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thesmutbasement · 3 years ago

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That’s what I love!! She sees him, and he’s flabbergasted when she tells him that she’s all in!! I loved it!!! The whole series as a set is just the best love story ever. 😍

Punishment

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader (From the Control 'verse)

Rating: E (SMUT, 18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: slightly dark!Marcus, controlling!Marcus, BDSM relationship, HEAVY D/s dynamics, total power exchange relationship, spanking, edging, orgasm denial, squirting, Marcus ‘King of Aftercare’ Pike. IMPLIED CONSENT for TPE BDSM dynamics. THIS COUPLE HAS A SAFEWORD, even if it is not explicitly stated in this part.

Summary: Marcus smirks–a dangerous, menacing thing. “I hope that was worth it, sweetheart,” he says softly.

A/N: This is a prompt from @absurdthirst : "[Imagine] that Marcus has been out of town on a case for weeks and his little doll is needy and sends him a video of doing exactly what he told her not to do, touch herself." Keri, this prompt obviously GOT to me, because I wrote 5k words of this almost nonstop. ALSO: This series is now on AO3! I mass-uploaded the first 4 parts yesterday :) If you want to read it there, the link to my AO3 is on my masterlist! Gif is from Graceland, as always <3 Thank you to @just-here-for-the-moment who assured me that this was not obscenely over-the-top, my eternal struggle with TPE!Marcus because HE is just obscenely over-the-top.

Main Masterlist | Control (first part)

You check your appearance in your phone camera once more as it starts to ring, dialing Marcus’s number for your nightly call with him. You'd put on one of his favorite outfits and arranged your hair just so, wanting to cheer him up a little, give him a little taste of home while he's away. God, you’ve missed him. It feels as if it’s been far longer than two weeks since he left on an overseas case. You’re starting to feel the effects–you’re pent up, sexually frustrated on top of simply missing his comforting presence in your shared apartment.. You miss his hands, the way he pleases you, oh, fuck, and his tongue–

You’re feeling exceptionally needy tonight. It’s been too long, and you’ve been his good girl for two fucking weeks–obedient, not touching yourself even once, knowing that the moment you start, you wouldn’t be able to stop until you come. You’re not sure if you can hold out much longer, especially when you talk to him nightly like this. It’s so tempting, seeing his face, looking into his eyes and knowing there’s nothing he can do to ease the ache between your legs.

You smile when his face appears on the screen.

“Hey stranger,” you greet him playfully.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Marcus teases back with a soft smile. “You look beautiful tonight, sweetheart.”

“How’s Berlin?” you ask.

He chuckles. “Barely been able to see it outside of the conference room I’m confined to for most of the day,” he answers. “Our team did go to a nice Biergarten on the Spree this evening, though. Wish you could have been there,” he says wistfully.

“I miss you,” you whisper. “I wish I was there, too.”

“Only three more days,” Marcus says with a strained smile. “Can’t wait to come back home to you.”

“It’s been so hard,” you whine. “I fucking need you.” You shift your hips slightly, rubbing your legs together to soothe the ache that’s built up over the past week, amplified by the sight of his gorgeous face.

“I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “I’m going to make up for it as soon as I get home, sweetheart, I promise. Gonna make you come over and over again until you can’t fucking speak.”

You whimper pitifully as more arousal gathers on your underwear. You’re so wet.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” you whine. “It makes it worse. I-I’m so wet and there’s nothing I can do.” Your voice is high-pitched and needy.

Marcus makes a frustrated sound of his own. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He pinches his eyes shut. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Reward you for being such a good girl for me.”

You shudder. Hearing him call you his ‘good girl’ is not helping. You drop your head back on the couch and groan in frustration. You’re going to lose it. Two weeks without Marcus, two weeks without coming, without even a fingertip touching your clit, is too much to handle. You swallow thickly. How bad could it be, to get a little temporary relief? And, at the same time, make Marcus pay for working you up even more, however unintentional?

You look back at Marcus’s face on your phone screen and bite your lip, considering.

“I don’t know if I can be a good girl tonight,” you whisper.

“You can, sweetheart,” Marcus reassures gently, with a soft smile. “It’s only three more days. I know you wanna be good for me, right? You can do it.”

“You don’t know how wet I am,” you say quietly. “Can I show you?”

Marcus groans. “That’s hardly fair.”

“I think it’s hardly fair that I have to follow this rule even when there’s an ocean between us,” you mutter petulantly.

And you lift your hips as you slowly slide your underwear down your legs. Keeping your eyes on Marcus, you spread your legs as wide as they’ll go and lift up your skirt, making sure he can see everything, especially the wet sheen that’s gathered there.

“Fuck, baby,” Marcus murmurs as he stares at your pussy with unadulterated longing.

“See?” You part your folds with your fingers, putting everything on display for him. You can see the arousal leaking from you on your own camera.

“I know it’s hard,” Marcus says softly. “I know. You need to move your hand, though. You’re getting awfully close to breaking the rules.”

“You mean like this?” You give him your best innocent stare and plunge the fingers that had been holding you open as deep into your cunt as you can get them.

Fuck, it’s a relief. You moan loudly as you do it, throwing your head back at the feel of finally being filled after two weeks of feeling empty, empty, empty.

“What the–hey!” Marcus says indignantly. “Stop that.”

You laugh. Loudly. Feeling drunk on the misplaced sense of power as you disobey him. You don’t stop, fucking yourself on your fingers. You hope he can hear the obnoxious squelch they make as they move through the obscene amount of slick.

“Make me,” you smirk. “Oh, wait…”

“You’ve had your fun,” Marcus says sternly. “It’s been a long two weeks, I understand that, so if you stop right now, I’ll let this slide.”

“Can’t–” you gasp as you grind your palm against your clit. “It’s too–fuck–it’s too good, feels so good, it’s been so long, I–fuck, Marcus.”

You hazard a glance at him. Oh, he looks wrecked. Furious, indignant, and aroused. You hate to admit–it spurs you on.

“If you make yourself come, you aren’t going to like the consequences when I get home,” Marcus growls.

“Oh, no,” you simper. “You mean like this?”

“Don’t you dare–”

Your hand speeds up, rubbing yourself frantically as you feel your hips locking into place. You force yourself to stare into the camera as you come, making Marcus see your eyes as you reach your peak. You cry out–a little more theatrically than usual, for effect–and remove your fingers so he can see your pussy clenching rhythmically on his screen.

You lean forward and suck the arousal off of your fingers as Marcus continues to look on with fire in his eyes.

Your defiance seems to deflate suddenly–in the aftermath, you start to question exactly what the fuck you just did, and whether it was worth it. You bite your lips together and give Marcus a chastened, slightly giddy look.

As if he’s read your mind, Marcus smirks–a dangerous, menacing thing. “I hope that was worth it, sweetheart,” he says softly.

You gulp.

—

Marcus doesn’t bring up your transgression again. Your nightly calls for the remaining two evenings are pleasant and friendly, and it’s making you nervous. It’s a false sense of security, you know it. You aren’t going to get away with what you did without being punished, and having Marcus ignore the event completely is building up your anticipation, making you turn the possibilities over and over in your head as you imagine what punishment he’s going to dole out when he gets home.

Still, punishment or not, you miss Marcus terribly, and you can’t wait until you can see him.

On the day he’s meant to arrive, you dress in a new outfit that you bought just for him while he was away–a short little dress with a boned corset top that you lace as tightly as you can. It makes your curves spill out deliciously, highlighting your hips and bust.

You forego the underwear, knowing how much Marcus loves to slide his hand up your legs to find you bare beneath a short skirt.

Despite the temporary relief you gave yourself the other night, you’re still unbearably turned on, still dripping with arousal. Most of it is from the anticipation that’s been building since that night–awaiting the day that Marcus comes home and does… well, whatever it is that he’s going to do. Did a part of you disobey him intentionally, because deep down, you want his firm hand?

Probably.

He’ll be home any minute now. You take a deep, calming breath, and sink to your knees by the door. You don’t have to wait long before the door is opening, and you lay your eyes on Marcus for the first time in over two weeks. Your face breaks out into an adoring grin despite your latent nerves.

“Hi, Sir,” you greet him quietly.

Marcus strides quickly over to you and presses his palm to your cheek in a manner that could only be described as devotion. He extends his other hand and you take it, letting him pull you up to standing without ever removing his hand from your face. He uses his hold to pull you into a tender but insistent kiss, pouring all of the pent up emotion of missing you while he was gone.

“Missed you, my love,” he whispers into the kiss. “Missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whisper back.

Marcus pulls back to look you over with a fond smile. “This is new,” he remarks, taking in the cinched corset dress.

“I bought it for you, thought you’d like it,” you tell him.

His hands come to rest on your very accentuated hips. “I do,” he says lowly. “Fuck, I do.”

Your chest heaves as you catch your breath after the passionate kiss.

Marcus chuckles softly. “Looks a little hard to breathe, though. Why don’t we go get you more comfortable,” he suggests, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead and steering you into the bedroom, never removing his hands from your body.

Your eyes fall shut as Marcus moves behind you, trailing a line of kisses down your neck to your shoulder as he gently loosens the laces in the back of your dress. He lets his hands linger, dragging across your skin, feeling what he’s missed for weeks. His hands drift to your front, undoing the little clasps one by one as you lean back against his chest with a sigh.

It feels so good to be in his arms again, to feel him gently undressing you as he’s done hundreds of times before. He slowly slides the dress down and you’re left bare to him.

You whimper as his hands cup your breasts indulgently, letting his index fingers press lightly on your nipples. You let him have his fill of you, skimming his hands up and down, grabbing handfuls of your ass, caressing your stomach, gently encircling your neck. Having him touch you like this, so lovingly, so thoroughly, never fails to make you feel completely and utterly relaxed–secure, comforted, and at peace.

The hand currently resting gently around your neck squeezes, ever so slightly, as Marcus bends down to whisper in your ear, “I need you to come lay across my lap, now.”

You inhale sharply. That feeling of total relaxation is quickly replaced by arousal–both in the sexual sense, and in a more animal, feral sense of the word. Arousal, fittingly, can sometimes be synonymous with fear. Your heart is hammering as Marcus’s hands leave you and he sits calmly at the head of the bed, waiting for you to join him.

Trying to keep your breaths deep and even, you take your place in his lap, on your stomach, with your ass draped over his thighs. You shudder as his fingertips trail up the sensitive skin on the underside of your cheeks.

“Why are you being punished?” Marcus asks quietly.

You take a shaky breath in. “I made myself come without your permission. Sir.”

“Such a shame,” Marcus tuts. “If you hadn’t done that, my tongue would already be buried in this perfect. Little. Pussy.” His fingers tease your entrance, making you whimper.

“And you’re still so wet,” he teases. “Even after being such a bad girl. I guess it wasn’t worth it, was it? You’re still all worked up.” He pumps his fingers in and out of you with deep, rough strokes and you sob into the bed.

“Poor thing,” Marcus coos, “you’re gonna be like this for a while.” He fucks you with his fingers until he feels you start to tighten around him.

You let out a frustrated groan when Marcus withdraws from your cunt. Before you can catch your breath, his hand comes down hard on one of your cheeks.

Fuck. You’d forgotten how rough his spanks can be. Marcus doesn’t hold back–they aren’t little, playful slaps of his palm, they’re strong. He makes it hurt. As much as it stings, there’s still that edge of depraved pleasure you get out of this. You focus on that, on the way each slap seems to send ripples to your very core, as you grit your teeth and take it, refusing to give in to tears and give him the satisfaction of completely breaking you apart.

“Shit, I lost count,” Marcus suddenly remarks above you. “Was that eight or nine?”

“W-wha…?” you whine frantically in response.

“I can’t remember if that was eight or nine,” he repeats, and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m going to have to start over.”

A litany of curses threaten to force themselves out of your lips. Bastard. You utter shithead. You purse your lips to keep from saying anything.

“Why don’t you count for me,” Marcus teases. “So I don’t lose track.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. There’s no way you can withstand ten more without crying. You get the idea he knows that you’re trying to resist, trying to hold back, and this is your recompense, his reminder that he holds the reins.

You obey him, dutifully counting each forceful slap. The tears finally come when you get to ‘five.’ You sob out the remaining numbers, crying in earnest when he gets to ten–with relief, with pain, humiliation, vulnerability, adrenaline… it’s all too much, and you can’t help but break down.

Marcus soothes you through it, gently rubbing your back and talking to you in soft tones.

“I know, I know. Shh, it’s all done. You did so well, sweetheart. That was a lot, wasn’t it?” he murmurs quietly.

“Yes, Sir,” you mumble tearfully, muffled by the bed.

“Just lay here and relax,” Marcus says. “Take a few deep breaths.”

His fingers gently caress your burning cheeks, making them tingle. His touch seems to cool the angry skin as you take a few shuddering breaths, feeling yourself come back down again.

“When you feel up to it, why don’t you come lay on the pillows,” Marcus suggests tenderly. You take a few more moments to breathe, letting the tears stop completely before obeying and sliding off of his lap and turning to lay beside him.

Marcus slides down the pillows and folds you into his arms, enclosing you completely, caging you into his chest. You bury your face there, breathing him in, still trembling slightly but quickly being calmed simply by being surrounded by him.

You could spend an eternity like this, but after a few moments, Marcus pulls back to look at you with a soft smile. “All good?” he asks, his eyebrows upturned and two cute little creases on the bridge of his nose.

You smile back and nod. “Perfect, Sir,” you assure him softly.

Something in your words, or perhaps your blissful expression, makes Marcus suddenly surge forward and capture your lips with his. You let out a pleased squeal as he cradles your jaw and deepens the kiss, delicately sliding his tongue into your mouth. It’s passionate, it’s playful, it’s loving, and suddenly the fact that you haven’t had this for over two weeks catches up to you and you let out another little sob as you clutch at him fiercely.

You need him. So fucking badly.

Your hands battle with Marcus’s as you both work to divest him of his clothes. You think a button might have accidentally been ripped in your haste to get him naked, to feel his skin against yours, to feel his thick cock filling you after what feels like an eternity without him. Your hands grasp at him hungrily, sliding up his bare chest, grabbing the meat of his broad shoulders, fingertips digging into the back of his neck, your other hand sliding down to pull his hips against you as he shifts his weight to cover you on the bed.

You’re soaked, and Marcus’s cock meets no resistance whatsoever as he lines himself up and thrusts into you. You cry out at the abruptness, the rapid intrusion taking you by surprise. Both of you are impatient–he can’t find it in him to let you slowly adjust to him and you’re glad. You’re desperate. You want him to fuck you hard and fast, to take you, make you his again.

You don’t have to tell him–he knows instinctively that you want–need–it to be rough, messy, desperate, and frenetic. He surges into you over and over, slamming his hips into yours and you both groan at every apex. His lips meet yours messily, both of you trying to devour each other, to drink your fill after a long absence.

It feels incredible, but you need a little bit of pressure on your clit to come, so you unconsciously bring a hand down to rub at it and send you over the edge.

Marcus’s grip is bruising as he yanks your arm back up and pins both your wrists above your head with one large hand. His jaw is clenched as he fixes you with a stern look and continues aggressively snapping his hips into yours, and all you can do is gasp and pant and take it until his hips stutter and he comes with a groan.

Wait… what?

“Hey!” you cry indignantly.

“Only good girls get to come,” Marcus says softly. “You thought getting spanked was your only punishment?”

You gape at him, irritated and aghast.

“I know you secretly like it when I spank you,” he teases. “That’s hardly a deterrent by itself.”

The angry line of your lips threatens to waver with a little laugh in spite of yourself, because he’s right, of course–you do love it, you love that mixture of pain and pleasure, and you even love that feeling of release and adrenaline that you get if he manages to get you to break down in tears–which, obviously, he did tonight.

“I told you, you weren’t going to like the consequences,” Marcus reminds you. “It would have been far easier to wait those three little days before I got home, hmm? I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

“W-what do you mean?” you whine.

Marcus finally slips out of you, his fingers sliding through his mess and yours and rubbing it into your clit. “Gonna keep you just on the edge until you’re begging for it,” he murmurs into your mouth as he touches you. “Don’t think about trying to break the rules again,” he warns, rubbing faster and faster and faster and your spine arches and–and he pulls his hand away.

“I’ll know if you do.”

—

The bastard. The first full day that he’s back, you wait for him after work in a pretty floral sundress–and only the sundress. No underwear had been laid out, making you roll your eyes. He was right–he was not going to make this an easy punishment. You try and fail to keep the petulance off of your face as he smiles at you and gently caresses your cheek after he walks in.

“Don’t you look pretty, today,” he says with a soft smile, as he leans down to grasp your hands and pull you up into a hug. One of his hands comes underneath your skirt, caressing your thigh and moving up, knowing he’ll find you bare underneath.

His fingers slide through your folds, feeling the obscene amount of arousal that’s gathered there.

“Poor thing,” he tuts condescendingly. “You’re going to be a puddle by the time your punishment is over, aren’t you?”

He brings his hand to your lips and raises one eyebrow, and you dutifully suck yourself off of his fingers, giving him a glare as you do so.

Marcus keeps you in a constant state of arousal. When you watch a little mindless TV before bed, he teases one of your nipples through your dress with a fingertip–pressing down, softly rubbing back and forth in a barely-there caress, then gently rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you clench around nothing with a gasp.

In the morning, Marcus joins you in the shower and delicately laps at your clit, purposefully not giving you enough pressure or stimulation, until you let out a feral little growl between clenched teeth.

That evening, you stare daggers at him as he enters, which he returns with a smirk, before checking to see if you’re still dripping for him (you are). Later that night, he fucks your face, making you take his cock deep, as he murmurs to you in a raspy, pleasure-soaked voice, telling you exactly what he would be doing to you right now if only you had behaved.

“You’ve never been fucked in both places at once,” he remarks above you, as if he’s discussing the weather while you choke on his length. “If you were my good girl, I’d buy a toy and fuck you with it while I was buried in your ass. Would you like that?”

You let out some sort of sound in-between a sob and a groan, muffled by his girth.

On the third day, it feels like all the fight has been taken out of you. You kneel, docile, by the door in the sheer lavender skirt that he likes with no underwear, as usual. It feels like you’re dripping onto the floor. Hell, you might be. That morning he had fucked you again–gently, tenderly, as if he was making the sweetest love to you–and then he had pulled out just when your hips had started to lock in place and he came all over your tits instead, and all you could do was whimper.

You stare up at Marcus with wide, vulnerable eyes when he enters the apartment. He pauses, apparently considering you–no longer glaring, not petulant, just waiting for him patiently and subdued, your hands folded demurely in your lap.

He runs the backs of his fingers down your cheekbone to your jaw as he kneels down in front of you.

“Look at you,” Marcus murmurs. “My sweet little doll, just waiting for me to tell you what to do, hmm?”

You whimper as his other hand travels possessively up your thigh and his fingers graze your aching, wet cunt.

“How many days was it before I got home that you broke the rules?” he asks softly, running his fingertips back and forth, collecting your slick.

It feels so good, even though you have no idea if he’ll let you come tonight, it just feels so good to have him touch you, so much that you’ll beg for it even if he won’t finish the job. You’ll take anything Marcus gives you, anything at all. You let out a little, pathetic sob.

Marcus brushes his lips across your cheekbone and says softly, “I asked you a question, sweetheart. How many days was it?”

You swallow. “Three, Sir,” you say in a small voice.

You can feel his smile against your temple. “And how many days has it been since I’ve been home?” he asks.

“T-three?” you answer tentatively.

“That’s right,” he says gently. “Arms around my neck, sweetheart.”

You comply automatically, and Marcus lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed. You stare up at him, bottom lip trembling, not daring to hope that this means your punishment is over. It could be another tease, after all.

Marcus gently removes your clothes without speaking, that same soft, gentle smile on his face. He crawls up your body, pressing a kiss to your navel and then trailing his lips up, up, up to your neck, to whisper in your ear.

“Wanna know a secret?” he asks, the smile still audible in his voice.

You’re barely capable of speech, but you want so badly to obey that you whimper out a soft Yes, Sir.

“You’re always my good girl, sweetheart. Always.”

And with that, Marcus moves back down your body and buries two thick fingers in your cunt as he swirls his tongue around your clit.

You cry out, a desperate, broken sound. You’ve been edged viciously for three fucking days, not to mention the last two weeks preceding with only one fairly disappointing orgasm by your own hand, and Marcus is enthusiastically lapping at you and fucking you with his fingers, rubbing right against the little spongy spot that you can never quite reach by yourself and he fucks and fucks and fucks and he’s… he’s not stopping. Is it–is he really not going to stop? Heat rises from your spine all the way up to the top of your head and your whole body starts to prepare for something, even though part of you is still convinced that this is a tease, it has to be, it’s a tease and it’s going to break you when he stops, but your hips are locking into place and Marcus must feel you starting to clench, drawing up impossibly tight as he holds you right on the precipice–an eternity stretched inside a few seconds–before you crash.

You scream as you come. You’ve been loud before, but you’ve never outright screamed. You’re hardly aware of it, anyway–all you can do is ride it out, bucking your hips and squeezing your eyes so tight that a few tears leak out. Marcus’s fingers continue to fuck you through it, rubbing faster and faster on that one little spot until you clench so hard that you push his fingers completely out of your cunt and–

Oh, that wasn’t the only thing pushing him out. You watch as a huge gush of liquid splashes out of you and onto the bed. Marcus’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t quite expecting it, but he surges forward to bury his mouth in your pussy again as you just keep coming.

He groans loudly as you spill into his mouth. You’re still pulsing, shaking with aftershocks and there’s still a little trickle of liquid leaking out of you with each little clench. Finally, when you stop trembling, Marcus lifts his head and looks up at you with wonderment. You stare back, mouth open, still absolutely shocked at the fact that he let you come in the first place, at how much you just came, and at the fact that Marcus’s reaction was to fucking drink it down.

Marcus is blinking as if he’s just waking up from the best dream he’s ever had.

“That… that was a lot,” he remarks with a breathless laugh.

“Fuck,” you whisper, spent, letting your head fall back dramatically on the bed.

Marcus crawls up the bed and hovers over you, one hand lovingly brushing your hair back from your forehead, the other sliding under your body to hold the back of your neck gently.

“I’ve never seen you squirt that much before,” he teases, smiling wider.

“Please, sir,” you breathe. “Please.”

You slump boneless as Marcus removes his clothes and covers you with his body again, kissing you deeply as he slowly slides his cock into you. He stays close for a while, lips brushing against yours as he takes you with deep, powerful strokes. You wrap your arms around him and hold on–barely able to move, a pliable, moldable puddle of goo on the bed.

He murmurs praises into your mouth, little sweet nothings mixed with dirty talk– I love you and I can still taste you and my perfect girl and do that for me again, sweetheart.

Marcus sits back on his heels and puts your legs over his shoulders, fucking right into the same little spot that made you gush for him before. He snaps his hips into you over and over as he rubs tight little circles on your clit the way he knows will get you off quickly.

“Come on, baby, do it again,” he murmurs, “Fucking soak me, you’ve earned this, sweetheart–you did so well, taking your punishment–my good fucking girl, come all over me again.”

You cry out as you buck against him again, and Marcus fucks you through it, his grip on your hip turning bruising as he works to hold you in place as you fall apart. He moans as another stream of come squirts out of you, and his expression is proud–smug, even, as he rubs his fingers through it.

“Fuck, yes,” Marcus groans, and he’s smiling at you like you just hung the stars. You can’t look away from him–his smile is brilliant, it always has been, and it fills you with such warmth when he grins so widely, with love and pride and affection and joy dancing in his eyes.

He’s still smiling when he cums, burying himself deep inside you and holding there for a while as he peppers gentle kisses all over your face, calling you his perfect, sweet girl.

Marcus is generous with his care, afterwards–of course he is. The two of you soak in the bathtub, you laying back against his chest as he gently washes you, his lips never seeming to leave your temple as he runs the soapy cloth over every inch of your skin. You feel utterly and completely relaxed, your eyes closed, as you surrender everything to him.

He indulges you again in the bath–his hand sliding through your folds first under the guise of washing you, then simply to bring you to another, softer peak. It’s gentle, rolling, like the smallest ripples from a leaf falling in a still pond.

You let Marcus dry you with a towel, giggling as he drops to his knees and presses a chaste kiss to your mound as he moves the towel up and down your legs. He pulls one of his shirts over your head and you breathe in his scent from the soft cotton, loving the way it feels on your skin. He kisses a path up each thigh as he pulls a pair of sleep shorts up over your hips and looks up at you with another reverent smile.

Marcus orders a pizza and you eat it indulgently on the couch in front of a movie, wrapped up in a blanket and in each other. This feels like his homecoming–it feels like an exhale, like the two of you had both been waiting for this night.

You glance over at Marcus–watching the movie with a small smile on his face, looking as if life was just too good not to smile about it–and you're hit with an overwhelming wave of affection and love for this man.

You slip off of the couch and Marcus shoots you a confused look, until you kneel between his legs and lay your head on his thigh, wanting that sense of comfort you get out of this position, that sense of peace, of surrender, knowing that Marcus will always take care of you and give you what you need.

You look up at him adoringly, and Marcus gazes back down at you as if he knows exactly what you're trying to communicate.

"Everything okay?" he asks you softly.

"Just love you," you murmur with a small smile.

Marcus’s answering smile could light up the darkest room. He brings his hand to your cheek and caresses it gently as he answers, “I love you too, my good girl.”

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