#im so sorry i've done you dirty plath

[jessie-writes-things]

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

I could have done so much better things with this poem. Maybe I'll try again at a later date. Anyway, this was meant to be a quick 30 minute thing. An hour and 1k-ish words later, here we are! I can't be bothered to edit it though, so sorry about that. 😅

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Neutral Reader

Words: 1k

Genre: fluff? angst?

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol / being drunk. A breakup on Marcus's end.

Summary: Your neighbour gets drunk after a breakup and you help him out.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

- Mad Girl’s Love Song, Sylvia Plath

***

There were very few things you knew about Marcus pike. You knew he worked for the FBI, something in art, and you knew he left for work every morning at 6am on the dot without fail.

Except for the night…day he came home at 6am.

And you might not have noticed if you hadn’t forgotten to put your trash out on the curb the night before, dragging your ass out at the crack of dawn so you wouldn’t get another warning.

You had almost screamed when you first saw him. Marcus sat slumped against his door across from yours, disheveled suit staring up at you with a drunken smile.

‘You alright there?’

‘Yep.’

‘Need help?’

‘Nope.’

Marcus was still there when you came back, granted slightly slumped to the side, cheeks tinted red when he caught sight of you again, ‘Well, this is embarrassing.’

He giggled and hiccuped the entire trip to his bed. Face first into the plush duvet, Marcus groaned dramatically before nothing. He just laid there for a long moment and you watched but waiting became too painful.

You weren’t too sure being that drunk and on his stomach was the best idea. It wasn’t until you flipped him onto his back that you noticed the tears.

‘She left me.’

You weren’t too sure who she was, but she appeared to be important to him.

You crouched to take off his fancy work shoes so he wouldn’t ruin them by trying to kick them off, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘She wasn’t.’ He watched you slip off his shoes, setting them to the side of the bed, enough sadness in his eyes to last a lifetime.

Normally, you wouldn’t be this forward with a guy you barely knew. Maybe it was how he looked so downtrodden like all hope had been wrenched out of him. Or maybe it was how oddly handsome he looked, tipsy and half asleep with the last remnants of moonlight peaking in through his curtains to highlight his face.

Maybe you were just lonely and desperate.

Either way, you found yourself smiling up at him, holding onto his hands to steady him as he sat up, ‘You’re a good-looking guy, I’m sure you’ll find someone else.’

And that goofy smile that spread across his face was enough to have your heart, his fingers brushing over the back of your hands, ‘You’re very good-looking, too.’

The silence between two virtual strangers should not be so comfortable, and, yet, you found yourself drawn to him.

For a moment, you let him tug you closer to stand between his parted legs. You stumbled slightly, catching yourself before you knocked him over, both of you giggling like young loves meeting for the first time.

And while nothing more happened than Marcus’s hands in yours, his head resting against your stomach. He traced nonsensical patterns along your skin, a touch so light you weren’t sure it was even there.

You wanted there to be more. You wanted to kiss him so badly, wondering what his lips would taste like, if he had been drinking wine or beer or whisky to drown his sorrows. Wondered if he would be bad or good, he looked like he would be a good kisser, gentle and soft but with enough bite that it wouldn't be boring.

You wondered what it would be like to wake up next to him, surrounded by soft sheets and his warm body because Christ he was warm enough just sitting in front of you. How would he look with golden rays of sun falling on his face? His hair messy from sleep and that damn beautiful smile that had snuck its way into your soul, haunting you every time you closed your eyes.

But you were smarter. It couldn’t happen like this. You wouldn’t let it happen like this. Not while he was drunk.

Pulling yourself away from him was the hardest part. Each inch felt like another part of your being was ripping in two, and the subtle way he tried to cling on hinted it wasn’t so fun for him either. But you helped him drink some water and listened as he yelled instructions as to where he kept his pain meds, putting them on his bedside table so he wouldn’t have to find them when he woke up.

Marcus was asleep before you were gone.

You didn’t see him for three days. The third morning you were debating if you should knock on his door on the way to take your trash out, just to make sure he wasn’t dead.

He walked out, 6am on the dot.

‘So, to clarify,’ he fell into pace next to you as you walked down the stairs, ‘I didn’t dream the whole thing a few nights ago?’

‘Nope.’

‘And I was really that drunk?’

‘Yep.’

His eyes were wide, ‘I thought I had made up the whole thing.’

There was something about how relieved he sounded that made your heart flutter. A part of you thought maybe you had made up the whole thing, thinking the connection you had felt that night had been too good to be true and it was just him being too drunk to understand what was going on.

Marcus stopped at the entrance when you did, smiling sheepishly and your heart near damn stopped when he said, ‘Want to get some breakfast? With me? It’s the least I can do after everything.’

You eyed his suit, the same one but freshly cleaned, ‘Don’t you have work?’

It was stupid to question it. Why in God's name would you question it?

And for a second, you thought maybe you had ruined it. But then he opened the door, holding it out and he winked, fucking winked as you shimmed past him. ‘I can afford to be a bit late.’

#marcus pike #marcus pike fluff #(is this fluff?) #pedro pascal #jessie writes #im so sorry i've done you dirty plath