pregnant while pregnant, but all of you better be wrappin it up!), praise, pet names (baby, honey, etc.), multiple orgasms. This is fluffy romantic smut. AN: I write one piece with feelings and suddenly I'm Mrs Romance over here! I gotta say that I'm falling deeper and deeper for Mr Marcus Pike, JUST LOOK AT THAT FACE!!! I feel like their wedding song would have been Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton, hence the title. Thank you @syd-djarin for reading this over for me. @survivingandenduring, I'll be waiting for my edits lol. Dividers by @saradika-graphics Word Count: 3.9k

A faint groan stirs Marcus awake, he takes a few seconds to fully come to, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. Trying to listen for that sound again, unsure if it was a dream or not. He reaches across the plush white bedding of the king sized bed looking for you, his beautiful and very pregnant wife, only to find the bed empty.

Usually, worry and panic would rush through him if you weren’t in bed, but you appear to be in your nesting phase and it hasn’t been unusual in these last few weeks for him to find you rearranging the nursery or ordering more things off Amazon at strange hours. You also seemed to have the strangest midnight cravings, like mayonnaise on ice cream, or there was that night he walked on you about to take a bite out of a kitchen sponge.

He sits on the edge of the bed and stretches, looking over at his alarm clock. 2:56 am.

The sound of you huffing and grunting floats from under the door of your ensuite bathroom. You sound like you’re struggling or in pain and adrenaline courses through Marcus as he hops up and rushes to the door. His mind racing to calculate the number of weeks pregnant you are and if it’s too soon for you to be in labour or not.

He tries the door handle to find it locked. “Babe?” He calls, rapping his knuckle in the door gently.

“Sorry. I’m fine. Go back to sleep,” you call back, your voice seems off like it’s laced with discomfort. It immediately sets his teeth on edge, you’re not fine, and according to his quick math you’re also at a point where you could go into labour and even though the baby would be a little early, they’d be past the danger zone and the baby would most likely be ok.

“Please open the door. You don’t sound fine.” He says softly, pushing the panic down like the trained FBI agent he is.

You’re quiet for a second before responding in a more stable voice, “Everything is fine. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Are you sure everything is ok?” He asks one more time, he knows your stubborn tendencies and how it usually takes him to ask three or four times before you give in.

It’s silent again behind the door. Just the sound of you huffing like you ran a marathon before a sad little ‘no’ leaves your lips. It simultaneously sends him into fix mode and breaks his heart. He hears your bare feet pad across the tile floor followed by the click of the lock.

He cracks the door slowly to come face to face with you in just your sports bra, naked from the ribs down. Your legs are slathered in raspberry and tangerine scented shaving cream and you have a purple razor in your hand. Your cheeks are pink with frustration and the exertion of trying to bend down. Your hair’s piled on top of your head, a few loose strands falling and sticking along the nape of your neck.

He leans his toned bicep against the doorframe, only wearing his tight black boxers, then crosses his arms and looks at you tenderly. His voice is soft and full of love as he says, “Oh, sweetie. What are you doing?”

The tears of frustration start to pool along your lash line. “I’m gonna give birth and I can’t be a Sasquatch, but I can’t bend over without feeling like my lungs are being crushed by my giant belly.”

Marcus cups your face, wiping away the stray tear and bringing your eyes to his. “Honey, you’re not a Sasquatch. And even if you were, they’re doctors. Come here,” his hand trails to the nape of your neck and he pulls you gently into him, wrapping both arms around you and tucking your head into his neck, “They’re not looking at your leg hair. They’re focused on you and the baby.”

You relax into his arms, belly pressing against his abdomen comfortably. “I can’t go into labour like this,” you say, anxiety wavering in your voice.

Marcus drops his arms from your body and slides past you, slipping his boxers down before stepping into the large, glass walled shower. He turns the nob that controls the rainfall shower head and crooks his fingers at you as a silent call to walk to him.

When you reach him, he starts to unzip the front of your sports bra. “What are you doin’, Mr Pike?” You say softly over the soothing sounds of the shower, watching his thick fingers pull the zipper down.

“I’m shaving Mrs Pike’s legs,” he says as you look back up at him. His chocolate brown eyes soaked you in and made you weak in the knees.

“Marcus, you -“ he cuts you off as your sports bra hits the floor.

“I promise to love, cherish and treasure you,” he starts, lightly pulling you into the shower. He always recites his marriage vows when he can sense you’re about to fight off his help. His way of reminding you that he wants to be there, wants to care for you. He continues his speech as he leads you to the wooden bench, “In all circumstances; good or bad. Forever. Without hesitation or keeping score. From this breath, until my last breath, you are my wife, my love, my partner, and my equal.”

He steadies you as you sit before taking a knee in front of you and smiling up at you sweetly.

“Thank you,” you whisper. It’s the middle of the night and this incredibly sweet man doesn’t even question or fight you. Just supports and loves you with his whole being. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Baby, you’re growing a person for us. You deserve so much more,” he holds his palm out and you place the razor in his hand. His other hand wraps around your swollen ankle lifting it to rest your foot on his knee. Before you can say much he starts making slow, gentle strokes of the razor up your leg.

You’re both silent for a moment, him lost in the sight of your soft skin as he shaves your leg, you lost in him and the way he’s looking at you as he drags the sharp razor so tenderly across your skin. The steam from the shower wraps around the two of you, encasing you in your own little cloud. The rest of the world and all your worries are temporarily blocked out until all your thoughts are just Marcus. Sweet, loving, emotionally available, Marcus Pike.

He reaches for the detachable shower head and drizzles warm water down your shin and calf, using his free hand to rinse away the excess shaving cream. You go to move your leg away but he grabs your ankle to keep you there. After switching off the water he puts it back and looks up at you, placing a light and lingering kiss on the inside of your knee before placing your foot back on the warm tile floor and grabbing the other ankle.

The shaving cream has washed away from the steam and backsplash from the rainfall behind Marcus, so he grabs the bar of soap and lathers up your leg. You watch again as he focuses all his attention on carefully shaving your other leg. Using the same little strokes, rinsing the razor more often than you would if you were doing it yourself.

After rinsing off the excess soap he glances up at you. “Better?” He asks soothingly.

“Ya,” you say, trying to convince him that your legs were your only worry, but he knows you better than that. He knows that when you flick your eyes away from his and your spine just slightly stiffens you want to ask something but are afraid or nervous to.

“Honey, what else do you need?” His hand kneads the swollen and sore muscles of the calf that’s still propped on his knee.

“Well…” you trail off as you start to blush.

“Mrs Pike. Are you going to ask me to shave your pussy?” He says with a devious little grin. Eyes lighting up like a horny teenager, placing your foot on the floor.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you say quickly. “I’m just worried that -“

He lightly covers your lips with his palm and Reminds himself to stay calm. he’s thought about how sensual it would be to shave your most delicious areas, but he knows you have some insecurities about body hair, and he didn’t want you to think you had to be clean shaven for him to find you sexy. Because truthfully, you could be a Sasquatch and he’d still want you. “Oh no, baby. I want to. I really REALLY want to.”

You lightly kiss the inside of his palm as he smiles hungrily at you. Just as your insecurities start to cloud your thoughts Marcus places his hands on your belly and rubs gently. “For the record, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, clean shaven or not. I love the taste of your pussy when it’s like this, it’s sweeter and feels soft against my skin. Plus, I love the way you cry out when I tug on it. So don’t think for a second that my excitement over getting to shave her means I prefer it that way. I don’t. Ok?”

You crash your lips into his, tangling your fingers through the slightly outgrown hair at the nape of his neck. He tastes like toothpaste still from before he went to bed as you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, his soft wet tongue swiping against yours. The two of you stay like that for a while. Lazily making out in the middle of the night in the shower. His hands trail from your belly to your back, gently massaging the muscles of your lower back and then your hips.

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours as you catch your breath. “I’m going to get a new razor and your special shaving cream. Ok?”

You nod against him. “Are you ok on the bench, honey? Do you need a towel to sit on?”

“No, I’m ok. We can move if the ground is uncomfortable, Marcus.” He’s always beating you to ensure the other is comfortable.

“Be right back,” he winks. You watch him walk out of the shower to the vanity. The water droplets on his back run down the toned and slender muscles that line his back, they catch in the curve of his ass before running down his tight cheeks. You find yourself squeezing your knees together at the sight of your naked husband. He truly is so beautiful, inside and out.

He slips back into the shower and kneels before you, sitting back on his heels. “Slide to the edge, baby.” His hands come to your hips, guiding you forward. He licks his lips and looks up at you through his thick lashes, big brown eyes dancing softly around your face. “Spread your legs for me.”

Normally, saying something like that would sound dirty, or like a command, but it floats gently over the splash of the shower. Soft, caring, and so sweet that you melt back onto your hands, parting your knees wide for your husband. His eyes glaze over slightly as his lips part, your glistening soft folds on display for him. He blinks a few times and takes a slow breath, reaching for the shower head again, cupping the water in his hand and drizzling it along your pussy. The breath catches in your throat, something about this feels incredibly sensual, and it doesn’t help that Marcus is looking down at your pussy like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Is the water ok? Not too hot?” He asks.

How did you get so lucky, but more so, how did anyone divorce this man in the past?

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” your voice waves, it’s breathy and full of arousal. He blinks up at you and smirks. He knows this is turning you on, and he plans to make sure you enjoy yourself as much as possible.

He applies the cream and grabs the razor, popping off the flimsy plastic guard before getting to work. His hand rests above your mound, pulling back gently to make the skin taut. He uses little strokes, rinsing the blade between each swipe of the razor. You close your eyes and let your head fall back as he continues. Once he’s removed all the hair from the top, he rests his hand on the now smooth skin just above your clit and gently pulls back. A soft whimper passes your lips, he’s so close to your most sensitive spots. But he said he’d help you shave, so he continues, swiping the razor in the same short strokes down one lip, and then the other. By the time he’s done, your breathing is rapid and shallow.

“You doing okay up there, baby?” He asks, placing the razor on the bench beside you.

You moan a soft ‘mmmmm-hmm’ as he reaches for the detachable shower head. You open your eyes, watching as he tests the water on his hand and wrist before holding the stream over your pussy. You gasp at the feeling of the warm water pressure flowing over your now swollen clit. Marcus smiles up at you, the dimple on his cheek forming and setting you on fire. He clicks the button on the side of the shower head, increasing the water pressure and holding it closer to your core.

“Marcus,” you whimper, leaning back further. Gravity lolling your head backwards.

“That’s it. Just relax, honey.” He says in a hushed voice, his free hand gripping and massaging the soft skin of your inner thigh higher and higher until he’s at the top. His thick middle and ring fingers coming to tease around your entrance.

“Oh god. Please, Marcus.” You say through bated breath. Your swollen breasts and belly rise and fall with your pleas.

He dips the tips of his fingers inside you, feeling your walls pulse and flutter. Taking his time to slowly fuck his fingers into you, inch by inch. Slowly. Lovingly. All while watching how you react. Watching the way your mouth falls open, eyebrows raising slightly, lips going soft as you moan his name.

Once his fingers are all the way, he curls them forward just as he clicks the button on the shower head, increasing the water pressure to its highest setting. You let out a long, husky wanton moan that echoes off the black tiled walls. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your legs start to shake, as your body almost launches you towards your release. Every muscle seems to go slack and it waves through you, pleasure reverberating from your aching clit, spreading to every cell in your body.

“Marcus. Oh fuck. Don’t stop, Pike. Please.”

You feel lighter, even as your heavy belly bounces as you grind shamelessly into Marcus’s palm and the spray of the shower head. He feels the grip of your slick walled pussy start to relax as you crest over the edge of your orgasm and start to come down. He pulls the stream of water away from your clit, the warmth of his large hand cupping you, his two thick fingers still working you slowly to the bottom of your high.

“You’re such a goddess, baby.” He says proudly. The praise wraps around you like a warm blanket as he slides his fingers from you carefully. “I wanna take you to bed and watch you do that again.”

You find the strength to arch your neck forward and look at him. You smile sleepily and nod, allowing your beautiful husband to take your hand, shut off the water, and lead you to bed. Before helping you climb in, he moves his hands to cup your face, placing his lips against yours. His chest rumbles with a content sigh as your tongue swipes hungrily along his soft bottom lip. One of your hands scoops under your belly, lifting it to relieve the pressure on your lower back, the other reaches for his hard cock. You grip around the base gently and stroke him slowly, matching the energy of the kiss.

“Mmmm, I like that baby,” he says between kisses, “But I’m not done with you yet. Let’s get you into bed.”

You climb in as gracefully as possible, praying silently that you don’t look like those sea lions that you watched on your honeymoon in Alaska a few years ago. You lay down on your back as Marcus climbs on top of you best he can, stretching to keep kissing you, doing his best not to put any of his weight on your bump. This position immediately puts pressure on your body, making you feel short of breath.

Your hands push at Marcus and you sit up slightly, seemingly fighting for breath. “Ugh,” you groan frustratedly, “I can’t breathe like that. I’m sorry. This is so unsexy.”

“Unsexy? I’m rock hard for you,” he says, looking down and then back at you with a smile. “You lay how it’s comfortable, how about that?”

“Pike, I’m only comfortable on my side with that crazy pillow under my leg.” You say, defeated and anxious. “I need you though.”

He thinks for a second, chewing his cheek as he surveys the pillows available. “Ok, what if you lay on your side, bottom leg straight, top leg hooked up and resting on the pillow?”

You smile at him lovingly, “Is that really gonna be sexy?”

“Honey, I’ve never been more turned on by anyone in my entire life. You’re glowing. I’m amazed by you every day.” He fluffs the pillows around you as you turn away from him, bending your leg up as high as your belly allows. “Is that comfy, baby?”

His fingers trace up and down your spine slowly as your body starts to sink and relax into the soft mattress. “Yes,” you whisper.

His lips come to your neck, kissing the soft spot behind your ear, down your neck and then along the top of your shoulder, fingertips swirling along your back and ass cheeks. Your eyes flutter closed, moaning at his sweet caresses. His lips continue to kiss your skin and down your back, as he spins his body so his feet are at the head of the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says into your skin between kisses. “So strong. So selfless. I love you so much, Mrs Pike.”

Your whole body seems to tingle with anticipation of where he’s going to kiss next, you feel his hair tickle the inside of your top leg as he maneuvers his head between your thighs. You lift your leg higher, desperate to feel his mouth on your already sensitive pussy.

“Please, baby,” you gasp, arching your back slightly. “I need you to…”

His warm soft tongue licks a slow and teasing stripe from your asshole to your clit. A tortured moan leaves your lips, hips bucking into his face. Marcus lets out a silent laugh at your reaction. He’s always loved how your body responds to him. The very first time he made you cum, both of you still fully dressed as you made out, hips grinding into his as you shook, he knew that he wanted to see that for the rest of his life.

“Good girl, let me taste it.” He laps at you again, still just as slowly but with more pressure. Asshole, to entrance, to clit. Once. Twice. The third time his thumb comes to press into your now dripping pussy, tongue flicking around your nub slowly and with perfect pressure.

“You taste so good,” he moans between licks. “Such a good girl for me. You’re gonna cum soon aren’t you?”

“Yes. Yesss. Don’t stop, Pike.” He doesn’t stop, he never stops. Not until you’re either begging him to or you’re pushing him away.

“Never, honey,” he mumbles into your wet folds, and that’s when the tight elastic behind your mound snaps, and you cum hard and loud. Your inner walls grip his thumb tightly, pulling it deeper.

“M-Marcus…hnnggg…oh my god. Yes.” You’re lost in the euphoria. Every ache and pain from your pregnancy is temporarily erased and replaced with nothing but pleasure. Sparkling, warm pleasure.

It slowly starts to become too much, slipping into overstimulation. “Marcus. Stop, baby.” He’s always in tune with your body, his thumb already starting to slide out, tongue replaced with light kisses.

You whine as he pulls away, already missing him and the intimacy. “Please fuck me,” you say over your shoulder, his blown out coffee coloured eyes almost black. He slips his body alongside yours, the arm closest to the mattress slipping under your head. He grips his dick with his other hand, pumping it while running it up and down your slit, collecting your arousal.

“Ready, baby?” Marcus asks, kissing the top of your shoulder.

“Just fuck me already!”

If you weren’t pregnant he’d flip you onto your belly and drive into you, probably pull your hair and tell you to cut the attitude. But he knows he has to be gentler right now, so he slowly pushes the thick head of his cock into you. Inching in slowly, almost punishingly. “Don’t be a brat, baby. You know we have to be softer right now.”

You wiggle your ass back, trying to get more. You need all of him. When he’s finally seated all the way inside of you he holds still, sucking on your neck. “Be good, or I’ll just stay like this all night.”

“No, please, baby. Please move.” Your belly makes forward movement impossible so you’re just pinned between your bump and Marcus. “Pike, please.”

He quickly pulls back to the tip and then slides back in. You cry out into his bicep. “Again. Please. Again.”

“Fuck, I love it when you beg,” he whispers, fucking in and out of you a few more times. It’s deep and slow, always with a little extra punch of his hips at the very end. “Sound so pretty when you moan for me.”

You reach down to rub your clit, him encouraging you with his words. “That’s a good girl. Touch yourself for me.”

It doesn’t take long before you’re both on the edge, ready to tumble over together. To get lost in each other's pleasure. He moans deeply in your ear, whispering praises as you cum on his cock, holding off as long as he can before you feel his warm spend fill you. You’ve completely melted for him, unable to move or keep your eyes open. You both lay quiet, his softening cock still buried inside you, breathing heavily together. You both drift off, spent and happy and so unbelievably in love that it’s hard to believe something like this can exist.

Marcus wakes up a few hours later still inside you. He slowly slips himself out, peels his body away from yours and tucks the blankets around you. He leaves you a little handwritten note that he’s going to get French toast and bacon from your favourite place.

Ya, it’s definitely hard to believe that a love like this is yours.

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @smutsmutslut @sullyrocky44 @keylimebeag

@pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes

@jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog @pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

@iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey @iluvurfather

@ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

#marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #pedro is daddy #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #the mentalist

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burntheedges · 9 days

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600 Followers Celebration

Y’all!! This is wild. I realized the other day that I started writing my first fic in my notes app on my phone on 4/11/23. I posted the first chapter of that fic in July last year! I am so grateful for each and every one of you. I get so emotional every time someone reads one of my fics. Thank you for being here and being amazing. And I’m so glad you all like fandom bingo (which is still open)!! 🧡🧡🧡

I wanted to do something fun to celebrate. There are two parts -- vote and ask! I'll tag every post for this celebration with #bte600.

💗 VOTE: vote on the poll under the cut!! A week or so ago I did an ask game where people sent me made up fic titles and I told you what I would write for them. Well, I got a little carried away and came up with some ideas I'm actually pretty excited about. So now I want you to vote on which one I should actually write next! The poll will be open for a week.

🧡 ASK: Send me any of the emojis below – send me as many as you’d like! But please send one at a time.

❣️shout out Spread the love around and tell me about a fic, author, fan art, or artist on here that you love!

📜fic rec Give me a fandom and a direction and I’ll give you a fic rec. I’ve got more than 9000 bookmarks on ao3 lol bet I can find something! let me know preferences about ships, ratings, content, etc.

(fandoms I’ve read a lot in over the years: all the Pedro boys, Inception (Arthur/Eames), Captive Prince, LOTR/Hobbit, MCU, X-Men, 00Q, Star Trek (various ships), Mass Effect, The Raven Cycle (pynch), Teen Wolf (lol), Stranger Things, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Check Please!, The Witcher, The Sandman, Sherlock, Stargate Atlantis, RWRB, Merlin, ATLA… and more?)

❓question Send me any question, FMK, ask about a headcanon, ask about one of my fics, how I write, ask for commentary on a scene or line, whatever you’d like – I’ll answer it!

Remember, 💗 vote on the poll under the cut!!

Let's vote! Which one of these ideas should I work on next? (see more about each at the link) I had to cut one so I cut one of the Frankie ones that was very similar to something I just wrote.

🧡🧡🧡 thanks for being here!

tagging some mutuals for funzies:

@katareyoudrilling @beardedjoel @maggiemayhemnj @goodwithcheese @djarins-cyare

@jupiter-soups @undercoverpena @tightjeansjavi @morallyinept @trulybetty

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @huffle-punk @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @jay-zzle @sheepdogchick3

@joelsgreys @davnittbraes @ghotifishreads @iknowisoundcrazy @jobean12-blog

@punkette1026 @macfrog @skittlesfics @morning-star-joy @futuraa-free

@sempersirens @theywhowriteandknowthings @pr0ximamidnight @janaispunk @toxicanonymity

@chronically-ghosted @beefrobeefcal @ladamedusoif @ilovepedro @javierpena-inatacvest

@kiwisbell @iamasaddie @mrsmando @corazondebeskar @minimeiser

@mermaidgirl30 @kedsandtubesocks @covetyou @nedgooel @wildemaven

@secretelephanttattoo @theclairvoyage @sawymredfox @julesonrecord

...

#followers celebration #i love y'all #joel miller x reader #frankie morales x reader #marcus pike x reader #javier peña x reader #din djarin x reader #marcus moreno x reader #dieter bravo x reader #ask me anything #bte600

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ravensmadreads · 8 months

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Unhinged totally unasked for thots about Riding Pedro Boys

Authors Note: So this came from me chugging entirely too many energy drinks and then projectile vomiting in Taylors inbox. I'd like to warn you that: English isn't my first language, I have never written smut before, I'm not a real writer, and also I'm trash goblin levels of unhinged about this. That being said; Enjoy and uhh. Forgive me Fandom

JAVIER PEÑA

Javier Pena doesn't let you do it.

Don't @ me LISTEN! (YES I STARTED OFF WITH A CONTROVERSIAL THOT FUCKING BITE ME.)

That man does not have the time, or the patience, or the good sense (the sense is at the other end) to let you ride. He needs the control okay? And sometimes it's not even about the control ! It's the frustration. It piles and piles and piles until he snaps. He needs to do. He will bend you over and work his frustration away until he has had enough and you let him because he needs it. (And lets be real he makes it worth your while every single time)

BUT. When he finally fucking retires, and gets a ranch, and breaths air not tinged with the smells of death, cigarettes and guns for the first time in however many years, and maybe drinks some fucking water, he takes you out on a date. He fumbles through the entire thing, panics because he thinks he blew it, still manages to get you home, gets ridden for the first time in like 6 years, and can't walk straight for an entire day and stammers every time someone asks him why.

JAVIER GUTIERREZ

Javi G loves it. He loves watching you. Gets all puppy dog wide eyed (remember the pool scene face??? Thats it.) and you have to really focus because his look of straight up wonder and awe and bright eyed eagerness makes you want to cry. He's panting like he's running a marathon, running his big hands EVERYWHERE he can reach. He makes you feel worshipped and adored and so very very loved. Thanks you after. For being so amazing, and so wonderful to him, and thanks the universe that he found you. Cause he's sap. You definitely cry after.

JOEL MILLER

(Watch me be controversial again) Joel is fucking tired okay? He has old man bones and creaky joints and his back is achy. Patrol was agony, Jesse wouldn't shut up the entire time, and Tommy was giving him shit, and he has no energy to drill anyone into the mattress (as much as we all want him to). He's just plain tired. He likes you on top. Likes it slow (like a roast chicken on a sunday slow). Enjoys the gradual build up, likes to lean back, watch with half open eyes as you take your time. Wants to indulge in something beautiful at the end of the world, and that something is you. He makes sexy grunting noises, mutters a whole lot of praise ~and filth~ and just y'know. Savours it. 🫠🫠🫠 savours you. 🫠

DIETER BRAVO

Dieter is a maniac. (Leave him alone he has adhd!!) He can't still still for the life of him so you best believe he changes positions 6 times and the only way you're getting to ride is if you're also putting some weight elsewhere. To hold him down! You squeeze his neck once and he MELTS. INSTANTLY. Loses all sense. Starts babbling and whimpering and making extremely pathetic noises. Will definitely buck up and whine. PRAISES YOU. BEGGING. LOUD NOISES.

MAX PHILLIPS

Max is a heathen. He just likes watching you bounce. That's it. That's the post :p

MARCUS PIKE

Marcus P is a romantic. He will be doing the whole "lean forward and try to get kisses in between" while also "moaning and maintaining eye contact" and he's holding you so tight , squeezing your sides and also muttering declarations of love. About how he wants a life with you, and a family, and a home, and a future. How he's going to "make you so happy baby, I promise I will, I swear to you". Doesn't let you off for from on top of him for atleast a half hour after; kissing all over your face and rubbing your back and petting your hair "I meant all of it sweetheart. I want all of you." shsbzgwgsvsg ilovehimsomuch and I've only ever seen gifsets of this man what is wrong with me

MARCUS MORENO

Marcus M is A MENACE. He wears his stupid glasses, and has his stupid shirt off, while he does stupid taxes/meeting plans in bed. You keep throwing side glances and getting increasingly wound up and he just has this gentle smirk but he's mostly ignoring you. You sidle up to him and maybe start kissing his jaw, laying gentle pecks down his neck, and he's still fukcungh working "Baby. I need to finish this. I'm sorry, you need to wait." But that smirk is still there and it's driving you crazy and maybe you keep kissing until you reach his *coughs* and then you're working on getting him interested. You can still hear the fucking pen scratching though and so you go deeper, and he raises an eyebrow. "be good now honey" You're settling in his lap and he has you sitting there until he has finished his paperwork with you whimpering and trying not to squirm because you want to be good you really do and you know he'll make it so much better but he feels so good and when he's finally finally done you get to move but you're so wound up you can't pull yourself together enough to find a rhythm and you're nearly in tears and he has to grip your sides and murmur instructions in your ear and help you until you're satisfied and just when you think he's done, and about to flip you over, he adjusts his grip and starts moving from underneath you until you're crying and he's finished ~which doesnt happen until you've come 2 more times~

DAVE YORK

Dave. Oh my gosh Dave. Dave is a strict dom if ever there was one. With him it's a punishment. He'll tell you to hold off until he's done which is freaking impossible with how deep he gets, and how he likes to warm up his hands on your butt while you're trying desperately to hold onto that last thread of control. He is muttering absolute filth, holding your arms behind your back with one hand while the other is either laying smack after smack or rubbing you furiously all the while he's got the smuggest look. "Don't you dare baby. Be a good girl now. Listen and obey for once". But you can't because he's not fair and he knows it. And when you do finally fall apart he's clenching his teeth trying to hold back himself and his hands are holding you up as you gasp his name like it's the only word you know. He's running his hands down your back and kissing you softly and helping you catch your breath and when you finally get your heart to stop pounding and look up at him, he's watching you with this dangerously soft smile and he goes "oh you're in for it now aren't you honey?" and kisses your forehead while you try not to whimper.

FRANKIE MORALES

Frankie is a soft boy. He loves it. Craves it. He loves giving up control. Wants you to tie him up and have your way until he has no thoughts left in that pretty little head. He is swearing like an absolute sailor the entire time, calling you ma'am, begging to be released so he can kiss you and touch you, absolutely nearly breaks the head board once he was so desperate. Wants to be edged but also is the biggest WIMP about it. Will pout and swear and beg and plead but then want you to deny him again. Will definitely be mumbling absolute nonsense once you're done. Needs all the aftercare. Blushes pink when he gets it. Wraps himself around you like a HUGE koala bear after. ~and returns the edging favour 3 times over when he gets in his Captain Francisco Morales Mood~

JACK DANIELS

BONUS TWO I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT and tumblr won't let me put gifs for:

Jack makes every single cowboy joke known to man. You have to put your hand on his mouth to get him to shut the hell up. His eyes get all glassy when you do. He puts his hat on top of your head and busies himself in your neck (dual benefits: A. He shuts up and B. HICKIES) will definitely drag you on top of him in his Bronco (he likes to show off) will pull up on the side of the road almost 70% of the times you drive together. Bites you over your clothes. Loves the way you grab desperately at this leather jacket. Definitely makes you bend over and 'clean up the mess sugar' before driving like the hounds of hell are after him all the way back home and doing it all over again because "we gotta make you a mama now love"

PERO TOVAR

Pero got married after he came back and retired as a sell sword. His wife is a soft but sassy thing who's a little (read: not at all, she returns his snark twice over) intimidated by him but also thinks he's a good man because he saved her village from raiders. She has seen him grumble and snark at but then also share his food with the orphans who works at the village inn. She's inexperienced (let me live my victorian life) and he doesn't really think he deserves her but also he's not so much an idiot to say no to someone like her. She's the village "healer" and he met her when he got stabbed by one of the raiders (arm wound: not serious.) He has to teach her. She gets shy and flustered, which is a total 180 from her sassy self, and Pero loves it. She makes the most amazing sounds that have him thinking that maybe he did something right in his life to end up in her arms. She wants to please her new husband and asks her married friends for advice and they tell her about this new position. So she asks him, stuttering and tripping over words, if she could try something she heard about? From a friend? She straddles him and Pero loses his mind. He's closing his eyes and clenching his jaw so hard and she's whimpering in the most DELICIOUS way and he's trying so hard to hold back and let her take her pace and she's so worried "am I not doing it right?" Pero has to take 3 deep breaths before he's centred enough to answer and then he helps her. Puts his hands on her hips to guide her. Puts one of her hands on his shoulder "steady now pequenita" and puts the other low on her belly and presses in so she can feel him. Loves the way she cries out. Bends forward to leave little marks everywhere he can reach. She's scrambling at his chest, leaving nail marks he loves, and finally grabbing his hair and pulling until he groans. And when they're both done and sated and sweaty he kisses her, looks her in the eye and winks. "I'm going to have to go thank your friend now, mi esposa."

DIN DJARIN

Din and you dont have time. The razor crest is finally in hyperspace, you got shot at for the 50th time in 2 weeks, (because Murphys Law seems to be the only law Mando never breaks), you're exhausted, sweaty, and the giggly green monster of chaos only made you chase him down from the top of a weapons cabinet twice before he finally decided to take a nap. You're frustrated, and in desperate need of a shower, and a nap, but also you can't get the image of Mando fighting out of your head. Before you know it, the hormones have taken over and you're attacking him in the pilot seat. The bucket is off (I refuse to look at my own reflection in the tin cans helmet while we do the do), he's got you arching into him, your shirt is half torn from the top because Din refuses to wait for "so many fucking buttons Meshla" the gloved hand is squeezing the back of your neck, his mouth is on your chest, his other hand (you only managed to get one glove off) is splayed out on your back. You're riding him like you're trying to break him and his thigh holster? thing (do i look like i can figure out what they're called?) is digging marks into your skin but you're too turned on to care. It's frantic, it's messy, you're PRAYING the tiny green menace stays asleep as you do your best to muffle your sounds. The refresher isn't big enough for a round two, (you still do your best), and your legs feel like jelly, when you finally pass out; curled up on top of the human space heater while he hums Mando'a in your ear.

*****

TAGGING: @chronically-ghosted (you are a menace but ily)

@fuckyeahdindjarin (here I go trying that writing thing again, stop me pls)

#raven writes #i apologize for all of this #idk what came over me #i was possessed #and taylor refused to sedate me #javier pena x reader #dieter bravo x reader #javier gutierrez x reader #joel miller x reader #marcus moreno x reader #marcus pike x reader #dave york x reader #pero tovar x reader #din djarin x reader #max phillips x reader #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels x reader

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absurdthirst · 1 month

Text

Better Late Than Never {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.9k

Warnings: Young musician Marcus, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, confessions, murders, attempted murder, angst, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, face fucking, mentions of pregnancy/family planning, hostage situation, threats of death, shoots, death

Comments: College is amazing, fun and the best boyfriend, Marcus Pike. You dream of a life together with him. Until you witness a horrible crime and are ripped from the life you know. Years later, a theft at your art gallery brings one Marcus Pike back into your life, revealing secrets and the fact that you never stopped loving him.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| 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.

“And now, Sex Riot!”

You start screaming as soon as they announce the band, always willing to cheer your college boyfriend and his band on, especially since this is the biggest gig they’ve ever played. “Yay baby! Whoooooo!” You clap and then put your fingers in your mouth to whistle from your spot at the bar as Marcus, Aaron, Dominic and Anthony immediately start playing the first song. Marcus, sweet and kind, looks like every girl's bad boy dream since you added a little bit of your eyeliner and gelled up his hair. Paired with his lucky t-shirt with the pot smoking ‘shroom, ripped jeans and boots, he looks sexy and you can’t wait to take him back to your apartment after it’s over.

Marcus finds you in the crowd and grins, winking at you as he plays a few chords to warm up his bass guitar and to check he’s in tune. He looks at the lead singer, Aaron, who nods and Marcus waits for the count in from Dom. He starts to play the song, the crowd starting to jam and he feels the thrill of the performance start to hit him. You are there, grinning up at him and he loves how much you support him for every gig.

You beam as they finish the first song. Clapping and cheering as Aaron greets the crowd. You know that when he gets down, he’s going to want a beer and a kiss and you will give them to him. You are completely in love with him and tonight you are going to tell him.

Marcus is sweating when the set ends, blood racing with exhilaration and he grins as he finds You applauding him, his favorite groupie, and he grins when you blow him a kiss. Fuck, he loves you. He’s gonna tell you soon. Never one to hide his emotions, he’s gonna need to blurt out his feelings soon. He takes his final bow with the band and he finds you backstage after you rush back there, his hands finding your waist and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

Kissing Marcus Pike is like breathing, natural and all consuming. You reach up and tangle your fingers into his sweaty, longish curls. Moaning into his mouth, you don’t even hesitate to press yourself against him eagerly. Only breaking away to breathe and then you nudge your nose against his and grin. “You were amazing, baby.” You gush, giggling when you kiss him again.

Marcus slides his hands down to squeeze your ass. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks and you nod, kissing his jaw as you lean against him. “Fuck, I was nervous to sing backup vocals on the new song. Was it good?” He asks, biting his lip when he pulls back to look at you.

“It was so good, baby. I love your voice.” You nod. “I love when you sing to me.” Grinning, you lift a brow. “Sing in the shower.” You tease, knowing he’s only singing in the shower when you aren’t in it with him. Normally if you come over to his place, you might catch it if he was still in the shower.

Marcus blushes, unaware that you’d heard him in the shower. It makes him wonder if you heard what else he does when you aren’t in the mood for him. “Fuck, you wanna get out of here? I’m not really in the mood for drinks. I want to go back to mine and shower…with you.” He adds, biting his lip.

“Your place?” You nod and kiss him one more time before you turn to grab your purse off the bar. You have already paid for your drink so you are ready to go. Even if the rest of the band stays and parties, it just means that you and Marcus will have the apartment to yourselves since he rooms with his band mates. “I think I want to have the bassist from my favorite band in the shower with me.” You send him a hot look. “So I can show him how big of a fan I am.”

Marcus nods, knowing the rest of the band will be okay with packing up the equipment since he’s stayed late every gig this year. He takes your hand, knowing the guys will bring his bass back, and he tells Aaron that he’s taking you home. “Have fun.” Aaron smirks, knowing exactly why you’re leaving so soon but Marcus doesn’t give him a second thought as he escorts you out to his car. Before he opens the door, he grabs you to push you against the passenger side, his lips finding yours under the street light.

In typical collegiate horny fashion, you have no problem making out with your boyfriend of nearly eight months right there. Feeling him start to harden against your hip only has you even more feral for him. One hand in the pocket of his ripped jeans, the other pushes between you so you can squeeze his thick cock, making him groan into your mouth. “Take me home, Marcus.” You demand. “I want to suck your cock and I can’t do that here.”

Marcus groans, hating to pull away from you but your promise to suck him off is never one he would deny you so he pecks your lips and pulls away from you. Shifting to open the door for you, helping you in before he jogs around the car to get into the driver’s seat. “God.” He breathes out as he starts to drive, trying to focus on the road and not the way you’re looking at him as he drives to his place.

You smirk and slide your hand down to his belt buckle. “Keep your eyes on the road, Pike.” You tease playfully as you unbuckle it. “I can’t wait until we get back to your place to feel you.” You’ve never given road head before, but for Marcus, you would do anything.

“Fuckkkk.” Marcus groans, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as you take his cock out of his pants. “Fuck baby. You’re too good to me.” He groans and you lean down to take him into your mouth. The car swerves slightly and he exhales to control himself and the car.

He’s slightly salty with sweat but like always, he tastes amazing. Musky and heady as you roll your tongue over the tip and pull back slightly before taking him deeper into your mouth. Groaning at his pulsing twitch of excitement. He loves when you suck his cock and you know that the added thrill of driving and being slightly exposed is doing something for you so it must be doing something for him. He had always kind of giggled when you watched movies where the guy gets road head, so you are happy you decided you couldn’t wait.

Marcus hisses when you suck him a little harder, taking him deeper and he swears he nearly cums but he reaches down to caress your cheek, “fuck baby. So good to me.” He coos, struggling to concentrate when you’re hollowing your cheeks.

You hum, happy he’s enjoying it. You know when you get back to his place, he will drag you in the shower and by the time you’re clean, he’ll be ready to go again. Your lips touch the fabric of his jeans and you swallow around his thick length.

Marcus can barely keep his eyes open but he forces himself, moaning again when you swallow around him and he reaches down to pat your cheek. “I’m gonna cum.” He warns you, “baby. I’m gonna cum.”

You smirk slightly, almost pulling off of him to remind him that’s the point of sucking his cock. Instead you double down on your effort, wanting him to cum down your throat. Moaning around him as the jerks and pulses of his cock tell you he’s about to bust.

Marcus pants, fucking glad he’s stopping at a traffic light. “Fuck fuck Fuck.” He hisses as he starts to cum, unable to control himself anymore as he starts to cum down your throat.

You swallow as much as you can, some of it spilling out the side of your mouth but you don’t stop swallowing. Not until every drop has been pumped into your mouth and that little sigh he always gives when he’s done comes out of his mouth. Pulling off of him lightly, you lick your lips and grin as you sit up. “How was that for your applause?”

“Fuck baby. I- just wait till we get back to mine.” He promises breathlessly. “I’m gonna - fuck. The things I’m gonna do to you.” He promises, pushing down on the pedal a little too hard when the light turns green. You tuck him away into his pants and he pulls you up to kiss your cheek, “God baby. You’re incredible.” He murmurs, focusing back on the road so he can rush back to his apartment.

You giggle quietly as Marcus races back to his apartment building, nearly squealing his tires in an effort to get there as quickly as possible. Once parked, you jump out of the car and run towards the building. “You have to catch me,” you tease over your shoulder.

Marcus chuckles, shaking his head and he scrambles to lock his car. He rushes after you, running up the stairs and he catches up to you when you are at his front door. “Gotcha.” He growls playfully, spinning you so he can push you against the door, kissing you with a smile, his hands reaching for your hands to lift your arms above your head, restraining your wrists, his hand slides back down to squeeze your tit, his tongue sliding into your mouth.

You moan into him, enjoying the taste and feeling of him pressing against you. “Marcus.” You pant when he slides his tongue out enough to let you talk. “Shower and then I want to go to bed.” You beg, knowing that you want him inside you, touching you when you tell him how you feel.

He pulls away reluctantly, wanting to touch you but he knows he has to open his door. He grabs his keys, fumbling to open the door with your lips on his neck but he manages, swallowing harshly and nearly stumbling when it swings open. “Get naked. Now.” He demands, needing you, to see all of you.

You giggle at his commanding, desperate tone. Knowing that he is close to losing control and with it, leaving some of the sweetness behind. The best thing about Marcus is that he is so kind in and out of bed, but you like when he is a little rough with you. “Yes sir.” You tease, pouting seductively as you toss your purse down and reach to unzip your dress.

Marcus groans, his eyes hungrily eating you up and he bites his lip when you toss your bra aside, stepping out of your panties. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.” He murmurs, kicking off his boots and he pulls his shirt over his head, pushing his jeans down. His cock is still flaccid but his eyes are drinking you in as he pushes his boxers down. “Come on baby.” He murmurs, reaching for you and he takes your hand to escort you to the bathroom. He grabs his body wash from the shelf and turns on the water.

Marcus has a runners ‘or a swimmer’s body. Long, lean lines and limbs. Still powerful, and you take a moment to appreciate that as you watch him. You know you will have to gather your clothes later, but right now you press yourself up against him when you step into the shower together and wrap your arms around his neck. “I missed you today, baby.” He had a test and then one quick half shift at his job before his gig. His parents were funding his college, which was fantastic, but Marcus was responsible enough to still have a job.

“I missed you too.” Marcus murmurs, his hands caressing your back. “Always miss you.” He promises, leaning back so he can look into your eyes. “You enjoyed the show?” He asks, always anxious that he wasn’t good enough. He plays guitar mainly but when Aaron needed a bass player, he stepped up to learn it.

“You were great.” You promise him, sliding your fingers through his hair and tilting his head back to wet it under the spray so you can wash it for him. “Every note was perfect and you looked so sexy up there.” You coo. “All I could think of was how that is my man and I get to go home with him.”

Marcus smirks, eyes closed as you grab the shampoo and his hands squeeze your ass cheeks as you lather up his locks. “Only you. No one else.” He vows, knowing his band mates take home random women but you’re the one for him. He’s never been the Casanova type, always liking to be with one woman, to have a relationship and a deeper connection than a one night stand. You rinse his hair and he leans down to kiss you again, unable to keep away from you.

"Mmmmmm." You smile against his lips and open for him, moaning softly when his tongue slides against yours and he shuffles to press you back against the shower wall. You never seem to get enough of him and you don't think. you ever will. You love him. You have decided that you want to be with him forever and you pull back to smile at him softly. "Only you." You promise back.

Marcus kisses you softly, shifting to kneel down in the shower and he grabs your leg, kissing your knee before he lifts it onto his shoulder. His eyes on you as he leans forward to nudge your mound, his tongue coming out to slide through your folds. He loves how you taste and he wants you to cum on his tongue before he fucks you in his bed.

“Marcus!” You cry out, slapping your hand against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Marcus’s tongue is always eager, always seemingly perfect as it carves a path through your folds and flicks over your clit. He sucks it into his mouth and hums, which always makes you moan softly.

His hands slide up to squeeze your tits, the water flowing over his back and he loves the way you moan his name. He could listen to that for the rest of his life. His hands caress and squeeze and pinch while his tongue dips back down to push inside of you with a groan.

Tilting your head up, you pant his name again, your thigh shaking and barely supporting you without his help to keep you pinned against the wall. “Oh fuck, Marcus.” You chant quietly. “Baby, you’re so good. Fuck, you’re so good.”

Marcus desperately needs you to cum, his tongue diving deep as his nose presses against your clit. His hands slide down to squeeze your ass, tilting your hips so his tongue can push deeper inside of you.

“Oh shit!” Your body bucks and you cry out wordlessly when your orgasm hits you. Pleasure and heat washing over you in successive waves as he keeps pressing deeper. Tongue curling and prodding inside you and his nose is the perfect pressure against your clit.

He works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your essence and he groans, pulling back to look up at you. Hair slicked back and eyes dark. He shifts to stand up after lowering your leg and he leans in to kiss you again, sliding his tongue into your mouth.

When he pulls back, you giggle quietly. “So glad I have a boyfriend who loves to eat pussy.”

You hum, reaching for the body wash and his shower mitts. Lathering them up quickly, you start to wash his body, eager to get him into bed.

Marcus lets you wash him then he returns the favor, his hands everywhere as he washes you and he groans when your fingers wrap around his hard cock. “So impatient for me.” He jokes softly, rinsing you off. “You wanna come to my bed?” He asks, kissing along your neck.

“Fuck yes.” You pant, stroking his cock with the quick, harsh motion that he enjoys. “I need you inside me, baby. Right now.” You beg.

Marcus reaches behind you to turn off the water, he grabs the towel and wraps it around you, grabbing another one for himself to dry off and then he’s dragging you into his bedroom. He pushes you onto the bed, his body covering yours as he kneels between your thighs, “wanna cum inside of you.” He murmurs, wanting to fill you up. He usually pulls out to be safe despite your birth control but tonight he wants to feel your walls pulsing around him when he cums.

You moan softly, loving the idea. Nodding, you reach up to caress his chest. “I want that baby, I’m safe.” You promise him, also keeping track of your cycle as well as your birth control. “Fill me up, I want to feel it.” You coo, enjoying the low moan as he pushes his cock through your folds and starts to break into you as he rocks his hips forward to kiss you.

Marcus groans into your mouth as you stretch to take him. You’re so fucking perfect. So fucking wet and tight. He closes his eyes as he pushes until he’s inside of you fully. “Fuck, baby girl. I - I love how you feel around me.” He murmurs, kissing along your neck as he gives you a moment.

You close your eyes, a small smile on your face as your fingers tangle into his hair. “I love you.” You murmur softly, knowing that he will hear you since his ear is right next to your lips. It’s the right moment, the perfect moment to tell him how you feel. “I love you, Marcus.”

Marcus pulls back to look at you, eyes wide. “I love you too. Fuck, I love you so much baby.” He promises. His hips start to move as he works his cock in and out of you. “I love you. I love you.” He repeats over and over between kisses to your skin.

You moan quietly as the two of you take sex and turn it to love making. Soft and sweet as he rocks into you and whispers words of love and praise. It makes you feel cherished, you know that he’s not just saying that because you did. Not because he’s inside you. This man loves you and it makes happy tears fill your eyes as you hold him tight.

He moves slow, in no rush despite the frenzy earlier. He wants you to enjoy every second of this. His hand sliding up to squeeze your breast as he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can touch you. There’s no more words, just feelings as he rocks into you, your legs lifting higher up on his hips.

Marcus can barely breathe, let alone speak. He grunts, sighs, and leans in to press his lips to yours. His tongue sliding into your mouth to languidly kiss you. He can’t believe how lucky he is that you are his and he is yours. Never did he imagine he’d find the love of his life so soon in college but he’s glad he did. He wants to keep you forever. His hand shifts from your breast and slides down between you so he can rub your clit.

“Oh God, Marcus.” You moan, rocking your hips up to meet his hand and thrusts. “So good baby, fuck, I love you so much.” You kiss and suck on his neck, leaving a mark that you are sure will be visible for days, but you have to claim him as yours. “Gonna cum baby.”

Your gasp has him pushing deeper inside of you, desperate for you to cum. He keeps the same rhythm that has you gasping and his fingers rub your clit. "Cum for me, love. Cum for me." He pleads, wanting to feel it and his own orgasm is imminent.

You keen when you start to come apart. Shaking as your cunt locks down around him on the next thrust and you soak him in waves of your fluids. Chanting his name as if it’s the only word in the world. Knowing that you want your future to be with him as he holds you close.

"Fuck. Yes baby. Oh God." Marcus pants when you clamp down on him, soaking him, and he bites his lip, thrusting a little faster as he seeks his own orgasm. He should last, make you cum again, but your confession has him on edge. He groans and buries his face in your neck, his cock buried deep as he cums, painting your walls with his seed.

“Fuck baby.” You whimper, closing your eyes in pure bliss when you feel him flood your womb. It’s crazy, stupid and not something you need, but for a brief second you wish he was getting you pregnant. That you were going to have his baby. It’s insane to think about and you quickly push it away. “I love you.” You whisper again, happy you can say it out loud now.

“I love you.” He murmurs, shifting to kiss you again while his cock pulses inside of you. He feels like he’s on fire and he can’t seem to get close enough to you. You’re everything to him and he knows he’s going to marry you one day. You are the rest of his life. He pulls out of you and shifts onto his back, bringing you into his chest. “I - I wrote a song for you.” He whispers, heart pounding still from both his orgasm and nerves.

Your head shoots up and you look at him in surprise. “You did?” Your hand that is on his chest seems to curl in, wanting to hold onto him. “What’s it about, sing it to me.” You demand, wanting to know what sort of song he would write for you.

Marcus shifts, grabbing the guitar he has propped up in the corner and he plucks the strings for a moment to make sure it’s in tune. He exhales and looks at you, “I love you baby.” He promises and starts to play, his eyes closed as he concentrates and the lyrics begin a few moments later.

Sitting up, you don’t bother to cover your breasts, knowing that it doesn’t matter when it’s the two of you. You listen, with your heart in your eyes and absorb the words that he has created for you. Falling in love with him a little more with every word.

He finishes the song, his hand pausing over the strings as he takes a moment before he looks up to see your reaction. You have tears in your eyes and he worries you didn’t enjoy it. “I- was it - do you like it?” He asks, voice wavering with his nerves.

Surging forward, the covers fall off your lap. Launching yourself at him and trapping his guitar between you so you can press your lips to his desperately. “I loved it.” You promise, giggling happily, almost drunk off the feeling of being in love with him. “I love you. Oh god, you have to make a tape of it for me, so I can always have it.”

Marcus smiles against your lips, so relieved and happy you loved it. “Of course, baby. I’ll make you a tape.” He promises, shifting back so he can set the guitar back on the stand and he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms. “I love you.” He murmurs, burying his nose in your hair to breathe you in.

Marcus curls around you, his face buried in your neck, and he closes his eyes. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep, loving how warm you are against him and he dreams of a life together. Of having kids with you, a home, a dog. The whole nine yards.

****

“Yeah, you know Marcus. He’s great.” You tuck your phone against your shoulder as you look through the rack of dresses. He had told you that he wanted to talk you out somewhere special this weekend and to make sure that you were dressed fancy. Well, as fancy as college kids get, but you are excited. “He probably wants to celebrate saying ‘I love you’, and that’s so fucking sweet. I’m telling you girl, I’m so fucking lucky.”

He steps into the store, glancing around at the crowd and he knows that she’s in the changing room. Her location said so. He steps through the racks, making his way into the ladies changing room and pulls out the gun with the silencer. When she steps out to look in the mirror, he wastes no time shooting her, twice in the chest, once in the head. So quick she barely even registers his presence and he grabs the sunglasses and hat from his jacket, turning it inside out to change his clothing and that’s when you step out. You see her on the floor, blood pouring from her and you look up at the man, his face visible after taking off his hoodie and you scream. He raises the gun, about to shoot you for being a witness but then he hears the commotion of people hearing your scream and he needs to get out of the store before the doors are locked. He rushes off and escapes through the crowds who are panicking when they heard your scream. He can’t risk being caught. He won’t get paid. He memorizes your face and knows he has to find you. He can’t be tied to the crime if there are no witnesses.

****

“I didn’t see where he went. No, I didn’t know him. I didn’t know her.” You tell the detectives again. “But I am telling you that it was this man.” You point to the photo you had picked out of the line up they had given you. It’s been hours, taken down to the station when the police had arrived, you had been shown into the shabby, dreary room and given a single cup of disgusting coffee. “Can I leave now? I just want to call my boyfriend and go home.”

The officers glance at each other, knowing there’s nothing more you can do since you have told them the man who did it. “Fine. You can go.” They say, “but call us if you remember anything else.” He hands you his card and you nod, making your way out of the station. Once you’re on the road, you decide to head straight over to Marcus’s place and when you’re on the back road, you wince when you see the bright lights from the car behind you.

“Go around me, asshole.” You huff under your breath and tap your brakes twice. The car gets closer and then back off, blinding you again and making you hiss. The guy is riding your ass and it’s pissing you off. “Fucking pass me!” You yell, happy when the car revs its engine and you think he’s going to pass. Until your car jolts forward and you realize the crazy bastard has hit you. “What the fuck!”

He revs his engine again, hitting your car once more and you cry out, starting to get scared. His lights are still bright in your rear view mirror and he hits you again, making you skid as you lose control of the car.

Your car spins into the guardrail and the old metal gives way, sending your car down into the embankment of the tiny creek you had been about to cross. Screaming, you see your life flash before your eyes and then nothing but blackness.

He pulls over, wanting to check that you’re dead but just as he starts to pull over, there’s a car coming towards him who pulls over to help you. He speeds off, knowing he can’t risk getting out and he is certain that you’re dead. You have to be. The stranger saw everything and manages to get the plate, writing it on their hand before they get out to see if you’re alive. Thankfully, they have a cell phone and manage to call 911 when they find you unconscious and bleeding, the airbags deployed.

****

“I don’t understand.” Marcus frowns as he looks at his phone, his call going straight to voicemail again. He’s been trying to call you all night and you aren’t answering. He’s worried, you had plans to meet up for dinner tonight and you never showed or messaged him.

“She’s gonna be okay, man. Her phone probably died. She doesn’t charge it for days.” He reminds Marcus who nods, biting his lip. “Yeah. True.” He sighs and glances out of the window, his heart pounding as he imagines all the bad things that could’ve possibly happened to you and he decides to phone the police if you aren’t here or call him within the hour.

****

The first thing you see when you blink is doctors hovering over you. Your name is called and your brow scrunches. “Wha-what happened?” You groan and immediately another face appears in front of you. The detective that you had seen just a few minutes ago at the police station. “What- you?”

The detective shakes his head, “I feared something like this would happen.” He says your name and you frown in confusion at the look on his face. “The man we are looking for is in a notorious crime circle. We worry that he will find you again and kill you because you’re the only witness to his crime. We need to put you into witness protection.”

"What? No, no, I have a date with my boyfriend." You blurt out, not even absorbing what the detective is telling you. "We just said 'I love you'. He's going to be so worried about me. Can I call Marcus? I need to call Marcus."

The detective shakes his head, “I’m sorry. No. We don’t know if they are tapping the lines. Your boyfriend might be in danger and it’s best if he doesn’t know anything about what happened. You need to move. We will arrange everything.” The detective promises, “this is for your safety. Your life is in danger. As soon as we catch him and you testify, he’s in jail. You can’t risk your life, sweetheart.”

You argue with the detective for an hour, until he shows you the pictures of the people the man after you had murdered. Gruesome photos, including a wife and daughter. That’s when you agree and reluctantly check out against medical advice and let the detective lead you away.

****

It’s been days since Marcus heard from you. He’s frantic, your parents don’t know where you are. No one seems to know and the police are dismissing him, saying you’ve likely run off. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s not like that.” He argued but they wouldn’t file a missing person report. He is exhausted, hasn’t slept, and he’s been driving around trying to find you but your apartment is how you left it and your roommate is worried too.

“Marcus, I don’t know what the hell is going on.” Tisha opens the door and lets him in. “All of her stuff is here, she’s not in class, her job hasn’t heard from her. It’s like she’s dropped off the face of the planet.” She rubs her hands over her arms. “I’m worried, especially after that murder at the outlet.”

“I don’t know. She - you know she isn’t like this. I don’t understand. I’m terrified. She’s - fuck - I don’t know what to do.” He sits down, head in his hands as he struggles to figure out what to do. He’s been driving around town for days trying to find you. He’s called everyone you know. No one has seen you. It’s like you’ve disappeared from the planet and his heart breaks when he wonders if you’ve left him, decided you didn’t love him or something changed within you and you’ve left him.

****

Fifteen Years Later:

Living under a new name, having a new life, was supposed to make your life easy. You chew your lip as you sit in your office and wait. The art business was supposed to be low key. Under the radar. You are just a small gallery, although you carried some big name pieces, you are never pictured on the website. Still living under an alias, you know your identity will hold up under light scrutiny, but it still makes you nervous. It’s been a long time, nearly a year, since your handler had called you, letting you know there still is a vague contract out on your life from the asshole you had put behind bars so long ago.

****

“Pike.” Marcus answers his phone, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the file.

“Sir, there’s been another robbery.” His junior agent tells him and he sighs, “I’ll be right there. Send me the address.” He says and hangs up,getting his keys and he’s soon in the car driving to the address he was texted.

When he arrives, the police are already there and he introduces himself to the detective. “The gallery manager is right through here.” The detective says and Marcus makes his way into the gallery. When the officer says the alias name, Marcus looks at you and his jaw drops, your real name coming out of his mouth..

Your name, your real name, hasn’t been said in so long that it takes you a moment to respond. The ghost from your past, the man you thought you would never see again and always regretted that, stands in front of you looking like he’s seen his own ghost. Maybe he has. You panic and shake your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know that person.” You tell him, praying he doesn’t cause a scene, although you know you have to call Marshal Smith now that your identity has been blown. Your life will be completely uprooted and you had liked working in the art gallery. You tell him your cover name, the one you’ve lived with for the past fifteen years.

Marcus stares at you, knowing he’s not mistaking your face. You’re older, more refined, but he’d know those eyes anywhere. “I- no. No. It’s - it’s been fifteen years. It’s you.” He insists, shaking his head.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong person.” You tell him again, wondering how the hell sweet Marcus Pike became an FBI agent. You repeat your new name again for him with a tolerant smile. “Now, what questions do you have for me agent…Pike, was it?”

He shakes his head again, “no. No. I- fuck. It’s you. It’s gotta be you.” He chokes, getting frustrated. “I thought - I thought you left me. Fuck. I - I can’t do this.” He says to his partner and he rushes out of the gallery.

Your heart breaks, the look on his face was one of pure distress and you swallow harshly. “Let me go see if I can clear this up.” You tell the other agent and the detective. You can see they are curious and you know that it doesn’t matter now. Your life here is over. You hurry after Marcus and see him pacing outside. “Marcus!”

He turns away from you, “don’t. Don’t come near me.” He growls, angry with you. “Don’t - you left. You left me. Don’t - don’t play dumb. I’m not interested in your bullshit answers, okay? The change of name. Don’t - you left me. You left town. Disappeared. And now you want to pretend you’re not who I know you to be?”

He rails at you and you close your eyes at the anguish in his voice. The pain, the fear, the heartbreak of those early years coming back to you quickly. “I- I didn’t want to-“ you start to explain but he cuts you off.

“I don’t want to hear it! You left without the decency to break it off. I thought you were dead.” He is nearly shouting out on the street next to a drab government vehicle and you huff.

“I am in WitSec, Marcus!”

His eyes widen in shock, “what? You- when-? I- shit. When did you- how?” He stammers, trying to figure out what the hell happened and he needs answers. Now. The years of wondering what happened to you, what he did wrong, what he could’ve done differently.

Glancing around nervously, you lower your voice. “The day I disappeared, I saw something I shouldn’t have.” You explain, quickly telling him about the murder you had walked in on.

Marcus is shocked. You witnessed a murder. The murder that happened at the outlet mall. You called your friend - the last person you spoke to - to talk about going out for dinner with Marcus. It makes sense. It fits. Your eyes aren’t lying to him. “I- shit. Seriously?” He asks breathlessly and you nod. He knows how the system works, and dealt with enough witnesses to know you’ll be sent across the country. “I won’t tell anyone. No one will know that you’re here. I promise.

You don’t have to tell the Marshal dealing with your case.”

You shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you like this life here. And it’s such a relief to know that someone knows who you really are. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach because it’s Marcus. You’ve never stopped thinking about him. “You can’t use that name.” You caution him. “There’s still a contract out for my life.” You reveal. “It’s dormant, but only because there’s nothing for them to use to find me.”

Marcus nods, saying the fake name and it’s weird, it doesn’t feel right when he rolls it around his tongue. “I - I don't want you to have to uproot your life again. God, it’s been fifteen years. I- I never stopped wondering what happened to you.” He promises. “Do you- uh, do you want to maybe get dinner? Catch up?”

You freeze for a moment, surprised by the offer and find yourself nodding. “Sure.” You bite your lip. “But it should be at my place. Just in case.” You know that Roberta had an old photo of you and Marcus together from college and Marcus has obviously matured since then, but you can’t risk it. You glance around the street, a nervous habit you’ve picked up since being in WitSec, and then back at him. “Tonight? Or…uh, whenever you want.” You offer. “You have a life, I’m sure.”

Marcus chuckles humorlessly, “not so much. I- I was engaged and she - well, it’s a long story but she went off with her partner. She was a fed too.” He explains, biting his lip as he glances around, his dark eyes meeting yours again. “Tonight.” He nods, not wanting to miss out on catching up. He doesn’t want to waste a second in case you disappear again. “You wanna, uh, write down your address? I can bring take out.” He offers, grabbing his notepad.

“Sure.” You take the notepad from him and write down your address and hand it back to him. “Seven?” You ask and he nods. “So, I’m going to go back in there and talk to your partner. Tell him that you are upset you mistook me for someone else. Is that okay?”

Marcus nods, tucking the notepad back into his jacket and he swallows harshly, the sun hitting you and God, you haven’t changed. Not really. Still so goddamn beautiful. He clears his throat and gestures for you to go back inside. “I’ll tell him. We still need your story about the stolen painting.” He reminds you, stepping inside after you. “Sorry man-” He slaps his partner on the arm, “I thought she was some girl I knew in college. She disappeared and it was a shock. Not her. Just me being a dumb prick.” He jokes and his partner narrows his eyes but accepts the excuse. “So…you wanna tell us about the painting?”

Being involved with the US Marshals, you’ve learned to give a lot of detail, knowing any little thing can be important. You go through the story and try to be as clear as possible, knowing the security footage will be watched as well.

Marcus watches his partner jot down your story and eventually it’s time to go. He doesn’t mention meeting you at seven but nods your way so you know he will be there. He hopes you still like Chinese food. He leaves with your face burned behind his eyes and he’s soon pulling up outside your house, Chinese food in hand when he rings the doorbell.

You hurry towards the door, not calling out because of habit and checking the peep hole before opening. “Marcus.” You didn’t realize how nervous you were until you are looking at the man you had to leave behind so many years ago. Smiling slightly, you open the door. “Come in, you found the apartment alright?”

Marcus nods, “it’s tucked back here but I found it. I’m surprised they didn’t put you in a more secure building. Like a high risk with a security guard and coded doors.” Marcus says and you shrug, “they did at first but now…you know how long it’s been.” Marcus nods, his heart twisting with that realization. “I got you egg rolls and orange chicken. I hope you still like that.”

“That’s perfect.” You lock the door behind him and lead him back into the apartment. “Can I get you something to drink?” You ask. “I have beer, water, some wine, tea. Whatever you like.” You’re rambling, but that’s because you are nervous.

"Uh, a beer sounds good." He says, setting the bag down on the counter. God, it's awkward and he hates it. It used to be so easy with you. He used to spend all his time with you and now, it's like starting all over again even though he knows so many intimate details about you. "Plates?" He asks and you point to the cabinet while you get a couple of beers out of the fridge. He grabs the plates and sets them on the counter then gets the containers from the bag.

“So, what do you want to know?” You ask, opening the bottles and handing him one. You know he must have a million questions and it’s fair. You disappeared out of his life without a word and the thought that this might be closure for him runs through your mind.

“Everything.” He says, his eyes widening a little as he stares at you. “I want to know what you’ve been up to.” He urges and takes a sip of his beer. “It’s been so long and you just disappeared.”

“When I witnessed the murder, I was in denial about the danger I was in.” You admit. “I had left the police station and was driving to your apartment when that bastard ran me off the road. I woke up in the hospital and the detective insisted I needed protection.” You bite your lip. “They told me it was better that no one knows. That Roberta was known to use family and friends to flush out his targets. I couldn’t put you in danger. So they moved me across the country and created a new life for me.”

Marcus knows how it works, understands now how criminals work and operate, how they find people. He shudders when he imagines what could've happened if they had found you. You hand him a fork and spoon and he opens the containers of food so you can serve it up. "I - I get it but - at that time...I went out of my mind trying to find you. I tried everyone you knew, your parents...do they know?"

You bite your lip. “I sent them an anonymous post card, about ten years ago.” You admit quietly. “Just something so they would know, hopefully, that I was safe. I know I broke their hearts, but the Marshall’s are incredibly strict. Especially since Roberta is coming up for some new trial soon.”

Marcus nods, “I moved shortly after you went missing. Ended up in the academy after graduating and I couldn’t sleep. Spent so many nights wondering what happened to you. Even looked you up in the system when I could. I missed you so much. My best friend was gone all of a sudden.”

“Marcus, I-“ you sigh softly and if you had felt like you could, you would reach out and touch his hand. “I’m so sorry. I spent so long - years - wishing I could call you. To explain. Wondering how you were.” Your apology doesn’t seem like it’s enough, but it’s all you can give him. “It took me a long time to get over you, to stop mourning what might have been.”

He sighs, knowing exactly what you mean. He mourned the loss of you, his future with you, for far too long. “I- I ended up getting married. About eight years ago. It didn’t - we got divorced. She didn’t want to compete with the ghost of you.” He admits softly, averting his eyes from yours.

“I’m so sorry.” Your heart sinks, twists and aches in a way that is ridiculous. You left. Of course Marcus had moved on, and the rational side of you wanted him to. To hear that he had, and not in a way that turned out happily, it makes you sad. “Oh Marcus, I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, “maybe it would have been better if he had just killed me. Then you, my parents, none of you would have spent so long wondering.”

Marcus chokes on the sip of beer he drank, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. No. I - how could you say that? I would rather you be alive than me have closure. I have closure now and you’re alive. Never say that.” He almost growls, pissed off at you for even thinking it. “Did you…have you got anyone?”

You snort and shake your head. “How?” You ask, motioning around to your apartment. “I live a life that - while comfortable - isn’t mine. No one knows who I really am. I can’t make too close of friends, because I might accidentally reveal something from my real past. A lover? For more than a night or two? No. I couldn’t lie to them. My last real relationship was you.”

He hates that you’ve been alone but he’s also secretly pleased that there’s been no one since. He still feels that flutter in his heart when he looks at you. “I have missed you so much, baby.” He murmurs, setting his fork down so he can look at you properly, for the first time in fifteen years, he takes in every detail.

You smile sadly and nod. “I’ve missed you too, Marcus. I promise you.” You huff and send him a slightly embarrassed look. “I was halfway convinced I was going to marry you after we graduated. Have babies and you and your band were gonna be famous while I designed all your merch. It was my little daydream for a long time.” You admit. “Never thought you would become a Fed.”

Marcus smiles sadly back at you, reaching for your hand. “God…I- I didn’t - I would’ve taken that life in a heartbeat. I still would. I was- shit - I was gonna ask you to marry me. When I graduated. I was gonna ask you.”

It’s so bittersweet to think about that you didn’t even catch where he said he still would. Caught up in your fantasies that had kept you sane while you were scared and alone, tears start to trail down your cheeks. You squeeze his hand and try not to sob.

Marcus shifts closer, standing up so he can wrap his arms around you. “It’s okay baby. It’s okay.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your hair. “It’s okay.” His own eyes sting with tears as he mourns the years he lost thinking you were dead.

You lean into his embrace and inhale the scent of him. The cologne has changed, matured, but the baseline is still Marcus. “I- I missed you so much.” You tell him. “I wanted to bring you. Wanted to see if you would come with me, but I couldn’t.”

“I know.” He does know. Only spouses and children. Not boyfriends. He sighs and breathes you in, “I don’t want to miss you again. Can we start again? As friends?” He asks, knowing he can’t push for more after you’ve had such a trauma and he has his own baggage he needs to divulge at some point.

Friends. You don’t want to be his friend but you nod as you pull back. “Friends.” You murmur with a small smile. “Friends should eat.” You need a moment where he’s not touching you so you can remind yourself that he’s not yours anymore. Despite the fact that you still dream about him, the boy you had loved is not the man in front of you. “And as your friend, I have to tell you that you are still gorgeous. I don’t know how you became better looking, but you have.”

Marcus can’t help it. He blushes and you giggle at the way he flushes. “You, uh, you look way better. Like - God, you look gorgeous. Always were but you seem more refined, grown up. You’re gorgeous, baby.” He promises and he settles back down at the counter so he can continue eating.

You finish your meal, sighing happily when then put your fork down and pick up your beer to finish the last swallow. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a dinner like that.” You admit, standing so you can start to clean up. “You mentioned an ex wife and an ex fiancée, so anything else going on in your love life?” You ask causally. Just because you hadn’t moved on didn’t mean Marcus hadn’t. And if you were going to be his friend, you should know.

“It’s complicated. I haven’t been seeing anyone since Teresa. She’s my ex. She, uh, I proposed to her and then she dumped me for her partner. She’s a fed too. It set me back so I have been just enjoying my alone time recently. No one - no one seems to capture my attention.” He says, looking up at you.

“Someone will.” You predict. “I bet you are still a complete gentleman, until….” You bite your lip, aware making sexual comments is well beyond appropriate. “Until it’s time not to be.” You finish lamely and turn around to load the dishwasher.

Marcus bites his lip, remembering all the times you used to moan beneath him. He was a fumbling college kid then. He knows what he’s doing now. He wonders if you’d like his matured sexuality. “You know me too well.” He chuckles softly and stands to help you when the doorbell rings.

You turn towards the door, a flash of fear washing over your face. That same dread you get every time the doorbell rings when you aren’t expecting someone. “I’m not expecting anyone.” You tell him, moving towards the corner of the dining room where you keep a baseball bat.

Marcus shakes his head, pushing you back and reaching under his jacket in habit until he realizes he locked his weapon in his glove box. He reaches for the baseball bat and takes it from you, slowly inching towards the door and opening it. He prepares to swing but there’s no one there. He steps into the hallway and sees no one around and he turns to look at you. “No one here.” He says, frowning until he sees the note on the door.

Marcus brings the note taped to the door into the apartment and your heart drops. It’s not a letter from the building, and instinctively you know it’s trouble. “Shit.” You hiss, nearly in tears. “I- open it.” You ask Marcus. “What does it say?”

He walks in and locks the door behind him, setting the bat down so he can open the note. His eyes scan it first and he hisses in frustration. “It says…it says ‘you can’t hide forever. We know where you are. The appeal is coming and you won’t testify again. We will make sure of it’.” Marcus finishes, his blood boiling that someone has put this on your door.

“Oh God.” Your stomach flips and you swear you are about to lose your dinner. “He’s found me. I- I have to call the Marshall.” Your mind whirls and the protocols that have been drilled into your head come to mind. “I’m sorry.” For a moment you pause, hating that you had found Marcus again, only to be pulled away again. You will be relocated, disappear again and forced to live another life completely different from this one. “I wish- I wish things were different.”

Marcus shakes his head, starting to panic at the thought of losing you again. “He only knows that you live here. Take time off of work. Come- come live with me. I can protect you. He doesn’t know where I am. Please, baby. I- I don’t want to lose you again.” He knows you’d be safer moving across the country again but his selfish need to have you back in his life makes him give you a desperate plea to stay with him.

“I- wha-I- what?” You shake your head. “Marcus, I can’t- I can’t put you in danger. Roberta had connections. I- I should have called the Marshal just as soon as you recognized me.” You admit quietly. You had selfishly wanted to spend a little bit of time with him. “I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.”

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I’m a goddamn fed sweetheart. I can protect you. Let me protect you.I don’t - I can’t lose you again.” He says, “I can keep you safe.”

Your heart melts and you look down at the letter. “We will need to call the Marshal assigned to my case.”

Marcus nods, heart sinking that you’re going to leave again. He swallows harshly, feeling the second chance at possibly being with you slip away and it kills him. He hates it. “Uh, yeah. I’ll, um, give you some privacy. Where’s your bathroom?” He asks, needing to pee.

You show him towards the bathroom and pull out your phone to call the number you have. Taking a deep breath, you hope they will let Marcus watch over you. Your heart beats wildly as the phone rings.

Marcus stares in the mirror, his eyes wide as he thinks about losing you again. He barely survived the first time he lost you. He isn’t sure he can do it again. He swallows harshly and washes his hands, making his way back into the living room to hear what the marshal says.

“Marcus Pike. Yes- yes I know that is my old boyfriend.” You repeat on the phone to Marshal Scott. “He’s an FBI agent. He’s working on a break in at my art gallery.” You pause, your eyes sliding to Marcus as he walks back in the room. “No, no the break in was about a painting. I didn’t think I needed to call you. Yes.” You sigh. “I know I should have called you when he recognized me, but I didn’t. I just- I wanted to be me for a little bit.”

Marcus leans against your kitchen counter, not wanting to interrupt and he’s nervous about the answer. He knows how this works and he is worried about you disappearing and him never seeing you again, just like before.

“No. No, don’t do that.” You have been watching Marcus this entire time and you decide you can’t leave. Scott wants to relocate you again, like you had expected. “He’s an FBI agent. He said I could stay at his place.” That’s not exactly what Marcus had said, but your improvising. “Yes, I’m declining a relocate.” Another long pause while Scott reminds you exactly what Roberta had ordered for you. “Yes, I know. I know I’m risking my life.” You sigh and relax. “I’ll call you with the details.”

Marcus relaxes slightly, glad that you aren’t relocating yet. The marshal could change his mind but he agrees to it for now. You hang up the phone and Marcus offers you a reassuring smile. “You wanna come to mine tonight or tomorrow?”

“Can we go tonight?” You ask quietly. “I don’t like the idea they know where I am.” You shiver slightly and look towards your windows, thankfully already shut and covered. “I’m sorry. I should have asked if it was okay first.”

Marcus nods, stepping closer to you to place his hand on your upper arm. “Of course we can.” He assures you, knowing you have to be scared after so long on the run. “Come on baby, go pack what you need. I can always come back with you if you need something you forget.”

You nod and quickly make your way into the bedroom so you can pack a bag. You’ll have to close the gallery, but that has already been planned because of the break in. At your underwear drawer, you bite your lip, chastising yourself as you throw some lingerie in it. Knowing that it won’t be used, but you can’t help but want to feel a little sexy around the love of your life.

When you come back out, Marcus is already checking the vicinity outside of your window, discreetly looking for any out of place cars or people. “I think it’s clear but you need to stay close to me. We will get your car tomorrow, it needs to be checked and I don’t want them to have put a tracker on it and us not notice and lead them right to you.” He explains and you nod. “You got everything?” He asks. You nod again and he gestures for you to shift behind him. “Stay five paces behind me.”

Your eyes widen at how direct and professional he is. It’s a turn on if you are honest and he transforms from the sweet man you have loved since you were twenty, to a steely eyed agent in front of your eyes. Staying five steps behind him, you stop when he stops and watch as he scans the parking lot before hustling you to his car.

Marcus pushes you into his car and grabs your bag to put it in the trunk before he makes his way to the driver's side. He gets in and checks his surroundings before he’s pulling away from your apartment complex. “I’ll take the long way home. Looping around just in case someone follows.” He explains and he turns the radio off, wanting to concentrate. “How many times have you moved?” He asks? Wanting to know.

“Four.” You admit, nervously glancing behind you every twenty seconds. “They found me once right after they arrested Roberta. Then they followed the agents when I testified. And once more when an old high school friend ended up being in the same town.” You bite your lip. “When they followed the agents, they killed them.” You don’t want that to happen to Marcus. “Maybe it’s better if you put me in a hotel.”

Marcus shakes his head, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “No. No. I’m not sending you off. I- I can’t do that. I can’t - I’d never see you again. I know I’m being selfish but I can keep you safe. You just have to listen to everything I tell you.” He says, “I don’t want to lose you.”

Listening to him ramble, you realize how much your disappearance affected him. “I’m so sorry.” You murmur quietly, wanting to reach out and touch him, but it would distract him. “Am I-“ you break off and then take a breath. “Why did you go into the FBI, Marc?” You ask softly. You don’t want to assume that you are the reason that he changed his career goals, but it was a bit of a stretch from music and business - to appease his parents - to being an FBI agent.

Marcus sighs, biting his lip for a moment before he responds back to you. “I- I was so desperate to find you when you disappeared. Just to know what happened. If you were dead or if I did something wrong. I wanted to have closure so I figured that becoming a cop would get me access but I decided to go further and become a fed. Went to Quantico and even when I graduated and started my first job, I couldn’t find you in the system. Business wasn’t going to get me answers. Music certainly wasn’t.”

“I - I’m so sorry.” You can never apologize enough, and you can only hope that his job fulfills him. That he enjoys the work he does. “I wish I had gotten to talk to you one last time before I left. I begged them, cried for weeks and they even had to hospitalize me because I was so sick from crying. My entire world was gone and it nearly killed me.”

Marcus swallows harshly, hating to hear that. “Sweetheart, I wish - there’s so much I would change but I like my job. I like helping people and putting bad guys away. It’s fulfilling and I can help change peoples lives. I wish- I wish it was me who was sent away. I would’ve traded places with you in a heartbeat.”

“This life has been hard, Marc.” You shake your head. “It’s lonely and I wouldn’t wish that on you. You are too social. You like being around people, talking to people too much. And your parents…..” you had loved how welcoming his parents were when you met them. It would have killed them to lose their only child.

He wishes he could turn back the clock. Stop you going to that damn outlet mall and keep you safe with him so he wouldn't have missed you for fifteen years. Marcus nods, knowing he would’ve found it hard but he would’ve done it if it meant keeping you safe. “I - I could’ve dealt with it.” He says, shifting his hands on the steering wheel. “I love - I loved you so much.” He murmurs, pulling into his community.

“I loved you too.” It’s easy to admit, even if all those old feelings are rushing back with astonishing speed. Not that you ever really fell out of love with him. You admire the neat brick of the stately townhomes. “Wow, you found one here?” You ask, knowing that you had never managed to find anything close to this when you had been looking.

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I…I was supposed to move in here with my fiancé but- that one. Yeah. I- I envisioned having a family here and it didn’t happen but it is what it is.” He says, sounding a little sad but he can’t help but mourn a life he could’ve had.

“I’m sorry.” It hurts to think of Marcus with someone else, but it's been fifteen years. You don’t have any claim on him. “Hopefully one day you will have the life you want. I would just love to use my name. My real name. It seems like getting married and having kids is the dream of another life. I used to look forward to it, but now?” You shrug. “Life hasn’t turned out the way either of us wanted it seems.”

Marcus nods, "I know." He murmurs and he kills the engine of his car. "Shall we go inside?" He asks, wondering if you are ready. "I'm gonna get out first and make sure there's no one in the vicinity and then I will get you in, then grab your bag." He says, leaving no room for argument when it comes to your safety.

You nod, watching as he steps out of the car and you clutch your purse. It’s overwhelming, watching his dark eyes roam over the parking lot and then he walks over to you and opens the door. He’s professional, but there’s more to it, this is personal for him and it makes you shiver. Feeling for the first time in fifteen years like you might be safe.

When Marcus opens his front door, he disarms it and locks the door behind you, telling you to wait there while he checks his home hasn’t been found. After sweeping the home, he comes back into the hallway and nods, “all clear.” He says and you make your way into his home.

Marcus’ home is exactly what you would imagine adult Marcus to have. Neat and clean, the furniture is a bit on the masculine side but there are touches of softness. A three wick candle on the coffee table, a soft looking throw over the back of the leather sofa. Comforting and inviting. You wipe your hands on your pants and sigh.

“I hope you like it here. I’m sorry it’s basic. It’s just me.” He chuckles awkwardly. “I can show you to the guest room. Let me grab your bag. I’ll lock the door on my way out.” He says and makes his way back down the hall.

You look around the living room and step into the dining room and kitchen as he opens the front door. Curious about how he lived. You open the fridge door and chuckle, not seeing much and guessing that Marcus still prefers to have someone else cook for him. He wasn’t very good at it. At least he wasn’t when you were together. Though he had all the proper cookware. Cooking had become a hobby of yours, something you could do alone. You close the door and your head turns towards the door as it opens again. Tense and hoping it’s Marcus.

He walks in with your bag, licking the door behind him, alarming the alarm system. He guides you along to his spare room, opening the door. “Hopefully it’s okay.” He says shyly, offering you a soft smile.

“It’s perfect.” It could be the couch for all you care, it’s the thought that counts. Marcus is taking you into his home. “Thank you, Marc.” Reaching out and touching his shoulder, you give him a grateful smile. “I know you didn’t have to do this. Is there any way we could have some groceries delivered? Let me cook for you to thank you?”

Marcus smiles, “yeah. I’d love that. We can arrange for groceries to be delivered.” He promises and shrugs, “I’m still as bad a cook as I ever was. It would be nice to have some home cooked meals for a change. Takeout has me doing more morning runs.” He playfully taps his stomach.

“Whatever.” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You’re hotter now than you were back then.” You blurt out, feeling your face burn when you realize you said that out loud. It could be wrong, but you don’t think so. Not when Marcus suddenly ducks his head and you swear you see him blush some. “I’m assuming I’m staying here until the threat is gone?” You ask. “No work?”

He nods, “no work. We can’t risk them finding you there.” He says and you sigh but concede. “For the record, you have always been gorgeous. Even more so now.” He says, biting his lip and hoping he didn’t overstep.

“And you still know how to make a girl feel like the only one in the world.” You murmur quietly, stepping closer to him and wishing that it hadn’t been fifteen years since you had last seen him. “Do you know how much that affects a girl?”

Marcus blushes slightly, feeling like a college kid again despite a divorce and a failed engagement. He’s been around the block and he is scared to screw things up, especially when he has to keep you safe. He clears his throat and reaches for your hand to squeeze it. “I have missed you, sweetheart.”

“If it’s not something you want, or you can’t, let me know.” You start off, deciding that you want to take a leap and see if Marcus still wants you. “But…” you step closer. “If I have to be in your house, protected by you….” You smirk and bite your lip. “Wouldn’t I be safest in your bed?”

Marcus swallows harshly, a little nervous but his cock is already hardening at the thought of having you in his arms. He steps closer until his chest is pressed against yours. “I think that would probably be best.” He agrees, “that way I can ensure your well-being.” He murmurs, his eyes darting down to your lips. He knows he’s crossing so many professional lines but fuck, he wants you. “I shouldn’t but-” He surges forward to press his lips to yours, unable to stop himself.

You moan into the kiss, immediately tangling your fingers into his hair and tugging on it like you used to. In an instant, you feel like you are in your twenties again, hopelessly in love and needing your boyfriend. “Marcus.” You whimper, pulling back so you can push his jacket off his shoulders and pause when you see his gun. “Take me to your bed and make love to me.”

He groans, reluctantly pulling back and he takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom. He flicks the lamp on and works on removing his gun, checking the safety and setting it down on his nightstand before he shrugs out of the holster. He pulls his tie off and reaches for you, grabbing the hem of your shirt to pull it out of your skirt, wanting to touch you after so many years. “God, you’re still so fucking gorgeous.” He murmurs, his eyes drinking you in when you are in your bra.

Your fingers work the buttons of his dress shirt, trying to remember the last time you had been this excited to sleep with someone. You’ve had lovers over the years, the physical needs making it almost certain you would have them, but no one had ever compared to Marcus. “Fuck,” you can see the tent he’s starting to sport, obviously still a boxers man.

Marcus fumbles to unclasp your bra, needing to touch you and when you drop your arms to let him pull it off of you after you push his shirt down his arms, his hands immediately cup your tits. “Have these gotten bigger?” He asks, squeezing them and massaging them.

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter closed as he touches you, managing to blindly push his shirt over shoulders that seem broader than they used to be. He’s in an undershirt, of course he is, and you love it. “I’m bigger.” You joke.

He shakes his head and reluctantly releases you so he can pull his shirt over his head with one hand. Once it’s fluttering to the floor, he’s reaching for you and pulling you against him so he can feel your skin on his. “Forgot how beautiful your tits are.” He says and leans down to kiss along your neck.

“Fuck Marc.” You moan, tilting your head back so he can kiss more of your skin. “You always were a tits man.” You tease him, reaching between you to squeeze his hard cock through his suit trousers.

He groans into your skin, inhaling the sweet scent that’s purely you. Burned into his memory from all those years ago and it’s like coming home. His lips kiss along your chest until he’s taking your nipple into his mouth, his hands caressing your back and sliding down to squeeze your ass as he hunches over you.

Gasping out in pleasure, you pull him towards your breast. Enjoying the way that he suckles and bites, the way he’s remembered how you like to be touched. He switches over to the other breast and he slides his hand around you to start unbuttoning your pants.

Marcus works fast to push your skirt down your legs, groaning your name as he exposes your underwear and he kneels, pushing his nose against your mound. “God, I forgot how good you smell.” He groans and hooks his fingers in the cotton, dragging them down and you kick your panties aside after kicking your shoes off of your feet. Marcus dives back in, his nose pressing into your folds as his tongue slides through them, tasting you for the first time in fifteen years.

“Marc!” Your cry is strangled, almost choked out as you grasp for anything to keep you upright. Hand slapping against the wall as you remember exactly why you loved Marcus’ tongue so much. His skills have only improved with time and you moan when he flicks his tongue over your clit expertly.

His fingers curl around your leg, lifting it into his shoulder so he can get deeper into your pussy. His tongue pushing deep and he groans your name. “Fuck baby. So good.” He murmurs into your flesh when he pulls back for a moment, “always tasted so good.” He dives back in and slides his tongue through your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth.

Having Marcus eat you out is like a gift from God. Most men are lazy with it, or refuse to go down on someone even though they expect a blowjob. Marcus eats pussy like he was born to do it, like it’s his favorite sport in the world. Making you shiver when he groans into your folds and your leg trembles as he pushes you closer to cumming.

He pushes you further into the wall, keeping you upright and his hand slides along your leg and up your body to squeeze your tit, pinching your nipple and his other hand slides between your legs, pushing two fingers inside of you with a groan. He desperately wants you to cum for him now.

“Oh fuck, Marc baby, baby, I’m gonna cum.” You moan, your head hitting the wall with a thud and your entire body lurches forward. “Shit, gonna- gonna cum.” Your walls clench down on him and you wail his name as you soak his fingers.

Marcus hisses into your flesh as you clamp down on his fingers, soaking them, and he sucks on your clit a little harder, wanting to absorb every second of your orgasm after so many years apart. His fingers pump inside of you and he pulls his mouth away when you start to shove on his hair and he tilts his head up so he can watch you as you cum.

Desperate little gasps rip out of your throat as he keeps your body jerking and twitching for him. Knowing exactly where to press inside you cunt in order to push another sob out of you. Your eyes are closed and you start chanting his name. “Marc, Marc, Marc baby, please.”

He wants you to cum again. His fingers keep pressing and pushing inside of you, his lips kissing along your thigh and he presses his thumb against your clit. “So good for me baby.” He murmurs, needing you to cum for him.

Your eyes spring open when you realize he wants you to roll straight into a second orgasm. “Fuck!” You squeal, feeling your walls bear down on his fingers again and your body shakes as you come apart.

His fingers curl and he kisses your stomach as he enjoys the way your walls are fluttering around his fingers. He adds a third, stretching you out and his thumb rubs your clit a little harder, “so pretty. Never forgot how pretty you are like this.”

“Marcus.” You groan. “I need you.” You reach down and try to pull him up so you can kiss him. “I want you inside me.” You beg. “I have an IUD and it’s been over a year since I’ve been with anyone. More like two.”

“Cum on my fingers and I’ll fuck you.” He promises, kissing your stomach again and his free hand reaches for yours to grip it. “Cum for me again.” He pleads, wanting to see you do it.

“Three?” You gasp out, holding onto his hand like a lifeline as you try to stay upright. Your leg threatens to give out as he continues to pump his fingers into you deep and precise. Pressing against that special spot again. Your breath echoes in your ears until stars burst behind your eyes and you scream out his name.

He nearly loses it when you cum again, clamping down on his fingers and he works you through it until you are slumping over him. He withdraws his fingers, surging forward to press his lips to yours as your leg is still wrapped around his waist as he presses you against the wall while his tongue tangled with yours.

You moan, tasting yourself on his tongue and not minding it one bit. Wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. Needing to feel him against you as he presses you into the wall.

Marcus needs you. He scrambles to pull you along with him and soon he’s laying you down on his bed, working on his pants to push them down. He groans in relief at finally having his cock free and you whimper in response at seeing it again. He kicks off his shoes and hops out of his pants, eventually ending up kneeling on the bed.

“God, I missed you.” You whisper, drinking in the sight of him. He’s filled out, not quite as skinny as he was in college. Broader and stronger and he still turns you on more than any other man you’ve ever been with. “Come to me, baby.” You reach out for him, wanting to feel him again.

Marcus can’t deny you anymore. He shifts between your legs, his chest heaving as he grips his cock and notches himself at your entrance. His dark eyes meet yours in the lamplight as he starts to push inside of you. Shifting to his forearms so he can press his lips to yours.

It’s overwhelming and perfect. Your lips melting against his as the girth of him stretches you out. Filling you perfectly like you’ve never been able to replicate with anyone else. Your eyes flutter closed and all you can do is moan your pleasure.

He slides his tongue against yours, enjoying the way you seem to melt beneath him. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t. He can’t tell you how much he loves you when he can show you. He moves his hips, setting a slow place, his lips shifting to kiss down your neck.

Instead of being frantic and rushed, you find the pace turning slow and steady. Making you groan as you start to rock you hips in rhythm with him. Your fingers caress his back and you feel the muscles dance underneath the skin. “Marcus.”

He should be frantic but after so many years without you, he just needs to feel all of you. He moans your name into your skin, his cock twitching inside of you when your nails dig into his back when he hits something deep inside of you. “Missed you. Missed this so much.” He murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I missed you too, baby.” You promise him, closing your eyes and smiling as he moans again. “Fuck, I - I love you.” You confess. “I’ve never stopped, it’s always been you.”

Marcus swears his heart stops at that moment. “Always been you.” He echoes, “I love you. I love you. Baby, I love you.” He declares breathlessly and his pace gets a little faster with his need to see and hear you fall apart beneath him again.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you moan his name again. “I love you.” You pant. “Marcus, I love you. Oh, it’s so good.” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your cunt squeezes him tight. “Baby, I’m gonna cum.”

You gasp and he keeps the pace and thrust of his hips the same, not wanting to change when you tell him you’re about to cum. He wants to feel it. He wants to feel you soak him again. “That’s it sweetheart. Do it. Cum for me.”

You want to stay in this moment forever. The way that his body is slick with sweat and his grunts as he rocks into you. The warmth of his breath washing over your skin and the throbbing of the veins in his cock against your walls. Still, he had begged you to cum and that’s all you can. Your body primed for it and the next thrust as your back arching and your cry ripping from your throat.

“Fuck.” Marcus pants when you clamp down on his cock. It’s so good and he loves it. He loves everything about this moment. It’s more than anything he’s experienced since you disappeared from his life. Even his marriage could never have lived up to this. He groans, knowing he should try and make you cum again but the emotions are too much and he’s soon pushing deep inside of you, cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot seed.

Once he collapses on top of you, you can’t help but giggle. Relief, joy and happiness all roll together to make you try to catch your breath while you stroke his back and kiss his shoulder and neck. “God. I have to be dreaming.” You giggle. “This is the best dream and I don’t want to wake up.”

Marcus shifts onto his back, bringing you with him and his cock is softening inside of you. His hands rubbing your back. “Me neither. I never want to lose you again.” He murmurs, eyes closed as he breathes you in.

You hum in agreement, unable to believe that you are back in his arms and you close your eyes. Relaxing into a deep sleep, finally feeling safe for the first time in fifteen years.

Marcus holds you as you fall asleep, not able to fall asleep just yet and he shifts carefully to lay you down. You stir without his heat but he’s quick to cover you up. He sneaks into the bathroom, wetting a rag to clean you up and covers you with the duvet again. He checks the windows and doors, making sure the home is secure and the alarm is set before he grabs two bottles of water and sets one down on the nightstand for you. He slides under the covers and you immediately reach for him, curling into his chest. Wrapping his arms around you, he breathes you in and closes his eyes; deciding then and there that he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.

****

Glancing at the clock as you stir, you wonder when Marcus will be home. Grinning to yourself as you realize that you think of this townhouse as home. It’s only been a few days, but if you are scared, you don’t feel like it. You’ve been puttering around the house when he has to leave, curling up with him when he’s here. It’s been magical and it makes you yearn for the life you would have had together if you hadn’t been put into witness protection.

Marcus is exhausted, rubbing his forehead as he stares at the latest security footage where he’s trying to find Roberta. On top of trying to find the art thief, he’s personally working to try and find the gang making you conceal from the world. He feels guilty that he’s loved having you in his home, coming home to you every night. It’s like living a fantasy of what if he had proposed and you hadn’t disappeared. He loves it. He loves you. It’s hard to remind himself that you’re in danger and he has to help you otherwise it could be your life. He glances at the clock and decides to call it a day, wanting to go home to you.

The table is set and there’s a bottle of wine open to breathe. It might be a little over the top for a Tuesday night, but you have nothing else to do but work on some recipes that you have been wanting to try. A little romantic and it pairs well with the lingerie that you had decided to put on under your dress. Feeling a little like a 1950’s housewife when you hear the designated three raps on the door to say that Marcus is home.

Marcus unlocks the door, disarming the alarm and resetting it with his entrance and he makes sure the door is locked behind him before he sets his briefcase down and makes his way into the kitchen. “Hey sweetheart. God, that smells good.” He groans, looking over at the stove and he reaches for you, dragging you into his chest so he can press his lips to yours.

“Hey.” You light up when you see him again. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving. I can eat too.” He teases, smirking at you and you giggle and slap his chest. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours, “can’t believe I get to come home to you every night.” He confesses, “feels like a goddamn dream and I’m gonna wake up at some point.”

“I do too.” You agree softly, your hand sliding down to caress his cheek. “It’s been such a treat, as horrible as that sounds. I know I can’t go outside and my life is in danger, but I get to have you.” You lean in and kiss him softly. “How was your day, baby?”

“Don’t worry baby. I’m gonna find him. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly again. “Day was…laborious. I was going over the security footage and files for both cases and I- I am trying to run through accounts but the bureaucracy slows me down.” He confesses with a frown.

“Then it sounds like a good meal and a relaxing night is just.” You kiss his chin. “What.” Your lips brush his cheek. “You.” Another to his nose. “Need.” You smirk as you kiss his lips. “I’m thinking that after you eat, you need a nice, long, luxurious blow job to put you at ease.”

Marcus chuckles, his hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. “You’re too good to me, baby.” He shakes his head, “as long as I get to eat you out too.” He murmurs, leaning in to kiss along your jaw just as the timer for your cooking goes off. He smacks your ass, “I’ll pour the wine and I’m doing the washing up. You are gonna relax after.” He insists, shrugging off his jacket to hang it in the hallway before he comes back in to get the bottle of wine.

You would protest, but you’ve cleaned as you cooked, so there’s only the final dish and the plates that would need to be cleaned up. You rush to plate up dinner and admire him as he rolls up his sleeves to pour the wine after he pulls off his tie. It’s a nice night, the two of you and a good meal, some wine and continuing to learn about each other’s lives while you’ve been apart. “Oh, before I forget, I called Scott today. Checked in. He’s still not happy, but he says you have been keeping them in the loop, so he��s content to leave me here.”

Marcus nods, setting the wine bottle down. “I know he’s not happy but it is what it is. We haven’t had any notes or any threats since you’ve been here. We’ve had a man outside your place since you left and they haven’t seen any activity. I think you’re safe. No, I know you’re safe.” He tries to assure you, “and I swear to you I’ll find the bastard and his team.”

“I know you will.” You’ve learned a lot about his career and exactly how good of an agent Marcus is. “I’m honestly-“ you shrug. “I’m happy right here. I know I’m probably intruding on your personal space, but I’ve been as relaxed as I could possibly be, given that someone is trying to kill me.” You joke.

Marcus shakes his head, reaching for you. “There’s nowhere else I want you to be than right here with me. I was selfish. You’d be safer across the country but I - I couldn’t lose you again. I love you so much.” He says, leaning in to kiss your forehead again.

Marcus chuckles, letting go of you so you can both sit down to eat. He groans at the sight of the meal you’ve cooked and his stomach rumbles. “I gotta get bigger pants. I haven’t eaten this good since I left my mom’s house.” Marcus chuckles, picking up the serving spoon. “You are too good to me.” He murmurs, looking up to meet your gaze and he serves your plate first.

“Not with all the exercise you’ve been getting.” You tease, sending him a small wink. Every night Marcus has exhausted you. Fucking you in every room of this townhouse and almost every surface with his insatiable appetite for you. Both of you collapse into bed to sleep in each other's arms. It’s like you’re twenty again. “Still sexy and fit.”

He can’t help but flush as he serves himself and sets the spoon down. “The exercise has been keeping me fit.” He says while blushing and he reaches for the glass of wine. “To still being sexy and fit.” He toasts and you clink your glass with his. “I know you are getting bored in this place. I’m doing everything I can to get this bastard so you can have your life back. See your parents. Your friends. I’m doing what I can.” He promises after you have finished eating.

“I would love to see my parents.” You admit, reaching out and gasping his hand. “Would you- would you come with me?” You ask. “When I go to see them? Explain what happened? I understand if you can’t, you’re putting off so much to help me.”

Marcus nods, “of course. Of course I’ll be there. Baby, what - this is-” He swallows harshly and squeezes your hand, “every day I allow myself to believe that this is our life together. I have a little fantasy that I’m coming home to my wife. To our family. I imagine us having a child or two. I- I want this to be forever. Like I wanted it to be forever fifteen years ago. It’s always been you.” He promises, feeling guilty for being married and engaged but those failed because those women never matched up.

He’s apologized to you for not looking for you harder, for moving on. All things that you never expected and don’t want him to be upset over. Those expressive eyes search yours and you smile softly. “It’s been my little fantasy too.” You confess. “When you find Roberta and I can be myself again, why don’t we make that a reality?” You ask. “Would you marry me, Marcus?”

“In a heartbeat.” He assures you, “I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. I- I was going to, you know, I was going to propose not long after I played you that song. I always imagined my life with you. No one else. Even when I was married, I thought of what could have been. I want to marry you.” He promises, “and I will. I’ll get Roberts and you can be Mrs. Pike. Have the life we should’ve had.”

You can’t help but grin, leaping up from your chair so you can rush around and press your lips to his in a greedy kiss. Feeling like every dream you’ve created to keep yourself sane is coming true. Marcus is your knight in shining armor and you want nothing more than for him to rescue you. “Whatever you need me to do, to help you put this behind us, I’m willing to do.” You promise him. “I want to start my life with you.”

Marcus pulls you into his lap, cupping your cheek so he can kiss you again. “I love you.” He murmurs, nudging your nose, and he will do anything he can to keep you safe. Even if it means laying down his own life. He will do it to keep you safe.

“Baby, don’t worry about cleaning up, let’s go to bed.” You beg, caressing his cheek. “I need you. I need you so much.”

Marcus can’t refuse you. He nods, shifting to stand up with you and he takes your hand, dishes abandoned as he guides you to the bedroom, your now shared bedroom. When he is holding you after you’ve made love and you’re asleep, he’ll stare at the ceiling, trying to think of anything that he read in the files to help him catch the bastard that’s after you.

You decide that you don’t want Marcus to undress you. Pulling away from him with a smile, you’re happy you decided on a wrap dress that is easily removed. Most morning Marcus leaves you in the bed, pulling away quietly so he doesn’t disturb you and when you wake up, it’s because of the shower. So he didn’t see the lingerie you had chosen for him.

Marcus groans when you unravel your dress. His eyes drinking in the silk and lace clinging to your body and his cock is now throbbing in his slacks. “Fuck baby. You look so good.” He murmurs, “so good. I’m so lucky to have you.” He declares and surges forward to wrap his arms around you, pulling you close so he can press his lips to yours, pushing the dress off of your shoulders.

Moaning softly, you smile into the kiss, just as eager. Just as wanting as Marcus. Your fingers memorizing how many buttons it takes to strip off his smart dress shirts. Eager to feel his warm skin underneath. “Make love to me Marcus.” You beg.

He won’t say no, couldn’t say no even if he wanted to. He wants you. Fuck, he wants this for the rest of his life. When your hands touch his chest, he groans your name and he unclasps the pretty lace bra, “so pretty. Look so pretty in this.”

“I think you like me in anything.” You tease him, giggling quietly. “But you love me in nothing.” You work on his belt to unclasp it and unhook his pants to reach down and squeeze his cock. Groaning when you feel how hard he is.

“Love you in anything and nothing at all. Love every inch of you.” He promises, “I love you. You.” He murmurs, sliding his hands along your back and then your arms as he slides the straps down your arms until he’s ducking down to take your nipple into his mouth.

There’s something about Marcus, he’s thorough. He wants his partner to be satisfied and he finds what makes them tick. Your moan of his name is soft, accompanied by your wrist twisting, starting to pump his cock as best you can. “Baby, no foreplay. I just need you.” You whine.

He whines back, having wanted to eat you out but he doesn’t deny you. He nods, guiding you back towards the bed and he lays you down while he shrugs out of his pants and throws his clothes on the floor. His hands trail along your legs until he’s hooking his fingers into your panties to drag them down.

“Marcus.” You whimper, rocking your hips up as he stands straight and strips his trousers down. His boxers have a large tent in the middle with a wet spot and you groan at the sight. “Fuck, I want you to fuck me, but I want to suck your cock.”

Marcus smirks, “tell me what you want baby. Whatever you want is yours. I’m yours.” He promises and reaches down to shove his boxers down. His cock bouncing as he kicks them aside.

“Fuck.” You moan, biting your lip before you turn around and tilt your head off the end of the bed. “Fuck my throat, baby. I want to feel you gag me before you fuck me stupid tonight.” Making love takes various forms, after all.

“Jesus. Such a dirty little girl, aren’t you?” He coos, shuffling closer and he caresses your neck before gripping his cock. He pushes the head between your lips and you take him inside of your mouth, making him groan. “So damn good.” He murmurs, watching you as you take him deeper, his hand immediately going to your neck so he can feel the bulge from his length.

You moan, enjoying the look on his face until your vision is blocked by his body. Letting him use your throat as you try to open it up more for him. Marcus is girthy and it’s a lot, tears leaking out of your eyes and rolling back into your hair, but you love it.

“Jesus Christ. This is - fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.” He grunts, pulling out of your mouth. He wants to try that again another time when he can properly fuck and cum down your throat but that night isn’t tonight after you’ve confessed you want a future with him. You pant, trying to catch your breath and he caresses your cheek. “How do you want me?” He asks, wanting you to decide.

So much of the time, Marcus is in control. Giving you pleasure and making sure that you enjoy yourself. Right now, you want to take care of him. “I want to ride you baby.” You decide, sitting up and reaching for him. “Let me take care of my future hubby tonight.” You coo, grinning at how that sounds.

He grins, nodding as he shifts to lay down on the bed, watching you move to your knees. “Come here, my love.” He beckons you over, needing to feel every emotion he’s withheld over the past fifteen years. He wants you to take what you want from him.

You go eagerly, crawling up his body and dropping random kisses. There’s nothing about Marcus that you don’t love. When you straddle his waist, your waist no time in dropping a kiss on his lips while you reach between the two of you to grasp his cock and quickly sink down on him.

“Shit.” Marcus hisses, his heart about to beat out of his chest and he swears he could die then and there and be a happy man. His hands find your hips as you take all of him inside of you and he groans your name, surging up to deepen the kiss as his tongue slides into your mouth.

You start off slow. Rolling your hips while you groan into the kiss. Circling them and clenching down on Marcus to hear the lovely little gasp he gives. Your fingers find his hair and you swear you could live right here. “Love you.” You promise, sliding your hands onto his chest and pushing upright. “Whenever someone touched me, it felt so wrong. You’re my love, my lover, my soulmate.”

Marcus slides his hands along your back as you start to rock on his cock. "I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart." He murmurs, caressing you and his dark eyes watch you as you move on top of him. "You're everything. My everything." He promises, heart thumping in his chest.

“One day I want to have your babies.” You promise him, moaning softly at the thought. “You were made to be a daddy, and I can’t wait to see you holding our baby.” You clench down around him again at the thought.

Marcus groans, cock twitching inside of you at the thought. "Fuck." He grunts, hands sliding down to squeeze your ass. "Fuck yes. I want - God, I want to get you pregnant." He confesses, "always imagined you as the mother of my children."

You know it ticks off some primal things for Marcus, it does for you too. You moan softly again and rock forward to kiss him. “I want that. At least two.” You pant into his mouth, imagining the two of you as new parents. Building the life you had daydreamed about when you were incredibly lonely.

“At least.” He agrees, knowing he won’t be able to keep his hands off of you when he gets you pregnant. “God, I love - I can’t not love you. Haven’t stopped since you left. No one was you. They were never you.” He confesses, helping you rock on his cock.

Your heart melts at that sentiment. Smiling against his lips as he continues to help you ride him. Slowly speeding up to where his cock hits perfectly inside you. Feeling him twitch every time he is seated deep as if he is ready to fill your womb with his seed.

"Are you going to cum for me, sweetheart? What do you need? Tell me what you need to soak my cock?" He asks, wanting to feel it, he needs to feel it.

“Just you baby.” You gasp, slapping your hands down in his chest and starting to rock faster. “Gonna cum baby, fuck, you feel so good.” You moan. “So full, fuck, you’re so thick, baby.” You always love how thick he is and how well he fills you up. “Love you, so fucking much.”

“That’s it. That’s it sweet girl. Fuck, that’s it. Cum for me.” He begs, sweat beading on his forehead as he watches you rock your hips a little faster. Those little whines and whimpers escaping your mouth tell him you’re close and he slides his hand down to rub your clit.

Your toes curl and you cry out, your orgasm slamming into you and making you lurch forward. Collapsing again this chest and chanting his name over and over as your body spasms.

Marcus groans at the way you clamp down on his cock and he moves fast to lay you on your back. Grabbing your thighs to lift them onto his waist so he can sink deep into your quivering cunt. He groans your name, his cock twitching inside of you as he gets close but he needs you to cum more time for him.

“Baby!” You squeal, feeling your body tense up as you ride out your orgasm. You would beg him to cum but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he has no intention of cumming until you do again. Marcus prides himself on making you cum multiple times. “Fuck baby.” Your nails scratch down his back and you tighten your thighs around him, closing your eyes and feeling your core start to tighten again as he rockets you to another orgasm.

Marcus pushes deeper, harder, the affection from before replaced with pure lust. Driven by the need to claim you, he thrusts into you over and over again. “Cum.” He chokes, needing to feel it and when you clamp down on his cock for the second time, he can’t help but paint your walls with his hot seed as he orgasms with you.

Moaning his name softly, you stroke his back as he groans. Enjoying the softness of his embrace as you both start to relax. “I love you.” You murmur quietly. “I can’t want to start our life together.”

Marcus presses his forehead to your chest, breathing you in, and he murmurs, "me too baby. I can't wait. Once you're safe, it's the two of us for the rest of our lives." He promises, kissing along your neck. "I love you."

After you’ve cleaned up and settled against Marcus, you fall asleep. Wondering when the shoe is going to drop and worrying that you might lose him again.

****

Marcus checks the time, knowing he should be calling you to touch base. He likes to call every hour or so to make sure everything is okay at home. He picks up his cell, dialing the burner phone he got you and he waits for it to ring. No answer. Weird. He doesn’t like that. He tries again. No answer.

At first, you thought Marcus was home, until there was no rap at the door. Abandoning the meal you were prepping, you grab your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you race up the stairs as quietly as you can. Reaching the second floor just as the door opens and the blare of the alarm sounds out, though it’s quickly silenced. The phone buzzes but all you can think is that you need to hide, as fast as possible and call Marcus. It’s seems as if you’ve been found.

When you finally answer the phone, Marcus can’t help but ask if you’re okay. Frantic when you answer and don’t actually speak. “Baby. Tell me. Tell me if you’re okay. Please. I -talk to me. Talk to me.” He begs, needing to hear that you’re okay.

Your mouth is dry and you can barely whisper. “Marcus.” You manage. “He’s here. Someone’s in the house.” You try to keep your voice as low as you can, terrified that you will give away your hiding spot under the bed.

Marcus’s blood runs cold when he hears your whisper and he fears for your life. He grabs his work landline, dialing his team to get people over to his house right away. He’s terrified for you. “Just hold on baby. Stay on the phone. I’ll be right there.” He promises, standing up from the desk so he can get home.

“Hurry.” You breathe out, turning the volume down and holding your breath as you hear the first signs of someone downstairs since the alarm went off.

Marcus shoves himself away from his desk, heart pounding as he rushes towards his car after telling his team about how he has to get to you. He can’t lose you again. His heart pounds and he speeds, his team following as he gets to his home in record time.

You never realize how loud you are when you breathe until you are trying to be completely silent. Scrunching back under the bed as far as you can go and slowly sliding the storage boxes in front of you so you are well hidden. Listening for the creak on the third stair that Marcus groans about having repaired.

Marcus has you on the phone, having switched lines for a mere moment

to get a team to his house within the next ten minutes. He speeds along the roads of D.C to his home, running through reds with no care except that it’s clear. “I’m coming baby.” He promises, “I’m coming.”

You can’t acknowledge him, too terrified to make a sound as you hear someone creep up the stairs. Your blood runs cold when you hear a voice say your name. “I’ve been looking for you. Come out and I’ll kill you quickly.” He taunts. “Make me find you….well, I’ve been in prison a loooooooong time because of you.”

Marcus drives faster, pulling into his neighborhood and he hears your scream. Slamming his brake, he puts the car in park, uncaring of his engine still running as he grabs his gun and rushes through the front door. He freezes when he comes across Roberta, his gun pressed against your forehead.

He had found you, screaming and fighting, he had dragged you out from under the bed with a curse and hopefully a bruised shin. Until he had pressed his gun against your forehead and ordered you downstairs. Feeling like you were going to die. Until the door opens and Marcus busts in. “Marc!”

Marcus’s finger is over the trigger. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Pike. I’ll blow her pretty head off. I want you to know that I’ve been watching. Listening. All those little promises of the future. Having kids. Getting married. It’s so sweet it’s sickening.” He coos sarcastically. “And now that future is gone.” He says and Marcus shakes his head, “you’ve served your time. You could walk away. Leave her alone.” He counters and Roberta growls, “no! She is the reason I served so long. She’s gonna die.” He promises, pushing the barrel into your head.

You squeeze your eyes shut and then you have to open them. Needing to see Marcus one last time. The idea that this man has been stalking the house, listening to your conversations and plans for the future, listening to you making love, is sickening. “I love you Marcus.” You promise him, watching his eyes slide from Roberta to you. “It’s always been you. Always.”

Marcus feels like he’s gonna be sick. “She hasn’t done anything. She’s been alone for so long. She has suffered enough. You both have.” He lies, “let her go and you won’t be arrested. You can walk free. Start again. I won’t come after you. Just let her go and you are a free man.”

You feel the tension rising in the room. Something is about to happen. Something that will end in the death of one of you. “If it weren’t for her, this bitch, I wouldn’t have gone to jail!” Roberta hisses and you know he won’t walk away. He won’t quit until you are dead. You remember one self defense move that had been taught to you by the Marshal’s office. Playing dead. “I’m sorry.” You tell him, watching his eyes slide from Marcus to you and you let your knees give out and drop to the ground.

Roberta isn’t quick enough and the gun goes off, embedding the bullet in the wall. The next thing you know, Marcus’s team are storming the house and they don’t waste time killing Roberta. His head jerks back as the bullet enters his head. The gun falls to the floor and Marcus is quick to grab it. Marcus pulls out the magazine and empties the chamber, the bullet rattling to the floor. The bullet that could’ve killed you. He reaches for you once Roberta is dead on the floor and he pulls you into his arms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You’re shaking. Once the guns started firing, you flinched in anticipation of the killing shot and now you can’t stop shaking. “I- I- I don’t- I don’t know.” You admit truthfully, throwing your arms around him and starting to sob as the reality of what could have happened hits you.

His hands check you over, rubbing your body to see if you’re hurt and when he doesn’t see any damage, he’s pulling you back into his arms, kissing your forehead. The team wants you out, into the van and away so they can check Marcus’s home. “We are going to a safe house for a couple of nights. The team will check the house for any bugs or anything I didn’t pick up on. And clean it up for us.” Marcus explains once you are on the way.

“I didn’t go out.” You stress, almost desperate for him to believe you. “I didn’t call anyone and tell them where I was. No one.” You cling to him, unable to let him go as you try to calm yourself down. “I promise, I didn’t.”

Marcus shakes his head, “it’s not your fault baby. These people…they have ways of finding out where you are. It’s not your fault.” He promises, “he found you and now he’s dead. It’s over. You can reinstate your identity.” He tells you, “you can be you again.”

“I can be me.” You whisper softly, eyes wide when you realize that it’s truly over. After fifteen years, you are finally free. “Oh my God.” Happy tears fall down your cheek and you start to giggle.

Marcus grins, relieved for you and happy after knowing everything you’ve been through. “I love you so much.” He murmurs, caressing your cheeks, “you can see your parents. You can - you’re free.”

“Marry me.” You beg quietly. “As soon as I am legally myself, I want to be Mrs. Marcus Pike.”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he nods, “yes. Yes. God - baby - as soon as we are able to, I wanna marry you.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you softly, his thumbs wiping away your tears.

You smile, unable to believe that your life has taken such an incredible turn. Your future had been changed by a madman, forced into hiding and completely altering your path. Somehow brought back to Marcus by complete coincidence and now, you are able to take your life back and spend it with Marcus.

****

“I now pronounce you, husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.” The officiant declares and Marcus surges forward to kiss your lips, his hands tenderly cupping your cheeks. The crowd cheers, made up of your parents, his parents, and the friends you have made together since Roberta was killed and the ones from college who were shocked to see you after you made your official appearance back in the world. It’s been a long journey, fifteen years in the making, but you and Marcus are finally where you were meant to be all along. Married and in love. Next thing on the agenda? Getting you pregnant.

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

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wardenparker · 3 months

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Hummingbird Has Landed, ch 1

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

After the debacle of his failed engagement and relocating to Washington to take charge of his task force, newly minted Special Agent Marcus Pike is ready to get back out into the dating pool once more. A slew of bad dates has him feeling a little down, and he takes an old friend up on an invitation to get away and get his head on straight. Imagine his surprise when he finds not only fresh air, but his soulmate as well - hiding in plain sight but in the unlikeliest of places.

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 14.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: occasional mention of American politics, pregnant character, food/alcohol consumption, mentions of clothing/regulated dressing for occasions, mentions of therapy because we believe in self care here, reader is in a previous relationship, love triangle* Not much for this chapter! Mostly fluff, a little flirting, and playful but on-point use of the term 'tramp stamp'. Summary: On a failed date at the local market, Marcus runs into an old friend and gets an invitation to visit. The beautiful inn and fantastic food were explicit in the invite -- but you are a complete surprise to him. Notes: Welcome, welcome, welcome my lovelies! As a girl who grew up on The West Wing and fosters an unapologetic love of all things romance, a story like this has been on my wish list to write for a very long time. I hope you're all ready for a cast of new characters and the grand appearance of Pedro's character from Graceland, because it's time for Marcus Pike to meet his soulmate! 🧡🧡🧡

There’s something about the hustle and bustle of D.C., that while it can invigorate someone and inspire them to live life as fast as possible, it can also drain them. At least, that’s what Marcus Pike has learned from the last three years of therapy. That and he’s prone to rushing into relationships, being in love with love, as Dr. Barnes would caution him.

It seems sometimes as if he’s unlucky in love, despite the universe providing a perfect match for him, he’s never found her. Always looking, but also being open to loving someone who doesn’t share marks or scars. Someone who just wants a stable and steady man to worship them and give them the world.

He hasn’t dated in almost three years. His therapist had advised him to focus on himself. To work through his emotions of a failed college marriage, a failed engagement. To make himself happy with who he is before introducing another person into the mix. He had thought that’s what he was doing, but apparently he had been wrong.

Finally feeling ready to date again, he had dipped his toes back in the water. Only to have it backfire tremendously. So much so, that he finds himself walking around the Eastern Market on his own. His idea of a farmer’s market casual date obviously not a good one, according to the woman who had tossed the drink he had bought her on the trash and stomped off, abandoning him to feel like a fool.

Smiling faces beam back at him from the covers of glossy gossip magazines, flashing headlines critiquing fashions worn to the recent inauguration ceremony and parties. The new president and her family wave from above the fold of newspapers — the happy family that Marcus himself doesn’t have. Ignoring the rude reminder, he wanders through the stalls and vendors of Eastern Market aimlessly until he reaches the family-owned sweet shop that he’s been coming to for years now. They know him, and like him, and his sweet tooth knows no bounds. There’s another man at the counter just before Marcus so he stands back, but Jenny waves hello from behind the counter. “Morning Marcus! Gimme one second and I’ll be right with you.” She says, turning back to the order marked Juan in her big, looping handwriting. “Six cannoli, right? Two pistachio, two double chocolate, and two cherry chocolate?”

“Right.” The man in a corduroy jacket with his short hair trimmed neatly nods. “Thanks, Jen. The girls are going to be over the moon.”

Another reminder of a life he craves. Marcus frowns slightly and tries to remember what his therapist has told him. Everyone moves at their own pace. Just because he’s not juggling two kids, a dog and a lovely wife with his workload doesn’t mean he’s failing. It just means he’s not met the right person, soulmate or not.

The other man pays for his order and turns to leave but stops dead in the middle of a cordial nod when he sees Marcus standing a few feet away. Sure he had heard Jenny say hi to someone…but he hadn’t looked. Now though? He huffs a laugh at the ghost of his past. “Pike?” They’d been mistaken as brothers — or for each other — so many times back at the Academy that it would be impossible not to recognize Marcus Pike.

“Badillo?” It’s amazing to see the other agent, although he had heard that he had left the Bureau after a friendly fire shooting. He looks good though, and Marcus cracks into the first real grin of the morning since being left high and dry. “What the hell? How are you doing, man?” He asks, coming in for a friendly hug while being mindful of the box in Juan’s hand.

“Good! Good. Errands.” Juan huffs, returning Marcus’s hug with equal surprise and affection. The men had been quite good friends at one time, more than a few years ago now. “Pregnant wife gets whatever pregnant wife wants, ya know?” He grins, bright and shining. “When did you get back to DC?”

“Pregnant wife, huh?” Despite the knife to his heart, Marcus paints on a grin, happy for his old friend. “Three years ago.” He shrugs slightly. “Heading up Art Crimes now. How about you? I heard you got out.” He lifts his eyebrows, allowing Juan to talk if he wants or brush it off if he doesn’t.

“I did.” Juan nods, knowing that various stories circulated after he left the Bureau. Most of them false. “Decided to take a little road trip vacation to clear my head and ended up meeting my soulmate in Yosemite on day two of the whole thing, and I followed her East.” He shrugs, ever the unapologetic romantic just like Marcus. They had had that in common. “How’s Lara?” He asks, remembering the woman that had been Mrs. Pike during their Academy days. Marcus had been over the moon for her. “Is she liking being back?”

Marcus grimaces a little and shrugs. “She’s, uh, we got divorced about ten years ago.” He tells him. “She found out she did have a soulmate.”

“Ah shit.” Blowing out a breath and shuffling his feet, Juan rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “I’m sorry, man. That’s—there’s just no easy way to get through something like that.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus had loved Lara, but he wasn’t going to stand in the way of soulmates. It wouldn’t be right. “It was actually a very easy divorce; she hated hurting me. More than I can say for the last date, or last fiancée I’ve had.”

“Shit.” Juan huffs again, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s eleven in the morning but I feel like I ought to be buying you a drink, man.” Hearing that someone as genuinely good as Marcus Pike is has had his heart bashed so often is a fucking bummer, and Juan chews on his lip for a second before his head tilts in that Universal signal of natural curiosity. “I’ve got time today. If you want to hang out? Catch up?” He offers, knowing that drinks will most likely come later if the two old friends spend the day getting back on the same page.

Marcus chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Do I look that dejected?” He asks, even though he’s not really looking for an answer. “I was supposed to be on a date, I figured a farmer’s market/brunch date would be easy enough and yet thoughtful, but I was ditched.” He snorts. “I have zero luck it seems.” He nods his head towards the cannoli. “But you can’t leave your pregnant wife waiting on those.”

“No, I can’t.” Sydney is waiting back at the restaurant with bated breath, he knows that, but he does offer Marcus a smile. “But she does run a restaurant, so you don’t have to be brunch-less unless you choose to be.”

“Yeah?” He perks up at the idea of trying out a new place, always loving brunch foods. “Where at? I might have to take a spin over there.”

“Her place is called Il Corvo.” It takes a second, but Juan digs a business card for the restaurant out of his jacket pocket and hands it over. “It’s the in-house restaurant at The Inn at Jones Point in Alexandria.” He reports proudly, always ready to brag about his soulmate’s amazing success. Running a restaurant is no small feat. “I know the card says the dining room opens at 4pm, but ignore that. She does brunch for guests at the inn and for special guests from time to time.”

“Are you sure?” Marcus frowns slightly. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing, trust me.” Knowing his wife as well as he does, Juan is more than certain she’ll be doting on Marcus in no time. “As long as you’re on board for Italian food, come by any time you want.”

“I’m out on the bike.” Marcus tells Juan, remembering how the other agent also loved to ride motorcycles. “I might swing by sometime. Normally go for rides on the weekend.”

"Anytime you want," Juan repeats, and he hopes Marcus understands how entirely he means it. "It's good to see you again, man."

“Good to see you too.” Marcus means that, smiling at the former agent. “Nice to see that you are okay.”

The two men part with a smile and a nod, and Juan hustles away to get his precious cargo back out to his soulmate. Maybe he'll pitch the idea of inviting Marcus to their next board game night if Sydney and her best friend don't mind the extra company. Not that they ever mind extra company.

Marcus doesn’t mean for it to be two weeks from the chance encounter with Juan before he steers his bike down the country, winding roads towards this inn that he had been told about. He had a case that required him to travel. Then it was reports and the never ending budget fiascos that new presidencies always bring, his boss wanting a new projections for the fiscal year for some reason.

Now though, he’s enjoying the scenery as the wind blows over his face and he leans into the curve, enjoying the small thrill that races up his spine from the inherent danger.

The winter has been mild so far and all the snow left behind by the storm the area had gotten while he was traveling has melted, making the ride an easy and calming one. He had intentionally driven a long route around Alexandria and the surrounding area, letting him arrive at his destination a little after noon on that cold, sunny Sunday. The inn is a large brick farmhouse, probably originally colonial but it looks like it was redone sometime during the Federalist architecture craze of the early 1800s. Now its clean white painted window frames and front porch are as welcoming as the pristinely kept front garden. The Inn at Jones Point proclaims a sign out front, which is accompanied by a smaller complimentary sign with an impressionist painted black bird that reads Il Corvo in an artistic script. There are cars in the lot with a plethora of states listed on their license plates, another motorcycle that he has to assume is Juan's, and a very government-issued-looking black car parked close to the building.

Marcus is enough of a romantic to fully appreciate the appeal of the property and more importantly, grounded enough to be able to appreciate it without having a partner here to enjoy it with. Since working with his therapist, he's spent a lot of the last three years 'dating himself'. Instead of waiting to make a date to try out a new restaurant, he goes by himself. Not limiting himself to new experiences with partners, he has found that he enjoys the hunt for the perfect spots to eat. The little Indian restaurant he had found is an absolute gem and he is looking forward to discovering a new little brunch spot. If this place is half as good as Juan says, he might make it a monthly habit while he can spend some time with his old friend.

Inside, the lobby of the inn is bustling. Guests sit in plush chairs with travel brochures or excitedly type on their phones. A family is gathered around a display of pamphlets for different travel experiences and tourist attraction. Another guest is hovering around the front desk, seemingly waiting for someone to return.

From the rooms off to the left, wave after wave of stunning smells wafts past Marcus as he looks around. A set of French doors stands open but the hostess stand for Il Corvo stands empty while a small number of diners sit inside, happily chattering over their meals. The scent of fresh coffee permeates everything else just a second before he can see why, as a woman in a blue silk shirt comes around the corner with two travel cups — presumably full of coffee — for the guest standing at the desk.

“Here we are, Mrs. Richards. Thank you for your patience, the pot was just finishing brewing. These will keep you nice and warm while you walk around Old Town.” Smiling as the woman walks away, your eyes survey the room and land on the new arrival with a touch of confusion. “Good afternoon,” you greet, in your typical sunshiny tone. This man isn’t a guest and you genuinely almost thought it was Juan for a second — even though you just saw Juan in the restaurant. “How can I help you today?”

“Hi— uh, I—” Marcus realizes he knows you. Your mother’s picture hangs on his office wall next to the current FBI director’s, and furthermore, it’s hard to not see the darling First Daughter in some news story – although it doesn’t seem like you enjoy the press. “Yeah, sorry, Juan said that brunch is served here?” He asks with an apologetic smile. “I’m Marcus, uh, Pike. We were in the Academy together and I ran into him a few weeks ago.”

You’re prettier than he ever imagined the pictures and news reels, your voice curling into his stomach pleasantly. In true, Marcus Pike fashion. He finds himself instantly intrigued by you.

“Oh, you’re Marcus!” As bright and cheery as you sound, something flips in your stomach and clenches at your chest and you swallow down the oh god he’s really hot impulse that you haven’t felt in…well, in years. This guy looks like someone took Juan and gave him broader shoulders and better hair, and put a little bit more James Dean in his style. “It’s really nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself, probably unnecessarily, but it’s good manners and keeps you from getting nervous or going off track. “Come on this way. Juan said you might be stopping by but he wasn’t sure when.”

“I’m sorry, should I have called first?” He asks, feeling guilty and slightly in the way. The last thing that he wants is to cause an imposition.

“Not at all.” You slip out from behind your desk and wave for him to follow you. “He’s been excited to introduce you to everybody.” The inn is a decent size, with the ground floor being public spaces and all the rooms upstairs being ready-made for guests except for the attic apartment, and you quickly lead the way through the rooms toward the restaurant kitchen.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve caught up.” Marcus admits. “We were close in the academy, most people through we were twins to be honest.” He chuckles slightly.

“I almost thought you were him when I saw you,” you admit, glad to know you aren’t alone in it. Juan had said they look alike but it really is extreme. “Here we are.” Humming as you push open the door to the restaurant’s bar, you huff a soft laugh when a woman slightly taller than you with masses of curls in a tight bun at the nape of her neck in a black suit sidesteps the pair of you and opens the kitchen door to look inside before letting you in. “Thank you, Agent Bailey.” As odd as it is to have constant supervision like this, you’re doing your best to be patient and understanding with it. “Come on into the kitchen,” you offer to Marcus. “Brunch is almost over and this is where Juan sits when he hangs out.”

“Really? The inner sanctum already?” The tone is joking, but Marcus knows that for a lot of chefs, the kitchen is their sacred place. He wouldn’t know, because his kitchen is used to make coffee, but he’s had a few relationships with amateur gourmet cooks.

“Marcus!” There’s no question that this is where he’s supposed to be, when Juan is waving from a corner of the kitchen and immediately zips over to say hello. “How are you, man? Good to see you!”

“Hey.” He grins when he sees the other man, obviously happier here than any time in the Bureau and he’s happy for him. He seems like a completely different man, just from the quick glance. Perhaps it’s the fact that he found his soulmate. “Sorry it’s been a few weeks. Got caught up on a case.”

“I completely get it,” he assures his friend. ��It’s been kind of crazy around here anyway. Weddings booked every single weekend and the restaurant stuffed full with reservations.” He beams, proud as a peacock, and waves slightly as you disappear back out through the bar to return to your counter. The inn is full up with last night’s wedding party and you have your hands full. “I want you to meet my wife,” Juan says, clapping Marcus in the shoulder and pulling him further into the kitchen.

There are only two people cooking right now and they are both winding down. Enough that the petite woman with tied-up hair and a look of intense concentration on her face can look up and smile. “I hear you talking about me,” she warns with a laugh.

“Syd, this is Marcus Pike.” Juan introduces, bringing his friend out in front of him. “Marcus, this is Sydney. The gorgeous goddess the universe decided to grace me with.”

“Nice to meet you.” Again that pesky pang of longing lurches inside Marcus but he throws her a smile and takes her hand after she offers it immediately. “I’ve only heard angelic things about you, so rest assured, he’s not talking ill.”

“He’s does nothing but tell stories about you since you guys ran into each other at Eastern Market.” Sydney tells him honestly. “Can I make you something to eat?”

“I was hoping to experience the brunch option that Juan was bragging about.” Marcus admits as he glances around, admiring the state of the art kitchen. “Didn’t expect to see this from the historical facade.” He admits. “It’s charming though.” He adds, hoping that neither one of you take offense.

"Charming is her specialty." Sydney points her thumb in the direction of the door, indicating the main lobby of the inn. "We took over running this place about three years ago now. The previous owners weren't able to keep up anymore so they sold to her and we updated the restaurant. Modern Italian dinners and brunch for the inn's guests. It's a big step up from the B&B that this place used to be." Grinning proudly, Sydney moves over to the nearest counter and plops a paper menu down at the stool beside her husband. "What would you like?"

Marcus looks at the menu and lifts a brow, impressed by the sophisticated menu. This isn’t some little spaghetti shop that pretends to be Italian. “It’s been so long since I’ve had good Uova in Purgatorio.” He moans. “Since the last time I was in Naples.” He clicks his tongue. “But I want to try the ricotta pancakes too.”

"Then you will get both," Sydney insists, clicking her tongue and getting to work. "A G-man in Naples, huh?" She barely glances up from her work as she moves. "Art crimes must be the fancy branch of the Bureau."

“I work on international cases with Interpol and Scotland Yard.” He explains as he sits down and admires the fluidity of her movements in the kitchen. She’s completely at home in her space and it’s evident she’s in command. He’s slightly envious of her comfort in a kitchen, if he’s honest.

"Oh, so it definitely is the fancy branch." She laughs. Juan hops up from his seat to grab coffee for himself and Marcus, brushing a kiss on her cheek as he moves past, and the other woman who had been cooking moves away to the other end of the room to work on cleaning up from the brunch rush.

"Fancy branch of what?" The kitchen door swings open again and you come strolling back inside looking infinitely more tired than you had just a few minutes ago but still in a generally good mood. "The wedding party is finally gone. I am officially taking my break."

Marcus stares at you for a moment and then looks down at his hands, feeling like he might be bragging if he were to tell you what they’ve been talking about. There’s something about you that is knocking him off kilter, he’s normally a little more confident than this.

"Art crimes is swanky, apparently." Sydney tells you, never stopping or slowing as she moves around like a controlled whirlwind. "Eggs in purgatory and ricotta pancakes for your brunch? I'll make up a big batch." They're two of your favourite things anyway and it's easy enough to just make a double serving of each when she knows that your break time is always mealtime.

"That sounds incredible," you moan in agreement, making a beeline for the industrial refrigerator in the corner of the room to make yourself an iced latte that is far more espresso than milk. A generous swirl of flavored syrup joins your cup before you plop down on the edge of the counter and sip your drink with a happy sigh. Normally people exclaim over you when they realize they recognize you but Marcus Pike hasn't said a word — and you wonder if he doesn't recognize you from the papers or if you even care. It's nice to not have someone make a fuss for once. To just be nice and not suck up to you for being the President's oldest child.

“Weddings take it out of you, huh?” Marcus asks, smirking a little at the drink in your hand, although it looks delicious. “Or were they just demanding?”

"It was a big party. Very specific needs." Sipping your drink and finally sitting is immediately relaxing, and you're always ready to meet new people. Especially when they're someone that your best friend's husband speaks of so highly. "Nothing I can't handle, but weddings are always tricky. It's the most important day of at least one person's life, so you always want to try to make it as perfect for them as you can. Thankfully," you gesture around you. "I have an incredible team. Syd is the best Italian chef in the Chesapeake Bay and Juanito is an incredible event coordinator."

Marcus snorts and cuts his eyes over at Badillo. “He always did have an eye for details.” He admits, snickering at the nickname you’ve bestowed on the former federal agent. “Although it’s surprising that it’s manifested in wedding planning.” He teases playfully.

"Event planning," Juan clarifies, but he's grinning regardless. "We host a lot here. Weddings, anniversaries, holiday parties, all kinds of personal events. I get to put my organizational mind to work on it. It's actually pretty rewarding."

"Don't let him sell himself short. Juan plans a hell of a wedding." There is pride on your face, pride for your friend and in your work "We've gotten written up in a bunch of bridal magazines and on websites the last few years."

“Good job, Juanito.” If there’s anything that Marcus enjoyed more than the courses in the academy, it was busting his friend’s balls. All in good fun of course, he had taken his share of ribbing as well. It was par for the course. “That sounds like a hell of a job, making people happy and sharing in their special moments.”

"We do our best." Juan will never take the credit for himself, always attributing the effort to the team as a whole. This time, though, he flashes a knowing grin at you. "Although the next one we plan might be a hell of a lot bigger than what we do here."

“Oh?” Marcus asks, turning towards you. “Are you getting married soon?” His eyes drop discreetly to your hand and he tries to remember what he’s read about you but for some reason, he’s drawing a blank.

“No, Juan just likes to tease.” You shake it off with a roll of your eyes, knowing that — unfortunately — your friend is completely right. If or when it does happen, it will be a damn circus. “It’s this…guy that I met last year, and it’s been really good and he really took all the stress of the last year in stride, and these two love to tease.” In truth, you’ve been intentionally moving forward slowly with the junior Congressman from Maryland that you met at a campaign event you attended with your mother last year. Sam is a good guy and has big ideas for the future. It’s just that you normally dive into relationships so fast and so deep that your heart does all the talking before your mind can catch up. And now that you’re a public figure, you can’t afford to have that happen again. “I’m perfectly content to watch other people have their big days for now.”

“I can imagine that it’s hard to have a relationship right now.” He sympathizes. “The press either treats you like a darling celebrity or some kind of public spectacle, right?” He asks, curious as to your view on the entire thing. Personally, he hated the idea of politics taking on a celebrity flare and you aren’t on politics, your mother is.

“I’m honestly lucky that my younger siblings take some of the focus,” you admit. So he did recognize you. It’s nice that he didn’t fuss. You’re grateful for that. “My brother is in law school and my sister is in undergrad and they’re both living in the White House while they study but…yeah. We all agreed to give up our privacy for a while so Mom can do some good work. That means relationships aren’t easy right now.”

“It’s good you had a choice.” Marcus admits. “Sometimes I watch the campaigns for some of the politicians and it’s obvious the family would rather be anywhere else and are putting on a facade.” He shrugs, not wanting to delve too deep into a subject you probably are uncomfortable with. “Nice that you don’t have too much interference here, except for the Secret Service agent.”

"Agent Bailey's okay." In fact, she's sitting outside the kitchen door right now, giving you a bit of space and privacy to try to pretend you still have a halfway normal life. "We're still getting used to each other. I had somebody else during the campaign, but she's been assigned to my sister now. It all works out in the end." Smiling, you take another sip of your coffee and wonder why your stomach is fluttering over this very kind man who has been introduced into your lives very much by chance. It's...unsettling. To say the very least. "But that's plenty about me. How about you, Special Agent Marcus Pike? Where're you from? How are you liking Art Crimes?" You grin, throwing him a mischievous expression. "Who'd you vote for, for president?"

Marcus laughs, a real laugh that comes from his belly and he relaxes. “Let’s see…I’m from the great state of Texas - Go Rangers.” He ticks off. “I love Art Crimes, especially when we can recover sentimental pieces and keep “collectors”,” he uses air quotes, “from locking away art from being enjoyed by all.” He grins at your last question. “And my momma told me never to discuss politics or religion in social settings….but….my candidate is currently hanging on my office wall.”

"Rangers, huh?" Glossing over the not insignificant tidbit that he did, in fact, vote for your mother, you find yourself thoroughly enjoying getting to know this friend of your friend. It's usually not this easy to click with a new acquaintance, although you've become an expert at seeming interested just to be polite. That doesn't seem to be necessary at all with this man. "When we get our Phillies/Rangers series this year we'll have to come up with a bet of some kind."

“It’s gonna be a losing bet on your end.” Marcus predicts. “We’ve got Darío Álvarez and then Elvis Andrus is going to continue stealing bases.”

"Oh thank god," Sydney huffs, flipping ricotta pancakes on her griddle top and grinning as she throws you a wink. "She's finally got someone else to drag to baseball games. I'm free!"

"My alleged best friend," you smirk and decide to tease her back. "And her husband are both hockey people. So I'm generally either stuck watching the game on my own or dragging Syd along with promises of beer and ballpark dogs."

“Nationals aren’t my favorite team. Since they are National League.” Marcus smirks. “But I have season tickets since it’s too expensive to fly back to Texas for every game.”

It would be bragging to admit that you've been asked to throw the first ball out at the Nationals opening game this season as the most vocally baseball-loving member of the new First Family, so you just smile. You know it can feel like a big sacrifice to leave something about home behind. "Maybe I'll see you there," you offer instead. "The Nationals aren't my team either, but the game are pretty fun."

“Oh they always are.” He admits wholeheartedly. “Plus the Navy Yard is close so it’s always interesting.”

"Heeeeere we go." Onto the counter in front of you, Sydney heaps four plates of food – making each of you identical breakfasts. "The fruit compote for the pancakes right now is cranberry lemon. And I threw a little extra chili into the sauce for the eggs." She grins. "Some folks who stay at the inn say it's too spicy but it's how we like it," she tells Marcus.

Marcus chuckles and Juan snorts, hooking his fingers towards the agent. “This man ate his way through a five alarm chili contest and didn’t even touch his beer.” He boasts to the two of you. “If it’s not spicy, I don’t want it.” Marcus confirms with a grin. “Thank you. It smells amazing.”

"Then next time you're getting Calabrian chili instead of just the wimpy flakes." Sydney promises with glee. "That's how our girl likes it, but that's too much even for me most of the time. I have to be in the mood for it."

“You like spicy?” He asks, smirking towards you. “How do you feel about the Indian food around here?”

"There's a place in DuPont Circle that is probably the best Indian food I've ever had in my entire life." Even as you're getting ready to dig into your best friend's comfort Italian fare, your mouth starts watering thinking of curries and dal. "The kind of place where they don't make it really spicy until you've been there a couple of times and they know you can handle it. I swear I've eaten there more than I've cooked my own food since moving out here."

“Rasika’s?” Marcus groans, nodding. “I love that place. They make the best curry I’ve ever eaten in my life. I’m sweating, but I never tell them to bring me the yogurt sauce.”

"If you don't sweat while you're eating there, you're doing it wrong." It's a slight point of contention with Sam, who generally considers mustard to be too spicy most of the time, but you ignore the side eye you're getting from Sydney and dig in to your brunch. Having come in early today, this is halfway through your shift and you're going to be excited to head upstairs to your little attic caretaker's apartment when the time comes this afternoon. "Mmmmm," you groan happily and do a little wiggle in your seat unconsciously. "Syd, I swear. If you hadn't already married Juan, I'd marry you for your brunch."

Marcus takes that as the best kind of advertisement and cuts into his own meal to fork up a bite of the eggs. “Christ.” He groans as soon as the flavors hit his mouth. “That’s amazing.”

"I told you," Juan boasts, sitting up in his seat a little taller with pride for his soulmate. "She's amazing."

“You weren’t kidding.” Marcus huffs, taking another bite. “If this got out, you could run on brunch alone.”

"We're considering offering an incentive package for events." Starting to clean up, Syd watches the two of you eat while she wraps the kitchen up from brunch to get everything prepared for dinner service. "Wedding brunches are coming back in fashion, but a lot of people are wanting to do morning after brunches for their families before everyone goes their separate ways."

“I can see that.” Marcus nods. “Lara and I had a lunch thing before we all said goodbye, but that was casual.”

"Your wife?" You guess, struggling to remember if Juan had mentioned that his friend was married. He's not wearing a ring, but some men don't — a habit that generally rubs you the wrong way because those men are always the ones who basically want their wives to walk around wearing a giant 'I'm married' sign but will never show any outward signs of commitment themselves.

Marcus gives a small shrug and smiles self-consciously. “Ex-wife.” He admits, knowing that soon enough the pitying looks will start. “We divorced a while ago.”

Sydney clicks her tongue, having remembered that fact, and says nothing more. You, though? For some reason you can't help yourself. Something about Marcus Pike compels you to offer comfort in whatever way you can. "If you ever find another Mrs. Pike, you let us know. We've got you covered."

Marcus chuckles. “So far, that search has been in vain.” He admits. “Apparently it’s not in the cards for me.”

"She's out there." Juan offers with confidence. "If I remember correctly, you've even got a couple of tattoos to prove it."

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do.” He snorts. “If I ever find her, I want to know why there is a hummingbird tramp stamp on my lower back.” He laughs. “I get why, but why???? Why a hummingbird?”

A glare of questioning moves soundlessly between you and your best friend — the perpetually meddling woman who sat next to you when you were eighteen and challenged you to answer trivia questions while you had your own hummingbird tramp stamp inked onto your skin in celebration of your high school graduation. "Oh yeah?" She asks, raising an eyebrow at you while you furious try to communicate with nothing more than wide eyes that you do not want her to ask what she's about to ask. "What kind of hummingbird? How trashy are we talking?"

“It’s not exactly trashy.” Marcus defends. “It’s actually a pretty blue and green.“

"Interesting." Sydney hums, practically giggling with glee as she cleans up the kitchen and you bury your face in your meal like it will help you escape the entire conversation. "Maybe hummingbirds are her favourite bird?"

I'm going to kill you in your sleep says the glare you send your best friend's way.

“Totally trashed my punk rock image.” He laughs. “Although I didn’t think of that at the time. Thinking I’m this hardcore next Kurt Cobain rocker and I’ve got a hummingbird tattoo on my lower back.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “But it’s always been a question I’ve wanted to ask. What made her choose that? What’s special about it to her?”

"Hummingbirds symbolize love and devotion," you murmur next to him, not quite looking up and wondering if the world is really turning on its ear right now or if it's just that you've been thrown off kilter by the possibilities. It's not like you're the only girl in the world with a hummingbird tattoo, after all. Far from it. "And they're supposed to be good luck."

“I like that.” Marcus hums softly. “It’s wistful, hopeful.” There could be a thousand different reasons why his soulmate chose that symbol to etch on her body and in turn, his, but he would rather it be a loving sign. You aren’t looking at him, and miss the small smile he throws you. “Poetic.”

"So she's gotta be out there somewhere." Sydney needles the point a little bit, sounding breezy as hell but just about ready to pounce on any clues Marcus offers up. "Maybe a hopeless romantic with a stubborn streak and an encyclopedic knowledge of Lost Generation authors and impressionist painters?" She shrugs like she's just pulled the example out of thin air. "Who knows?"

Throwing Juan a look, Marcus smirks. “Sounds like your husband has been talking about favorite kind of woman.” He jokes, although he’s pretty sure that he would love it if his soulmate turned out to be just that. “I just want to have someone that wants to be build a lift together. A partner.” He shrugs. “Most people think that it’s crazy, but I think that your significant other should be your best friend and your lover.”

"Absolutely crazy." With as clearly sarcastic a tone as she can possibly muster, Sydney practically deadpans in Marcus's direction. "So weird. How dare you want to spend your life with someone you loves you as much as you love them?" Every single thing she's described has been about you, and while neither of the guys are picking up on that for even a single second, the fact that you have your head down over your plate means you're reading her loud and clear. "I bet your dream girl will even have a thing for your old rockstar days," she goes on, as if she's stringing out a hypothetical and not explicitly describing your opinion that musicians are sexy as hell. "Don't tell me. You were a bassist, right?"

“And vocals.” He admits, shaking his head ruefully. “It’s alright if she doesn’t like that. God, it’s been years since I’ve picked up my bass.” He realizes. “I should do that. Between the bass or the motorcycle, I just spent more time on the bike.”

Bass. Vocals. And motorcycle? You practically groan out loud but barely manage to swallow the sound and instead hop up from your seat immediately to hopefully combine the noise you just made with all manner of other commotion. "Just grabbing another drink," you explain, when all three of their heads turn toward you at once. "You, uh...you should do what makes you happy, Marcus. If that's not overstepping things for me to say. We just met today. But I've always heard that the best things in life tend to fall into your lap when you're not looking for them. So maybe just...enjoy yourself? And who knows what can happen."

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do.” Marcus admits. “My therapist agrees with you. That we need to enjoy ourselves and not just search.”

"Our therapists agree with each other, then," you admit with a chuckle. "I started seeing someone when Mom decided to run for president. I figured it would be good to have someone to check in with and make sure I was handling my stressors in a healthy way." The conversations you had had with them about whether or not to factor your soulmate into future plans when you had never met them were slightly less straightforward.

“That’s always a good thing.” He nods quickly. “I’ve never been one to think that therapists are a waste of time.” He shrugs. “My mom was a therapist all my childhood.”

"It's an incredibly important profession. And an incredibly important resource to have." Seeing as Marcus's mug was empty as well, you bring back two glasses of water to the counter and sit down again, hoping that Sydney won't keep pushing. Or at least that she won't reveal things if she does. "My little sister is a psychology major. She's thinking about medical school next, and talking about different paths she might taken with her studies. Therapist being one of them."

“It’s a good profession.” Marcus admits easily. “Just- let her know, most therapists have their own therapists they see. It’s draining to take on everyone’s secrets and burdens, trying to do the best you can to give them the tools to help themselves. So tell her that there’s no shame in that.”

"I will." It isn't worth negating the kindness of Marcus's thoughts and advice by telling him that all three of the First Kids started therapy at the start of the campaign. It's the care he has for other people — people he has never met and may never meet ever in his life, that touches you so very deeply. "Thank you, Marcus. That's very kind of you."

He nods and picks up the glass of water, needing to wash down the remnants of the eggs before starting on the pancakes. “So, Juan, how did you and your lovely wife discover you were soulmates?” He asks curiously.

"Uhm..." Juan chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking to Sydney for her permission to tell the story.

"Go ahead," she laughs. "I've go to start dinner prep. Tell him as much as you want."

"It's not exactly PG," he admits, still laughing softly to himself. "The polite version is that we compared tattoos."

Marcus isn’t the head of his department because he’s dimwitted. “One night stand?” He asks, lifting his brows in surprise. It wasn’t like he had never had them himself, but both men had preferred to be in relationships rather than sleep around. Not that he’s judging.

“I was willing to take whatever that goddess was willing to give me,” Juan admits without shame. “One night would have been a memory to cherish. But the universe said it should be a lifetime, instead.”

“I’m happy for you.” Marcus promises with a slap on the back for his old friend. “You deserve it. Glad you found her.”

“You say that now.” His friend smiles happily though, beaming at the commendation. “But now it’s going to be my mission to find you that girl with the hummingbird tattoo.”

Marcus smiles, a little sadly, but he just shrugs. “I’ll find her when I’m supposed to.” He reasons. “Knowing my luck, she’s happily married.”

“Not as happily as she would be with you.” He’s confident in that, and Juan looks to you to bolster his encouragements. “How could anybody not be ecstatic to have a guy this good, right?”

It feels rude. Like a trick from the universe that you do not like one bit. Like the powers that be are rubbing your nose in your defiance of their plans. “They’d have to be blind.” You offer, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Sam is a good guy. He’s been a good boyfriend and has made you happy. Why are you suddenly thinking about someone else after an hour of knowing them? That’s utterly ridiculous. “You…never really know how the universe is going to have things work out.”

She’s just being polite. Marcus realizes that when he sees your smile, his stomach churning unhappily. It doesn’t matter, you’re seeing someone. A woman in a relationship has always been off limits to him. He doesn’t like, nor respect cheaters and yet he’s upset that you don’t seem that attracted to him. Or, you’re reluctantly attracted to him. He stares down at his pancakes and sighs. “All that matters to me if that my soulmate is happy.” He decides.

Juan and Marcus talk about this and that for the next few minutes, but you quickly finish your pancakes and excuse yourself. It was very nice to meet Marcus, and you tell him so, but you’re a little rattled by the possibility that was just laid out in front of you and you need a few deep breaths of fresh air before your break is over and you have to go back to solving guest’s dilemmas.

Juan doesn’t miss the way Marcus’s eyes follow you out of the room and he smirks. “Thinkin’ about it?” He asks, knowing you are the other man’s type.

“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I mean, I would if she were single, but she’s not.” Deciding to change the subject, he leans in. “Did they heighten security here, or just the one agent?”

“Updated cameras and increased security personnel. We turned the spare office into a surveillance room but her Secret Service detail doesn’t butt in on anything they don’t need to.” Juan shrugs, knowing that things always change over time. “So far.”

That’s good and Marcus nods. “Sounds like you might have had some input.” He knows that Juan is very analytical, he would know what the weakness were in a place like this.

Juan snorts, taking a sip of his drink and shrugging vaguely. "My wife's childhood best friend is the First Daughter of the United States. If I can help her be safe, I'm going to."

“I can certainly understand that.” Marcus admits.

"It's a good system." Juan acknowledges. "She always has a detail agent nearby and the place needs the security because we've gotten a hell of a lot busier since the campaign last year."

“I’m sure.” Marcus snorts. “Everyone wants to claim they have some insider pull.” He says, a little cynical, but he looks around. “And I’m sure a lot of it is the fact that this place is a little gem.”

"272-year-old farmhouse with restored gardens and a barn and a gazebo from 1823. The place has had so many owners and been used for so many things." It's clear that Juan has nothing but affection for the place, and that he really has leaned into a fully civilian life. "I'm glad you came out to say hi," he tells Marcus honestly. "Hopefully we'll see more of you around here."

“With food like this?” Marcus groans, throwing his buddy a grin. “Those are the best damn pancakes that I’ve eaten in forever.”

"And considering you're a certified pancake expert, that says something." Juan chuckles. When Marcus hadn't shown up for a few weeks he was afraid that maybe he had said something wrong or that his old friend had moved on from the comradery they used to have, Apparently, neither was the case.

“Still love pancakes. It’s finding the time to eat them, that’s the problem.” He snorts. “It’s getting better now that I run the department, but after I ran into you? I was flying out two days later.”

"Sounds like you earned a day to relax." Sounds like he earned a lot more than just one day, but Juan knows how the Bureau works. A single day can sometimes be a miracle to come by. "There's books and board games in the library if you want to stay and spend some time relaxing."

“What do you have going on?” Marcus asks, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s…board game night.” As silly and domestic as it sounds, it’s a nice tradition that they’ve managed to keep going among friends. “Every month we have a group of friends over and we do a potluck for dinner. Just to unwind and be social. Just catch up, eat some good food, and play board games. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I don’t want to impose.” Marcus shakes his head, wondering if he’s so desperate that it sounds like great evening or if it just really was.

“It’s not imposing,” Juan assured him. “We bring new friends all the time. There’s about six of us usually, so it fluctuates depending on how many other people we bring or if someone can’t make it.”

“Well, is there a store or something?” He asks. “I can pick up some wine or something to contribute.”

“Old Town has some good liquor stores.” The historic district of Alexandria has become increasingly popular in the last several years, and the revitalization of the neighborhood has helped the inn as well.

“Anything else you could possibly want?” Marcus asks seriously. He’s willing to go get anything that could be thought of, the prospect of not spending the night alone incredibly cheering.

“Get whatever you want,” Juan encourages. “Every once in a while someone will show up with something they’ve never tried just try to it together. So really — anything you want.”

“Okay.” Marcus grins, excited about this and reaches out to slap Juan on the back. “Do you still ride bikes or have you given that up?”

"Hell no." Juan tuts, glad to see the smile back on Marcus's face. "My Indian is back at our house. We take rides when we've got time off together."

“That’s good. Although the rides have taken a pause since the pregnancy, right?” Marcus asks. “I can’t imagine a doctor signing off on a pregnant woman on the back of a bike.”

“Yeah…these days we take rides in the station wagon.” He chuckles at that, and Juan knows how ridiculously domestic it sounds but he really doesn’t care. He’s in love with his life in a very unexpected way, and that’s okay. “It’ll be nice to have someone to ride with again.”

“I can imagine.” Marcus is missing that, but on the bright side, he rides when and where he wants. “Do you guys know what you’re having yet?” He asks.

“Not yet.” Juan is excited, though, as evidenced by the way he lights up when asked about it. “It’s still too early to find out. Obviously we don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and happy.”

“Congrats, man, you’re living the dream, you know that?” As envious as he can admit to being, he’s also incredibly happy for Juan. “You deserve it. Especially after, you know…”

“Life is totally different now.” Leaving the Bureau is what was best for Juan. He knows that now, even if it was a painful decision to make back then. “I’m not going to ever downplay the things in my past, but the future is looking pretty fucking good, man.”

Completely understanding the fact that Juan doesn’t want to talk, he nods. “I’m happy for you. Truly.”

“I appreciate that, man.” Juan grins and pats Marcus on the shoulder. “Enjoy some time in town and come on back here around seven tonight. Syd isn’t working the dinner rush tonight so we’ll all be able to relax.”

“That sounds good.” The comfortable jeans and a sweater will still look sharp enough for game night and he sends his friend a smile before he walks out of the kitchen.

Things have calmed down in the lobby when you return to the front desk to pick up a few papers and check in on your concierge before retreating into your office for the rest of your shift. The inn may have calmed down but you're still spinning wildly on the idea that your soulmate might have walked through the door of the inn this morning with absolutely no fanfare and a nervous smile on his incredibly handsome face.

Nope. Stop it. Sam is coming for board game night tonight and you really fucking like him. Don't give up your whole stance on freedom of happiness just because some absolutely dishy FBI agent has your tattoo.

"Everything going okay, Malachi?" You will be professional, and not a blithering mass of nervous energy. Even if it takes all the energy you have to force it.

“Everything’s fantastic, we had another couple call to book a room for next weekend. So we officially will have no vacancies.” He reports proudly, like he had recruited the couple himself.

"Good. That's actually excellent. That means we have no vacancies at any point for two week on either side of Valentine's Day unless someone cancels." It's always possible. After all, break up happen around that particular holiday. But with the way they've been booking rooms lately, they should be able to fill a hole more easily than not. "I'm going to go to my office and work on the schedule. If you need me, just call."

“Of course.” Malachi cranes his neck as that handsome guy walks out to a beautiful motorcycle. “But before you go.” He hums. “Who is that?”

You can't help but chuckle, your concierge's obvious interest making you recognize the ridiculousness of the whole situation all over again. "That's Juan's friend," you tell him, gathering up your paperwork. "He'll be around more, and he's allowed into the kitchen. So you know he's special."

“And does Juan’s friend have a name?” He asks, smirking slightly.

"Special Agent Marcus Pike." You smirk right back at him, giving Marcus's title along with his name. By now Agent Bailey has probably done an entire workup on the agent. Why wouldn't she?

“Special Agent.” Because it’s the two of you and there’s no guest around, Malachi watches out the window with unabashed interest. “He can mount me like he mounts that bike any time.”

"Mal!" There's no reason for you to be taken aback by that comment considering how well you know Malachi Debose, but you still find yourself stifling a laugh with wide eyes. You tell yourself to joke, ignoring the twist in your chest at the idea of Marcus with anyone else. It's not up to you. He's his own person. And he might not even be your soulmate to begin with! "I'm pretty sure he's straight, honey, but you never know. It would not be the first guy you've swept out of the closet who didn't even realize they were in there in the first place."

He sighs dramatically, even though he’s smirking proudly. “You’re right.” He admits. “We’ll see how mister Special Agent Marcus Pike acts and then I’ll decide.”

"Behave yourself." Is the playful warning you give him before turning and nodding to Agent Bailey. "Time to sit in the office while I swear at my computer," you tell her. As the Secret Service agent who is with you most of the time, Kendra Bailey has learned your past, your friends, your job, and your habits like a book. She appreciates that you're not throwing yourself into politics because it means her days are a little calmer than they could be, but the coming and going of all sorts of people through the inn on a daily basis presents its own challenges.

She nods, already curious about the FBI agent that she’s encountered here. It’s not unusual to run background checks on people who continuously hang around the inn, and it sounds like he will become a fixture for the foreseeable future. “Of course, Hummingbird.”

You groan softly, realizing that that is going to get said around Marcus Pike at some point or other, and just try to shake it off for now. "You can call me by my name around here, you know." She won't. You've had this conversation more than once, but sometimes you think you'll never get used to being ma'am or Hummingbird at all times to your Secret Service detail.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods, both of you aware that she’s not going to break protocol like that. Instead, she’s turning to the chair that has been placed outside your office, tucked into a discreet corner so it’s not completely obvious that you are being guarded. Giving you the illusion of privacy.

"Someday I'm going to get you to at least come into the office." There are rules. A hell of a lot of them, in fact, and you know that they exist for a reason. But Agent Bailey is allowed to be in your office with you, and you hope it won't take your mother's entire first term in office for her to get comfortable enough with you to do that.

“I understand that, but if I’m in your office, you won’t concentrate.” She reminds you with a small, unseen smile. The first time you had insisted, you hadn’t gotten anything done.

"Too social for my own good, I guess." With a small smile exchanged between the two of you, you nod in agreement before heading down the hall to your office. She's right, and you both know it.

Outside, a snazzy sports car pulls up. Not too flashy, because a junior congressman from Maryland can’t be seen throwing money away frivolously, but sporty enough to make him grin as he changes gears. The door pops open, sunglasses tossed on the dash and Sam hustles out of his car, eager to see you.

"Hey Sam." Malachi looks up from the desk when the door opens and offers up a smile. Professional, but friendly. So far, Congressman Chase hasn't done anything to warrant the cold shoulder. "Is she expecting you?"

“Not until later, but I was hoping to surprise her.” He admits, sending the concierge a wink. “She in her office?”

"Just went in to work on the schedule." Malachi reports, but his smile morphs from professional to earnest in half a second. "The new software is giving her a headache and a half. I bet coming in with a cup of coffee with also be a welcome surprise."

“You are a good man, Malachi.” Sam slaps the antique reception stand and grins. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He lifts his brows and points at him as he changes directions to the kitchen to beg a cup of coffee from Sydney.

A knock on the kitchen door is odd but not unheard of, and Sydney glances back over her shoulder when the swinging door pushes open to admit the six-foot Congressman she now affectionately calls, "Sam Sam! As happy as I am to see you, your lady friend is not in the kitchen."

“I know.” Sam tosses the chef an easy grin. “A little birdie told me that she might appreciate a cup of coffee, so I’m here to be her runner.”

Sydney smirks, never ceasing in her work but nodding to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. “Go right ahead. I’m sure she’ll be grateful.”

“Thank you.” He immediately beelines for the coffee maker, intent on also making himself a cup. Though he would prefer a cocktail. “It smells great in here, like always.” He tosses over his shoulder.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She hums happily in return. “I made a lasagna for game night. Are you staying?”

“Unless an emergency session is call.” Sam snorts. “And you know half those crusty old bastards don’t want to work.” He adds some creamer and sweetener to his, doctors yours and turns back. “Is this the lasagna with the pancetta?” He asks, giving her a pleading look.

“It is, and I did a little something different with the ricotta layer this time, so you’ll have to tell me what you think.” One hand shoos him playfully away, but she does laugh. “I’ll feed you later. Go see your lady.”

“Thank you!” He laughs as well, zipping out the door to head in to see you. Hopefully you aren’t working on anything too important that you can’t steal away some time for him.

Two short knocks on your door could be anyone, but you save your progress in working on next week’s schedule and call for them to come in. It’s probably Malachi with a guest accommodation question, which is no problem. You can hit pause on scheduling the housekeeping staff around their various class schedules to answer just about anything.

After getting the okay to enter, Sam juggles the cups and pokes his head in the door. “Can you spare a few minutes, beautiful?” He asks.

The grin that spreads on your face is surprise and relief, and you hop up from your dream to open the door fully. “If that’s coffee in your hands, I can spare more than just a few.”

“Of course it is, fixed just the way you like it.” While he doesn’t drink it nearly as sweet as you do, he also doesn’t make fun of you for it.

“To what do I owe the early visit?” The door clicks shut behind him and you sit back in your chair with a happy sigh.

“We let out early.” Sam explains. “Figured we could spend some time together .”

“I’m always glad to see you.” It’s true. It genuinely is. Which is why you hate the nagging guilt of the fact that you had just been telling yourself to stop speculating about your possible soulmate and focus on work.

“That’s a good thing.” Despite the idea that dating the First Daughter was good for his career, Sam genuinely cares for you. It might not be the passionate love he had imagined years ago, but he’s mature enough to understand that a solid connection was a good thing.

“So your meeting went alright?” The committee that he’s on had an unofficial lunch meeting today, which must have gone well if he’s already here saying hello. “I was afraid they’d have you all day and you’d miss out in lasagna and the new Clue game that Sydney’s sister picked up.”

“No.” Sam snorts. “They wanted it done as quickly as possible.” He tells you. “I’ve got to admit that I’ve never seen people that hate to work more than politicians.”

“Well that’s hardly encouraging,” you snort, and shake your head before taking a sip of hot coffee. “I guess you’ll just have to whip them into shape, Congressman. No two ways about it.”

“I’m trying.” He laughs and shrugs. “Right now I equate it to herding cats.” He jokes, sitting down on the other side of your desk and watching you for a moment while you savor your coffee.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever called a member of the House of Representatives.” The two of you share a laugh, and you shift in your seat a little with an awkward expression before talking again. “I…got an email this morning. From Mom’s office. Informing me of my first few expected photo ops as First Daughter.” It’s a big part of the job, for you at least, to look the part and play the part and help the country to see your mother as not just the president, but a family-oriented professional as well. Being the first female President has its challenges and your mother is plowing into them head on. Which, honestly? You give her a lot of credit for. “They asked if I would be willing to release some social media photos from our Valentine’s date…” The fact that you hadn’t planned one yet is slightly beyond the point. Now you pretty much have to.

“Well, what kind of pictures would you like?” Sam asks easily, aware that you don’t relish the attention, but it’s part of the job. “We can do a dinner at home, appeal to the base of Americans.” He suggests.

“I don’t love the idea of someone recognizing an aspect of your house or neighborhood and you getting doxed for it,” you admit ruefully. It would have to be Sam’s house, since you don’t actually have one. You can’t exactly put out photos of your attic apartment and expect the White House press core not to make noises. “I was thinking we could put the spotlight on a minority-owned small business or go to some low-key arts event? If they’re going to ask me to be in the spotlight then I want to use it for good.”

“Do you want to decide?” He asks, aware that you can be quite choosy at times. He doesn’t really mind. “Or do you want me to come up with something?”

“It’s probably easier if I figure it out.” You admit. It’s not your favorite option, all things considered, but since it’s dumb for you to be even vaguely upset that your boyfriend didn’t announce he had secret plans already in the works — which your stupid romantic comedy loving brain had hoped for but knew was a longshot — it’s better to just be practical. “So the Secret Service can tell me if wherever I pick is insecure or something like that. Even though I can’t imagine that anybody is out to get me. That’s absurd.”

“You’d be surprised what humans are capable of.” Sam reminds you, having read some of the most horrific reports imaginable. He likes that you are practical, even if you are a bit naive.

“Not a super fun thing to hear from your boyfriend, but okay.” It’s nothing you can’t brush off, and you do so with a wave of your hand. “There is also a state dinner coming up in a few weeks that I definitely do not want to go to without you.”

“I’m available.” He promises. “I’ve got a couple of events in my district coming up. But I’ll mark that on my calendar.”

“Thank you.” Though you aren’t blind to the ways that attending these things helps him, you appreciate the company. You aren’t effortlessly charismatic like your brother or a star student with enigmatic insights like your sister. You’re the least comfortable in the public eye out of your whole family, and that is what it is. At some point in the night when he inevitably veers off to shake hands and schmooze politically, you’ll sit quietly at your table and smile politely while you wait for Sam to come back, and that’s okay. “I really really appreciate it.”

Sam huffs, sending you a small smirk. “A night where you are wearing a beautiful dress, we eat an elegant dinner, what’s not to love?” He leaves the part about making connections unspoken, both of you know how this game is worked. “And maybe you can come spend the night at my place after.”

"What an absolutely scandalous suggestion." One hand clutches your nonexistent pearls, pretending to be aghast, but you throw him a wink. Intimacy in your relationship unfortunately does have to be scheduled at a certain point...just on the basis that you have a Secret Service agent you can't simply ditch, and he has a personal assistant that might be even more invasive than the Secret Service. "I love it."

“Good.” Sam smirks back at you and sends you his own wink. “I’ve missed a cute little snore, and I need to get some cuddling in.”

"I do not snore." Despite pouting at him – and knowing that you do, in fact, snore – you end up grinning. "But we have been low on cuddle time lately, I agree."

“Yeah, I know my job is hectic and yours isn’t a walk in the park.” He acknowledges wholeheartedly. “But I want this to work. Maybe we just need to move in together.” He hadn’t meant to just blurt that out, but he’s been thinking about it.

“I—what?” You nearly spit out the sip of coffee you had just taken and sit up arrow straight in your chair, staring at him without the ability to stop yourself. “You—you want me to—to move in with you?” It’s never been discussed. Not really. At least not with a timeline, and that’s probably your fault. You’re so prone to jumping into relationships head first that you had told yourself you would move slow with Sam. That…seems to not be the case now.

“It doesn’t have to be now.” He promises. “Just something to consider. That’s all. We would get more time together.”

"I can honestly say I was not expecting that today." It's shaken you up a little, if you're honest, but you reach over your desk and squeeze his hand before leaning out of your chair to kiss him.

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?” It’s not quite the reaction he was expecting, if he is honest with himself.

"No, not at all!" You're quick to reassure him, realizing that Sam's expression is a little more guarded than usual. You've disappointed him. That's not a feeling you like at all. Not even a little. "I'd say the fact that my boyfriend wants to spend more time with me is a very good thing." If it's such a good thing, why is your mouth dry and why are you all tense with nerves? "And I want that, too. You just surprised me, that's all."

“Of course we need to talk about it more in depth.” He relaxes slightly, happy that you are at least open to the idea.

"Is that...something you want to talk about soon?" There are ideas rolling over in your head with varying levels of comfort, but the fact is that you hadn't realized that Sam was already there. Sure you had said your I love yous already, but you really had been trying to go slower this time, and that pace had seemed to suit Sam just fine. And why is it suddenly now that your mind is stuck on the idea that he isn't your soulmate? Is it just because you met a man who could be? You had always told yourself it didn't matter before now...

“We are coming up on our one-year anniversary of dating.” He reminds you, wondering why all of a sudden you look like you’ve seen a ghost. He’s been patient, letting you move slowly since you were afraid of diving in too much too soon, but this is the natural next step. Otherwise, it will be random sleepovers whenever you can manage it for the rest of your lives and Sam doesn’t want that. “I figured we could discuss what our next steps were.” He smiles softly. “I want the next steps, whenever you’re ready.”

"You're right." He is right. The logic is there, and the sweetness, and you do genuinely like him. In fact, loving him came easily and naturally. It's just that today has you a little shaken up and you don't want to admit it to yourself. Any other day and you would have been ecstatically throwing yourself into his arms. "You're absolutely right. This is definitely next." Composing yourself into a smile and reminding yourself to goddamn relax, you pick up your now cold coffee and finish the cup. "Why don't we pick a night this week to cook dinner together and talk through what we want our future to look like?"

“That works.” He flashes you the boyish grin you claim to love and nods. “Little food. Little wine, little….cuddling while we talk. It’s exactly what we need. You’ve been peddle to the mettle lately, and so have I. It will be good to decompress and hash out our concerns.”

"Perfect." And you will, you tell yourself sternly, get your shit together by then.

“But tonight…” he winks at you. “I’m going to whoop your ass at Clue.”

Because it's your turn to host, your small apartment has been cleaned top to bottom in preparation for the night. Sydney took care of making dinner, you have dessert in the refrigerator, and you have it on the authority of the group chat that garlic bread and salad are both coming as well. Juan said he and Marcus were supplying drinks, so everything is set up with plenty of time for everyone to arrive.

Agent Bailey is sitting on the couch waiting for her evening relief so she can go home to her own family and Sam is setting a stack of mismatched plates on the dining room table when Juan, Marcus, Sydney, and her sister Anna Leigh all show up very promptly on the turn of the hour.

Marcus is a little nervous aware that he has a tenuous tie to the game night, but he is quickly at ease when everyone starts greeting people like old friends. He hadn’t quite known what to get, so he had bought several bottle of whiskey and wine, figuring someone would appreciate it. The bottle of ‘76 Statesman Reserve a personal favorite of his and the little store he had stopped at had one last bottle.

"Hey, we didn't scare Marcus off!" Maybe you're a little happy to see him, but you excuse that as being glad that Juan has his friend back and ardently ignore the way your chest clenches when he walks into your little apartment.

“Hope you don’t mind.” He offers instantly, holding back from flirting like he wants to. You are seeing someone. “But I brought gifts.” He holds up the bottle, the others in his bag.

“Statesman.” You practically groan with delight at the sight of the bottle. “When we were campaigning in Kentucky, my little brother and I toured their distillery, I love this stuff.” Fighting the instinct to offer him a hug — and it really is an instinct — you grin and wander toward the kitchen to complete introductions. “You already know Syd and Juan, of course. The beautiful agent of chaos currently throwing garlic bread in the oven is Syd’s sister Anna Leigh, and the intimidating lady on the sofa with the New York Times crossword in her lap is Agent Bailey. I don’t know if you two officially met earlier or not. Looking around, Sam is not in sight, but you chew your lip for a second and smile. “My other half seems to have disappeared, but I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay.” He shouldn’t be disappointed that your boyfriend is here. That’s what he keeps telling himself. “Congressman from Maryland, right?” Okay, he might have read up on you.

“Right.” There’s a note of something off in Marcus’s voice but you can’t figure out what, so you just smile. “I promise we don’t use official titles over board games.”

“Good.” He cracks a lighthearted grin. “I hate when I’m made in charge of the jail in Monopoly.” He jokes. He hands you the bottle and looks around the little apartment. “Anything I can do to help?”

“I think we’re just waiting for Issy and then everyone will be here. So for now if you want to maybe pour drinks while we all get settled?” This is always an informal setting and you want everyone to feel relaxed as much as possible. “Let me give you the grand tour first?” What a stupid thing to say in your little, tiny space. But now you’ve said it, so you just have to pretend it was something charming to say instead of awkward.

“That sounds good.” Marcus quickly agrees, although it’s obvious that there’s not much to the small space. “The private sanctum.”

“Eat it kitchen.” Is the space you’re standing in, with a too-big dining room table that is also your prep counter because there is basically no counter space — just enough to put a few grocery bags on and nothing more. “I have an unholy love of dinner parties, hence the big table. Over here is the living room. Mandatory bar cart with the tv, and as many throw pillows as the couch can hold.” Agent Bailey currently has her arm resting on the head of a pillow shaped like a horse that you brought back from a campaign trip out West. “Bathroom is down the hall, just here.” The door is closed, so that must be where Sam is. “And just turn the corner and you’re in the bedroom-slash-library.” You have to call it that — you really have to, because the entire room is covered in wall to wall bookcases that are pretty much entirely full. The only exceptions are where your sleigh bed and writing desk sit on opposite ends of the tight room. “It’s more library than anything else.”

“Obviously like to read.” He nods. “What genre? Or is it too embarrassing to mention in company?”

“I’m not embarrassed at all to read romance novels.” A whole section of the shelf by your bed is dedicated to them, in fact. Healthy sexuality and healthy explorations of that sexuality are vital, but you won’t get that far into the topic. “I have a lot of various things here, but the majority are probably mystery, thrillers, and classics from all over the world.” The shelf you’re standing by has your collection of writing by both F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, and you smile. “Of course, some of the classics are romances. That’s to be expected.”

“They are. I find that if you limit yourself in what you read, you are missing out.” He looks over your shelf with interest. “It looks like a wonderful collection.”

“Thank you. A compliment for my books is the highest compliment possible.” There’s a warm smile on your lips when the bathroom door pulls open a few feet away and you feel like you’ve been caught although there isn’t a single thing wrong about showing a new friend around your apartment. There’s no reason to jump out of your skin, but here you are with burning cheeks feeling embarrassed.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Sam doesn’t frown, but he wonders who this man is and why he is in your bedroom.

"Hey." Your smile does widen of its own accord, and you motion between the men in a sort of vaguely formal way that is definitely odd for you. "Sam, this is Marcus. One of Juan's old friends. He came by the inn earlier today and we thought it would be nice to introduce him to the group." It's awful, and very unnecessary, how heavy your tongue feels when you go to make the introduction the opposite way. "Marcus, this is Sam. My boyfriend."

It’s a little awkward, Marcus can admit that but he extends his hand. “Nice to meet you, Sam.” He offers, smiling in a friendly, first meeting kind of way. “My connection to the group is through Juan.” He explains. “We were at the academy together.”

"Ah, a government man." That seems to win Sam's approval, though his handshake might be just a hair tighter than it would otherwise be based on the tension in the air. "Well, welc—"

"Babe!" Sydney's voice comes loud and clear from the other room as the door opens and the sound of chaotic friends can be heard. "Issy's here! Let's gooo!"

The introductions are interrupted and it’s probably not a bad thing. Marcus lets go of Sam’s hand and immediately makes for the door. “Guess that’s our queue.”

“Coming!” You call back, eager to be standing anywhere but your doorway between these two men. “Issy is a friend from college.” That’s the easy explanation you give Marcus as Sam steers you back to the kitchen with his hand on your back. “Syd, Anna Leigh, and Issy and I were suite mates at Mount Holyoke.”

Marcus nods, committing everyone to memory. “Nice to meet all of you. Thank you for letting me join you tonight.”

Getting everything set up doesn’t take much longer, and a buffet of cheesy garlic bread, a huge salad, Sydney’s pancetta lasagna, and the lemon tiramisu you made for dessert is all laid out on the counter. Everyone digs in and says a loud chorus of rowdy good nights when your Secret Service detail has its changing of the guard in the middle of it all. It’s a lot, and it’s chaos, but it’s so comforting because these are all people you love to spend time with. Even Marcus, as new as he is, fits right into the group effortlessly.

“Oh! Sydney.” Marcus dives back into the bag and pulls out a bottle of sparkling white grape juice and some sodas and grenadine. “I figured you might like my family’s version of Shirley Temple’s?” He offers. “So you can have a mocktail with the ladies?”

“Absolutely!” Syd’s eyes light up at the offer, and she brings her overstuffed plate over to the table to sit beside her husband. In her favorite baggy sweatshirt, no one could ever tell she’s pregnant, but one of her hands rests on the side of her belly anyway. “That sounds fantastic.”

“So my grandmother used to make these for all the kids, so we could feel special too.” Marcus explains as he grabs a wine glass and starts to mix together the non-alcoholic drink. “It had to be sparkling grape juice because of the bottle shape.” He chuckles now, but back then? He had felt grown up. “When she died, we served these at her wake.”

“That’s so sweet.” Sydney awes softly as Marcus carefully pours out the drink. “These are Birdie’s favorite, actually,” she points her thumb back at you while she chats at him. “We usually spike them with rum, of course. To be a Shirley Temple Black. I can’t remember the last time I just had a regular old Shirley Temple.”

“A dirty Shirley?” Marcus gasps in faux horror. “The best way to spike that is with Statesman.”

“On it!” You hop up from the table immediately to grab a glass and line up next to Sydney at the counter. “I’ve heard of people doing them with rum and vodka, but never with whiskey. I have to know.”

He chuckles and nods. “You won’t regret it. The grape juice plays off the smoky, oaky flavors very nicely.” He tells you. “It’s almost better than a robust bouquet on a red.”

“I can’t claim to know anything about wine, but I’m trying to learn.” Sam prefers wine, and you’ve been trying to not feel foolish when people discuss wine pairings at official dinners. It’s been a fairly deep learning curve. “But I’ll take your word for it.”

“More of a whiskey girl?” Marcus asks, filing away the information even though it’s not like he’s going to use it. One of those odd little quirks of his time in the Bureau, he tries to read people.

“Always have been.” As evidenced by the Whiskey Makes Me Frisky sweater still stuff in your closet from college, which won’t see the light of day again until your mother is out of office. “You too?” Your eyes widen immediately and you stumble over correcting yourself. “Guy, I mean? Whiskey guy?”

Marcus laughs and gives you a guilty grin. “I learned to enjoy wine. My ex was a wino to the point where we honeymooned in Napa Valley.” He snorts. “But my first love was a Jack and Coke.”

“The next time you’re sick, have a whiskey and ginger beer.” The advice comes as he hands you your glass but he looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s a good drink no matter what, but I swear it knocks out my colds faster than anything else.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Marcus hums and decides that he will make one for himself. “Tell me what you think.”

One sip has you groaning, and you bring the glass back to the table like you’ve found the Holy Grail. “Sammy, try this. I know you’re not usually big in whiskey, but this is fantastic.”

Sam wrinkles his nose, really uninterested in trying it, but he politely takes a sip. Pleasantly surprised, he makes a face. “Huh. That’s not as horrible as I imagined.”

“And that,” you look back at Marcus and laugh. “Is the highest compliment he’s ever given a whiskey drink.”

Marcus chuckles politely and motions towards the table. “There’s a nice Cabernet that he might like better.” He offers.

“That sounds perfect.” You move back to the counter to collect a wine glass, corkscrew, and the bottle to bring back, knowing that Sam will open it far more neatly than you can.

“So how has everybody been?” Prompting conversation once everyone is at the table gets the ball rolling nicely, and conversation starts as everyone starts to eat their dinner.

“Well, everyone knows that Sydney is expecting.” Juan boasts proudly, obviously loving the prospect of becoming a father. “But she started experiencing her first cravings.”

“Oooo, what are they?” Issy sits up in her chair immediately. “Please tell me it’s something non-gourmet. If this baby is a food snob I’m not going to have anything to tease you about.”

“Right now….” Juan grins and sends his wife an utterly besotted look. “Ranch flavored bugles.”

“Oh my god!” Both Issy and Anna Leigh practically scream with laughter immediately and your jaw hits the table with maniacal giggle.

“I know,” Syd moans in embarrassment. “I know! The baby likes ranch!”

“There must be a joke there somewhere.” Marcus laughs, enjoying the lighthearted atmosphere of the group and how they are all so easy with each other.

"Syd's current greatest fear is having a kid who doesn't care about food." You explain, picking up a forkful of lasagna. "If they turned out to not like food or hockey, she'll be doomed."

“I see.” He chuckles, although he himself had a less refined pallet when he was younger. Now he enjoys trying new things.

"They're exaggerating." Sydney promises, not wanting her husband's old friend to think she's that much of a snob. "Obviously no kid comes out loving caviar and oxtail."

“No, I can see why you would expect your child to give you cravings for something like this.” He praises, lifting a forkful of the lasagna. “I gave my mom cravings for salami and bologna. Which she couldn’t eat.”

"My mom had a lot of cheese cravings." Not expecting baby-oriented conversation was probably an oversight on your part, but it's fun and your best friend just absolutely glows whenever it's brought up. "With me it was gruyere, with my brother it was cheddar, and with my little sister it was asiago." The memory makes you grin, and you laugh a little, mostly to yourself. "She ate so many asiago bagels when she was pregnant with June."

“Ohhhhh I could see how that could be an easy craving.” Issy snorts. “I have cravings for those all the time and I’m not pregnant.”

"Right?" You're nodding in agreement instantly. "I'm honored that my pregnancy craving was gruyere. That's quality cheese."

“Maybe the craving will change to truffle cheddar fries.” Marcus suggests with a grin. “With ranch.”

“See, this is the kind of encouragement we should be thinking about. Positive thinking all the way.” Sydney grins, beaming across the table to her husband’s friend. Even if her hunch about the true nature of Marcus’s soulmate marks isn’t true, he’s still a good addition to the group. “What’s everybody else been up to.”

Everyone starts talking and Marcus leans back. Watching the dynamic of the group and it’s obvious that everyone is comfortable with each other. Talking over one another and laughing, poking fun in a gentle way. It seems as if Juan - and you - have a solid friends group.

The tempo of the night is unchanged from any other — there is as much laughter and fun as any game night you’ve had in years. The joy of having your friends nearby is never tempered, but tonight it is…just a little bit different. As for first time ever — with your boyfriend sitting next to you — you have to wonder if maybe your soulmate is actually sitting there at the table. And what will you do when it isn’t the man with his arm around you?

______

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thetriumphantpanda · 6 months

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

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

Pairing | Marcus Pike x Plus Size F!Reader

Word Count | 4.4K

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

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

Divider by @saradika

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

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

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

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

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

“No, why?”

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

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

“They’re delicious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Running away?”

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

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

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

“If I have to.” You answer back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You looking that sinful.”

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

He smirks, “As real as you and I.”

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

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

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

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

“You gonna kiss me, pretty lady?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Marcus.” You beg quietly.

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

“Your mouth.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He starts pounding into you now, the sound of his skin slapping against yours is obscene. You’re both trying as hard as possible to keep the moans and groans as quiet as possible, and you can’t help but wish he wants more, that he’ll take you home sometime, unwrap you and let you scream for him, but you decide to focus on the here and now.

“Touch yourself.” You hear demanded from behind you, “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

You snake your hand underneath you, pushing the discomfort of how your arm is trapped between your body and the desk, and start tracing quick circles over your clit. You’re already sensitive, hanging on the edge from his mouth, so you press harder, move your wrist faster.

“Feel so fucking good, baby,” Marcus groans behind you, “Close, ain’tcha?” He asks, “Go on baby, let go for me, let me feel you.”

And it’s his voice that does it, that finally tips you over the edge, has your cunt clenching around him, walls fluttering and teeth biting into your bottom lip as your knees give way. Thankfully, Marcus is gripping at your hips, which helps to keep you upright.

“Where, baby?” He asks, voice strained, and you don’t catch what he means, “Quick baby, where do you want me?”

“Anywhere.” You groan out, “I don’t care Marcus, just come for me.”

You think for a moment he might stay inside you, which would be fine, you thank the implant under the skin of your arm, but at the last minute he’s pulling out of you, feeling the hot slick of his cum on the skin of your ass as he lets out a low groan out of his mouth. He’s breathing heavily behind you, pulling his jeans back up. You try and move, to push yourself up, but you’re worried if you move further you might collapse.

“Stay there.” He says gently, leaning over you to pluck a few tissues from the box on his desk, gently wiping away the mess he’s caused, pulling your panties back into place and letting your skirt cover as much of your ass as it can in your position.

“You okay?” He asks softly, helping you to stand, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear.

You nod, because you are, you’ve never been fucked so thoroughly, never been made to come so hard in your life, but there’s an anxiety settling in your stomach. What always happens now is they’ll tell you they had a great time, but don’t think they want to see you again, which is going to be even more embarrassing because you have to work with this man.

It's almost as if he can sense your anxiety, because he’s cupping your cheek again, leaning to give you a soft kiss on the lips, “Would you maybe want to go out sometime?” He asks, “I know we’ve done things out of order, but I’ve wanted to ask for a while.”

You smile, because it does make you happy, that the man you’ve fancied for the best part of a year actually wants to take you out, “As long as you promise to take me back to yours after and let me see you naked?”

He blows out air from his mouth, but his eyes are twinkling, “You drive a hard bargain,” He muses, “But you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He’s moving from you now, over to the couch, picking up your coat and your back, motioning you over so he can help you into your jacket, hooking your bag onto your elbow, then moving to gather his own things, “Wait, right now?” You ask, sounding surprised, as he shrugs his jacket on.

“I know a great diner just down the road.” He shrugs, picking up his satchel.

He’s walking back to you, but you put a hand on his chest, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” You ask, watching a confused look fall over his face, you dart your eyes to his desk, where the whip from earlier is lying abandoned, “I’m only coming back to yours if you bring that.”

You watch as a smirk splays across his lips. He snatches the whip from his desk, shoving it into the satchel, “Well, pretty lady, lead the way.”

#Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike fic #Marcus Pike fanfic #Marcus Pike fanfiction #Marcus Pike fluff #Marcus Pike smut #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x female reader #Marcus Pike x f!reader #Pedro Pascal #The mentalist #the mentalist fic #the mentalist fanfic #the mentalist fanfiction #plus size reader

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rosepascal · 11 months

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how i think different pedro characters would eat pussy

ft: Joel Miller, Din Djarin, Frankie Morales, Jack Daniels, Marcus Pike, Marcus Moreno, Max Phillips

NSFW - 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI

hello this is the first time im writing anything for pedro characters that aren't joel miller or din djarin so i hope they're in character lol.

Joel Miller

Okay. this man is a little rough with it. Never rough enough to hurt you (unless u want him too) but he goes down on you as stress relief for him. He fucking loves eating pussy though. His hands would hold you down, he’d tie your hands behind your back, and he’d go to town. His beard would scratch your thighs and fuck would it feel so good. He doesn’t talk much during it. Instead letting out grunts and the occasional “fuck”. He gets a lot of pleasure out of rendering you into a screaming, fucked out mess. Sometimes he pushes your legs to your chest and pulls your ass up for a different angle. Just because its an apocalypse doesn’t mean Joel’s lost any of his pussy eating skills tyvm.

Din Djarin

He doesn't get the chance to go down on you as much as he would like. The fact that you can't see his face doesn't help either. But when he does get the chance, he makes sure your legs shake at the very thought of what he does to you. He's messy with it. Sloppy and uncaring. He doesn't have the most experience but when his tongue is shoving itself inside of you and his hands are desperately pawing at your thighs and stomach. It doesn't fucking matter how much experience he has. He is eager to please and eager to learn. He wants the sounds of your moans and the quiver of your thighs to be ingrained in his memory forever. Sometimes he doesn't even bother taking off his armor. So when his beskar rubs against your burning skin, it only adds to the sensation.

Frankie Morales

Frankie is a pussy worshiper. To him there’s nothing better than spreading your legs going down on you until you’re clawing at his hair and begging him to fuck you. He’s methodical about it too ngl. Every time he eats you out he takes note of what makes you moan louder and what drives you crazy. He makes sure to do it all in the order you love it most. Not to say that it’s not exciting. He’ll switch up his tactics. Add his fingers here and there, leave hickies on your thighs, change pressure of his licks. It’s all a beautiful, fun game to him that always leads to you coming at least twice.

Jack Daniels

Cowboy here is a tease with a capital T. He’s also a talker. He knows how to please you and pulls a feeling from you that you didn’t ever think you could feel. He’ll make lots of jokes too. He draws out his words and teases you with his tongue until you’re crying and squirming under him. Begging for something more. He talks you through it too. In a teasing manner but also because he loves hearing just how desperate you become for him and him alone. Jack will lift his head and ask you cheeky questions. Ask if you’re enjoying it. If it feels good. How bad you need it and he won’t go back to fucking you with his tongue until you answer him.

Marcus Pike

Sweet Marcus is gentle and sweet when be eats your pussy. He is 100% a man to get pleasure from eating you out. He moans loud and grinds down on the bed until you’re both coming. Marcus has come in his pants while going down on you before and probably will again. He is eager and ready to drop to his knees if you ask. I also think he likes to hold your hands as he does it. Half to hold you down but also because he wants to feel as much of you as he can. He doesn’t do much teasing, preferring to get right to the main course. He’ll give you anything you ask for tbh.

Marcus Moreno

Mr Moreno is a giver 100%. If you ask he’d drop everything and indulge in your pussy. Marcus is a busy man though and raising Missy doesn’t always leave much alone time for the two of you which is why he feels the need to make it up to you when you do have time alone. At first you thought he did it only because he felt bad but he reassured you he did it because he wants to. He wants you to know how much he loves you and cares for you by taking care of you in the best way he can think of. There are also times where he needs to forget about the stress of being a superhero. Try as he might he can’t save everyone and it takes a toll. In the morning you’ll talk to him about it but in the moment he doesn’t need to talk he needs to feel you. So he spreads your legs and loses himself.

Max Phillips

Max is not afraid to declare to the world how much he wants to devour your pussy. Look he’s an asshole at work and he does have that feat boy energy sometimes but he is not the kind of man to think its gross or weird to go down on his partner. In fact he finds it incredibly childish to hear that some people refuse to do it. Your pussy deserves to be eaten at least once a day he has so bravely volunteered to be the one to do it. His words. He is a tease though. He’s also cocky as fuck but he has the skills to back it up. He is completely unashamed and pretty vulgar about it too. Max would have you not wear underwear if he could. Just bare for him so whenever he wants to he could just bend you over and have a little taste. A snack if you will. He’d also whisper dirty things at work just to make you horny. Don’t even get me started on when you get your period. He’s a menace but a menace with a talented mouth.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #max phillips #max phillips x reader

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mountainsandmayhem · 4 days

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Netflix & Chill

Marcus Pike x Female Reader

18+, MDNI

Summary: You spend your fifth date with Marcus at his place watching Netflix.

You might be in your thirties, but you can still Netflix and Chill.

Warnings: fluffy smut. Kissing. Little bit of dirty talk. Fully clothed. Marcus just being the love of my life the entire time.

AN: Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. I am too busy having my brain absolutely disintegrated by thoughts of Agent Pike. I am sick over him. Down bad. Wanting to rip off my arms and beat myself senseless with them over him. Leave me alone!! But also leave me nice comments because I’m a slut with a praise kink lol. Thank you so much for reading 🤎

Graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

Moodboard by me

“Oh god,” you whimper, both of you are fully dressed. You’re caged under his strong body as he pushes his hips down on you. You can feel his cock through his grey sweats and your thin, black yoga pants. The credits of whatever movie you were watching rolled in the background.

“Is this ok?” He asks, kissing at your neck and earlobe. The soft, fuzzy brown blanket falls around both of you, encasing you in his earthy and citrus scent.

“Ya, please don’t stop.” You writhe under him, feeling that familiar tingly pressure building. He smiles into the crook of your neck.

It was your fifth date with Marcus Pike, FBI agent and potential man of your dreams. In his younger years, he probably would have already slept with you by now. But age has made him a man of patience and waiting. Only giving what he’s willing to let go of, what he can nurture and grow. And for the first time in a long time, he thinks that might be you.

“I won’t stop, baby.”

Baby, shit. He panics internally. He’s only called you by your name until now. He nervously looks over at you and you smile sleepily.

“I like that,” you mumble.

“Which part?” He asks his voice like warm oil along your skin. “Me grinding into what I’m sure is the most beautiful pussy in the world, or the kisses on your soft, slender, vanilla scented neck, or me calling you baby?”

Your legs start to shake around him as you pull him in to kiss him hard. You sweep your tongue along his bottom lip. He tastes like the popcorn and expensive Cabernet Sauvignon you were both drinking.

“All of it,” you say between kisses.

He pulls away, bringing his hands to your face and gently wiping the few loose hairs that stick to your skin, then drags the tip of his nose down yours before resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re truly so beautiful. I’m so happy I met you, baby.” He pushes his hips into you harder and a pornographic moan fills the room as the trailer for whatever Netflix is suggesting next plays. “Sound so pretty too.”

“Marcus,” you say wantonly.

“I know. I’m here.” He says, eyes still locked on yours, one thumb making sweet, soft circles on your cheek while his other slips behind your head.

Your hands bunch into his white t-shirt. “I’m gonna cum,” you moan, letting his coca-cola coloured eyes wash over you, and drench your whole body in carbonated pleasure. Sparkling, bubbling, fizzing over the edge.

“I’m right here, honey.” He whispers, pushing into you a little faster. Your body jolts into his as you suck in quick, shallow breaths.

“Ohgodohgod. Mar-Marcus,” your walls clench tightly around nothing as he hits at your puffy, sensitive clit through your pants at the perfect tempo and pressure.

“Relax, baby. I got you.” He encourages and then you fall apart for him. Your body twitches on its own accord as your orgasm rolls through you for what feels like an eternity.

“That’s it,” he whispers, stilling his hips. “Just take. That’s a good girl.”

You clamp your eyes shut as you reach the top of it. “No, look at me, baby. You’re so beautiful like this.”

Pink flushes your cheeks at his words and the blood that seems to not know where to go in your body. Everything feels like it’s being doused with warm water as you finally come over the edge and the fluttering of your pussy slows.

His eyes dance around your face before he kisses your forehead, and the tip of your nose. You smile into his lips as he places a light and lingering kiss on yours.

“Are you okay?” He says sweetly, pulling back slightly.

“Ya, that’s was…” you search his face for any hint of regret but all you see is admiration. You finish with, “…unexpected, but amazing.”

As he starts to respond, a whipping sound followed by a moan comes from the TV. Both of your heads turn towards it.

“Netflix is suggesting 50 Shades of Grey,” he laughs.

“That’s more of a seventh date thing for me,” you say flatly as his face whips back to you. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction. Both of you now laughing as you sort yourself back out, cuddling into him to find a new movie to “watch” next.

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @keylimebeag @pimosworld

@casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @jessthebaker

@jasminedragoon @pedroswife69 @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @pedroshotwifey

@mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @untamedheart81

Special tag for @survivingandenduring because I know you share my love of this man.

#pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal characters #pedro stories #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #the mentalist #marcus pike smut #netflix and chill

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pedroscurls · 2 months

Text

second chances | pt. 1

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

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

Marcus was never going to be the one Lisbon chose.

And he should have known better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marcus never wanted to let her go.

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

“Um–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eager, he thinks to himself. And independent.

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

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

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

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

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

“From where?”

“Texas, you?”

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

Marcus chuckles. “Cheers to that.”

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

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

“It was five minutes, that was enough.”

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

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

“So, uh, I should get going and–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you again, Marcus.”

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

—

next.

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

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psychedelic-ink · 2 months

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐕𝐑𝐄

ㅤㅤmarcus pike x art historian!reader

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

word count: 6k

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

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

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

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

Another day, another handsome detective at your doorstep.

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

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

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

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

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

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Good to see that someone appreciates it.”

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

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

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

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

“Which one is he buying?”

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

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

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

“It is. It’s one of my favorites.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Keep me posted," Marcus replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Isn't that—"

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

So much for not getting you involved.

“Captain, you can’t be serious.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

To share his home.

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

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

“Feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you, Marcus.”

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

That’s right. Friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax?”

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

“Let me make you feel good, Marcus.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cut him off, “N–No. . .”

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

“Marcus—”

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

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

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

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

“It’s done.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you know that is something that will never change.

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