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thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

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wreck my plans - chapter four

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 5,438

Notes: Beta-read by my dearest @ezrasbirdie 💜 This chapter had to be split up a little bit. The last 1/3 of this chapter is being inserted into the beginning of the next chapter because of how long this chapter is already. Keep your eyes out for that sometime soon

Comments/reblogs appreciated

Chapter warnings: Unresolved sexual tension, lots of kissing/making out, swearing, some awkwardness

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OCTOBER/NOVEMBER

Much as Marcus wants to talk to you – and he absolutely wants to talk, among other things, with you – he is absolutely swamped with work for the next day and a half. Not to mention the sticky subject of meeting your ex-husband.

He’d had to do some digging into the school’s hiring records – officially off the books – and it was in fact your ex-husband Kevin that he had met two days ago. The most curious thing about his hiring is the date of application and hiring. Kevin Hanson had been hired as a night shift custodian in August of this year. About a week or so before the art had gone missing.

“Shit,” Marcus had mumbled when he made the discovery. How in the fuck was he supposed to keep that information from you on top of his true identity? He doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to hide things like this from you. It’s only been a short amount of time, but he likes you. Maybe even more than likes you. This had never been part of the plan, and here he was, contemplating on wrecking everything that he and the rest of the art squad had meticulously planned for this case.

He doesn’t even know if you know that your ex-husband is here. Based on the way that you talked about him last night, he would assume not.

With a sigh, Marcus slides his glasses down his nose slightly to pinch between his eyes in exhaustion before he examines the security camera footage from the night of August 24 – the night of the break-in and robbery – for an umpteenth time, hoping that this will be the time that his eyes catch something previously missed.

The suspect, still anonymous, is shrouded by a raised sweater hood. Marcus and the rest of the squad are ninety-nine percent certain the suspect is male based on height and build. Marcus fast-forwards the late afternoon and early evening portion of the footage, stopping at 7:24pm. He was still waiting for Melody at the bistro at that point in the evening. That was the night he “officially” met you for the first time. Though, with how many times you’ve already almost crossed paths, he wonders if you’ve met before briefly. He pangs with something, something familiar and achingly sweet at the thought of you. He’d been so worried that you wouldn’t like the fact that you’re a muse for him. But if your reaction was anything to go by, Marcus supposes that you’re not too angry with him.

Slowing down the footage at 7:24pm, he slows the footage to a quarter speed. He’s not expecting anything different, but something’s itching at his brain to take another look. Has been since last night when he met Kevin.

There was something off about your ex-husband. Marcus’s hackles had instantly been raised, even before he figured out who Kevin was. Just the way he was acting shifty and asking too many questions.

When the suspect enters the student gallery, he slows it even further to an eighth speed, the slowest the footage can go on his computer and takes a sip of his coffee. It’s shitty FBI coffee maker coffee. Sludge, more like. And Marcus pines for your expertly made coffee. Pines for you, more like. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but his lips still tingle from your kiss. Much as he wanted to keep going, Marcus was also glad for his boss’s phone call. He wants whatever this is with you, but it has to be with full knowledge on your part. Rationally, he knows that there are worse secrets to keep, but every time he thinks about you, every time he touches you, he thinks that this relationship is being born out of a partial lie of omission.

You see Marcus though. For who he truly is. And what you see doesn’t frighten you. At least, not to Marcus’s knowledge. You’ve been hurt before and he doesn’t want to be responsible for your hurt if he can avoid it.

Before he knows it, Marcus has realized that he’s decided that he’s going to tell you the truth. He doesn’t care that you’re a civilian and that telling you could wreck both your plans, whatever those plans are now. You deserve to know the truth about who he really is and why he’s at the university.

His eyes nearly glaze over at the slow speed of the video, but something catches his eye that had been hitherto unnoticed. Right as the suspect is entering the frame, he can see the suspect’s face as he’s lifting the hood of his sweater up to conceal himself. It’s slightly blurry, but there he is in black and white. Marcus nearly chokes on his coffee for another reason than it being sludgy dishwater. Because the face of Kevin Hanson is staring back at him.

“Well, fuck,” Marcus mutters to himself before picking up his office phone and dialing Stevenson’s extension.

How is he going to explain that to you?

- - - -

Your text of we need to talk remains unanswered all of Thursday night and into Friday. You weren’t sure who was calling him last night, but it sounded important.

As soon as you came home, still in a daze from all that had happened, you practically word-vomited every detail to Charlotte, who was doing the finishing touches on a sculpture. Her paintbrush remained poised a few centimeters away from her project as you told her in detail what had happened.

“He draws you?” she demanded. “That’s so romantic. He’s totally into you.”

You had figured that one out pretty quickly based on his response to you kissing him. “I just don’t know, C. Like, no one’s ever done that. Or anything similar.”

“It seems like he wants to see a lot more of you,” your sister had replied. “But you need to be sure that you’re on the same page. This professor seems like he’s good for you in my opinion. But you need to know what he’s good for. Is this serious? Casual fling? Just scratching an itch?”

Charlotte, for being nine years younger than you, has more wisdom than anyone else you know sometimes.

“I really like him, Charlie,” you’d admitted, feeling like you’re back in high school. “More than I’ve ever liked anybody maybe. And that scares me a little bit. Seeing the way he draws me…” You blinked. “No one’s ever seen me that way before.”

“I know, babe. But it’s not me you need to tell.” She swiped her brush over her pottery sculpture one last time before looking at it appraisingly. “What do you think?” she asked you.

“It looks amazing. But everything you do looks amazing.”

Charlotte had frowned at this. “Not those bangs I had in senior year. Those didn’t look amazing.”

You started to help her clean up, shooting a we need to talk to Marcus.

Now, thirty-six hours later, he still hasn’t replied.

“It probably doesn’t mean anything,” Charlotte reassures you when she sees you check your phone for the tenth time in less than an hour. “Guys are usually notorious at texting back. Also, all those portfolios he has to give midterm grades to? Maybe he’s getting a jump start on them and is in the zone.”

That is true, you have to admit. You recall seeing all fifty students piling them on his desk at the end of the class as you had stepped back out from the partition, re-dressed.

“Or,” she says with a wag of her eyebrow, “he’s drawing you again.” And you snort. “Don’t stress yourself out. He’ll reply. He always has before.”

You sigh and return your attention to the movie that she’s talked you into watching. It’s dumb, but it’s not meant to be high cinema; it makes you laugh. The actor with the weird accent looks a little bit like Marcus.

“We’re still on for brunch tomorrow, right?” you ask as the credits roll.

“You know it. It’s going to be so much fun. I’m excited for you to properly meet the girlies. And no boys allowed,” Charlotte reminds you. “Not even talking about boys.”

You can get on board with that. The idea of talking about boys with people who are much younger than you seems a bit weird to you all things considered. But Emma’s sister Kate is tagging along, too and she’s closer in age to you than she is to the others.

“I do have one question,” you say, gesturing to the screen.

“What is it?”

“Did he ever find out how the cliff beasts could fly if they have no feathers?” you ask, imitating the accent from the movie and you and Charlotte dissolve into a fit of giggles.

Saturday morning dawns bright and chilly for mid-October. Autumn has well and truly settled into Washington, D.C. As the group of you settle in at the table, you find yourself seated between Tessa and Kate.

You instantly warm to Kate. The two of you have a lot in common. She’s kind and funny and sharp as a whip and you can see yourself being good friends with her. And as it turns out, the mimosas are bottomless.

It doesn’t take you long to realize you’re having fun. You don’t remember the last time you had fun with a group of friends. Since there’s a no boys allowed rule, no one asks about Marcus. Except for Kate in an undertone while Charlotte is regaling the rest of the table with a story of one of her professors. “Emma told me about you and Professor Dameron,” she murmurs with a look of approval.

You fluster, but before you can say anything, Charlotte turns to you and says, “No boys allowed!”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a group of men entering the restaurant just as the server puts down the stack of pancakes you ordered in front of you. There’s three of them in the group, and one of them, looking exhausted but beautiful as always, is Marcus.

Kate follows your gaze and mouths “is that him?” and you nod. She gives you a thumbs up. Marcus’s eyes meet yours and you hold gazes for a long moment until his group sits down. He’s wearing a leather jacket, a white t-shirt and his glasses. His hair is mussed and his beard is more defined than it usually is. And it is absolutely fucking devastating.

“Down, girl. Remember what your sister said,” Kate murmurs. You take a bite of your pancakes and nearly die with how good they are, sparing another glance Marcus’s way.

- - - -

“If you stare at her any harder, you’re going to drill a hole in her, hermano,” Pope chides Marcus.

Marcus takes a bite of his own pancakes. “I just… don’t know how to tell her.”

Pope chuckles. “You’re worse than Catfish was with his lady. And it was like pulling teeth with him, too.”

Across from them, homicide agent Booth agrees. “Just rip the bandaid off and tell her whatever it is that you want to tell her.”

If only it were that easy. “How’re the kids?” Marcus asks, trying to change the subject.

“Just fine, stop deflecting.”

Pope chimes in, “Still can’t believe you’re using my cousin’s last name as your undercover name.” He chuckles.

Marcus waves the two of them off, taking a bite of his own pancakes before glancing over at your table. You’re laughing at something that Tessa is saying before your gaze meets his again. “Damn,” Pope mutters, “should we leave the two of you alone? Maybe get the two of you a room?” Booth chuckles.

“I am going to tell her who I really am,” Marcus says. “It’s just a matter of timing. And also there’s the whole thing about her ex-husband being a prime suspect.”

Mercifully, his friends drop the subject and move onto other discussion topics. He glances over at you again. You stand, excusing yourself to the restroom. Neither Pope nor Booth notice. “I’m just gonna…” Marcus jerks his thumb over his shoulder and they nod.

You’re just emerging from the ladies room as he arrives in the washroom area. “Hi,” you say, almost breathlessly when you see him.

“Hi,” he replies, feeling like a jerk that he didn’t reply to your text. All of his coherent thoughts go out the window at the sight of you. You’re wearing a thick sweater dress, a hint of makeup, and fuck, he’s staring.

“Did you, um, did you get my text?” you ask, feeling like a clingy high school girlfriend.

Marcus nods. “I did, I’ve just been really busy.” It’s a lame excuse, but it’s the truth. Busy with the case. Busy trying to figure out how to tell you not one, but two pieces of information. “I think we do need to talk,” he tacks on. “Just… not over text.”

It’s your turn to nod. “Probably for the best,” you agree. “And probably not here, either.” Marcus agrees and there’s a moment of almost awkward silence. After a beat, you ask, before you can change your mind, “You don’t regret… what happened on Thursday, do you?” And Christ, you sound clingy but you have to know.

“No!” Marcus is quick to assure you. “Not at all. Do you?”

You smile and it’s heartbreakingly beautiful. “No, Marcus. I don’t.”

Now that that awkward question is out of the way, it’s Marcus’s turn to broach another awkward topic. “About the sketches –” He rubs the back of his neck in that endearing, self-conscious way. “I’m assuming you’re okay with me doing that?”

Licking your lips, you nod. “Y-yeah. I just – no one’s ever done anything like that for me, seen me like that. And, um –” Your face is flaming hot with what you’re about to say. “It’s pretty hot, not going to lie.”

Marcus gulps. “Is it? I hadn’t thought about it like that.” You nod, batting your eyelashes at him. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to do some private poses?” he blurts out before he can think about it.

An eyebrow lifts. “Is that an innuendo?” you ask.

“Not if you don’t want it to be.”

You think about it. And then you nod. “I’d like that. When did you wanna do it?” you ask.

The sooner the better. “After the break maybe? I’ve got a lot of work to do over the break.” That would be early November, but then that way the two of you can talk.

“Sounds great.” And then you lean into his personal space, step up on your toes and kiss him. It’s meant to be a quick, chaste thing but as you’re pulling back, Marcus rumbles something deep in his throat and pulls you back in, tasting the sweetness of the orange juice from your mimosa on his tongue as it presses up against yours.

Like Thursday night, your hand wanders up under his jacket. His black leather jacket is worn in and fits him well. His back is warm and broad against your fingers. Kissing him is like stepping into the sun, warm and rejuvenating. He maneuvers the two of you so that you’re pressed up against the wall. His lips are just moving down your cheek when someone clears your throat from behind Marcus.

Very, very reluctantly, you pull away from each other to see who it is. It’s your sister. “What did I say?” she asks, saying your name sternly. “No boys allowed.”

“But he’s not a boy,” you protest, “he’s a man.”

Your sister isn’t having it. “It’s the principle of the matter.” But you can see she’s fighting a smile. “Sorry, Professor Dameron.”

Marcus smiles sheepishly at her. “You heard her,” you say, giving him one last peck on the cheek. “We’ll… figure things out.”

- - - -

The rest of October passes uneventfully for you. You and Marcus text off and on. As October gives way to November, you make solid plans for your private session. As it turns out, Marcus has a small home studio at his house and he’s never had anyone other than him in there. It takes you all of three seconds to agree.

It might be moving quickly with him, but you really like him, and the way things have been progressing feel right with him.

The plan is to go over on Thursday night after the class. You both have Friday off so you can do what you please. It helps that the bistro is going to be closed for a month for kitchen renovations and you don’t manage the cafe on Friday or Saturday.

Yeah, you’re definitely sleeping with him.

As much as he says he wants a one-on-one sketching opportunity with you, you weren’t born yesterday, neither was Marcus. You can both read between the lines.

With anyone else, it might seem too soon. But like you said to Charlotte when you were making your way back to the table, “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Marcus on the other hand, is having a very busy time of it during the two weeks. He busts ass getting all the portfolios graded and posting the grades online and then busts more ass gathering evidence.

Kevin is proving himself to be very slippery. As it turns out, he doesn’t have a fixed address. When he shows up at the address listed on the university’s file, a man who is very clearly not Kevin turns up at the door and claims that he’s never heard of him. It’s clearly a lie, but Marcus can’t do anything about it.

Every time he shows up to the scene of the crime, Kevin is nowhere to be found. It’s like he’s a ghost, haunting him in more than one way. He knows he needs to get a warrant for his arrest. But he can’t do that without talking to you first. If it got out that he knew without telling you first? Marcus doesn’t know what would happen.

Class resumes on November 3 and even though he’s been texting you a lot in his spare moments and finding you in quiet early morning lulls at the cafe on your mornings, making out in the supply room more than once before heading off to Dr. Ridley’s, the bureau or to campus, he’s excited to see you.

You kiss him discreetly when you meet him outside the studio. “Any luck on the case?” you ask, linking hands with him after he opens the door for you.

Marcus is half-tempted to tell you right then and there. He refrains. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you to drop that kind of bomb on you right before class. “I think so. Can you take these portfolios and put them on the desk, please?”

You take a stack of them. “Be honest, how are they?” you ask, not daring to look at any of the sketchbooks.

“Like every class, some are better than others,” Marcus offers diplomatically.

“No one could draw me like you, though,” you offer quietly as students start to filter in. You leave him with a meaningful glance before scurrying behind the partition to get undressed.

Like the last class before the break, Marcus has to field a lot of questions: the ongoing investigation, their grades, what the rest of the semester would look like. Finally, you’re able to step out.

At the beginning, you were most apprehensive for this part of the semester. But now that you’ve gotten here, it’s not that bad. Your worst complaint is the air circulation and how it’s too warm in here. Also, you want more alone time with Marcus. You tell yourself it’s only the warmth of the temperature that’s making you hot and not the knowledge of what’s happening in a few days.

Soon, you remind yourself with a grin as you step into position.

The class goes by slowly. The hot air makes you sleepy and sweaty, which is absolutely not helped by the overhead lights. When Marcus calls for break at the hour point, you grab the robe that is usually left by the university and run to the nearest vending machine for a cold water.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” says Marcus, sidling up behind you. “The air circulation is much better at my place.” You turn to glance at him. Your hair is sticking to the back of your neck. Even if the air is warm out here, you’re out from under the lights and the scrutiny.

“Counting down the hours,” you reply with another sip of water.

Marcus smiles softly at you. “I’ll talk to maintenance about changing the temp in there. I don’t know how they did it in previous years, but I think we’re all roasting in there.”

You’re about to wave it off and say it’s no big deal, but mentally you begin to count how many weeks there are left. “That would be great.”

Marcus leans over and kisses you on the crown of your head. “And in the meantime, we can more than make up for this bad air circulation at my home studio. It isn’t as spacious as it is here, but I think we can make do.”

Your skin tingles with the promise in his words, the excitement of it, so much so that you lean up and catch his lips in a quick kiss. “Yes, I think we can.”

On Thursday, the temperature is a lot more manageable.

- - - -

You tell your sister not to worry before you head out for class on Thursday. All she knows is that you’re going to be spending time with Marcus. She just rolls her eyes and grins. “I don’t need all the dirty details.” Charlotte’s glad for you. You’re finally happy, finally doing something for yourself for once.

“I’d say don’t wait up, but I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you say.

“Too much information,” Charlotte grouses. “Just… have fun. And embrace whatever comes your way. But also don’t forget: we’re painting on Saturday, so please don’t forget about that while you’re getting laid.”

“I’m not –!” But you can’t even deny that. “I will not forget,” you promise instead.

“Have fun,” Charlotte says as you step into your shoes. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

You leave an overnight bag in your car that you meticulously packed and unpacked and re-packed no fewer than four times yesterday. Although you and Marcus had discussed it, you’re still not a hundred percent sure what to expect; you know he’s going to draw you. You’re almost positive that you’re going to be taking your relationship to the next level. And you know that at some point, you’re going to talk about expectations among other things.

You and Marcus arrive at the same time, your eyes meeting as he unlocks the door to the studio. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and anticipation, as you’re sure your own eyes are doing as well. He reaches for your hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m really looking forward to tonight,” he murmurs.

“Me, too.” You lean up to meet him for a kiss, cognizant that you don’t have a lot of alone time before class starts.

The class passes slowly for a different reason than it did on Tuesday. You can’t fucking wait to get out of here. You make a valiant effort to stay still and in the poses that Marcus needs you to be in but you’re distractible today.

“I’ll see you over there,” murmurs Marcus as the class packs up two hours later. “You have the address?” he confirms.

You nod. “Yep,” you chirp. “I’ll see you over there.” You speak as though you’re going to look at paint samples or something equally mundane rather than being drawn by the man who you think stepped right out of your dreams.

You’ve never been to Marcus’s neighbourhood, not really. The outskirts, sure, but never within the confines. It’s nice. Very Marcus.

He’s just opening the front door when you pull into the driveway next to his own car. It’s a modestly sized two story house. What kind of salary must he have as an art instructor to live in a house like this?

“Come in,” he says. “Let me take your coat.”

Shrugging out of your jacket, you hand it to him. “Such a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman,” Marcus affirms, putting your coat on a hanger and hanging it up in the entry hall closet next to his own coat.

But you remember the way he had felt, pressed up against you. The way he had touched you. The hardness pressing into you whenever you make out with him. That isn’t very gentlemanly, but you aren’t complaining. It’s nice to feel wanted.

He kisses you languidly. “Hi,” you murmur against his lips, reaching up to cup his cheek before kissing him again.

“Hi yourself.”

After a few minutes you force yourselves to pull away or you’ll be in the entry hall all night. “Dinner first?” Marcus asks, “or drawing?”

Your empty stomach chooses that moment to make itself known. “Dinner.”

It’s clear that Marcus is a bit nervous, too; you wouldn’t necessarily say he’s out of his element, but it’s good to know that you’re not the only one who’s a little bit uncertain about how the progression of events will unfold tonight.

“Is take-out okay?” Marcus asks, leading you to the gorgeous kitchen.

You’ve never really had kitchen envy before now, you’re full on gaping for a full thirty seconds before you remember that Marcus asked you a question. “Uh, yeah. Take-out’s perfect.”

“You can use it,” Marcus chuckles. “For your baking, if you like.”

“Huh?”

“My kitchen. I was well aware when I bought this house that this is every culinary person’s dream kitchen. I admit, I’m a good enough cook but I can’t make food… pop like you do; it’s like an art. You have a gift, and I want to see it flourish if I can.”

Oh. “Well, thank you very much. My own kitchen at the apartment is maybe half the size of this one if I’m being very generous,” you say with a faux-grimace. “So I might have to take you up on that offer.”

Marcus kisses you again. “Please do. Very few things would make me happier.”

Oh my god, you think. He’s doing this because he wants to, not out of any sense of obligation. You cup his cheeks between your hands and kiss him. “Thank you,” you murmur.

Food ordered, Marcus pours you a tall glass of red wine, clinks his own glass against yours. “To…” He thinks. “All of our future collaborations.” Your stomach flips with anticipation, knowing full well that he means it in more than one way.

Since it’s a Thursday night, the take out takes very little time to be delivered and as you eat, you find your nerves easing. Conversation flows easily. Marcus tells you about how he’s finding the class. You talk about your sister and how you came into being a baker. It’s domestic. It’s lovely. You want this all the time.

And then it’s time for the main event. Or at least, one of them.

He takes your hands in his own. “Ready?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your intertwined fingers, leading you through the rest of the house. At the back, off the master bedroom, there’s a studio. It’s a shoebox in comparison to the one you’re used to posing in, but it’s perfect. “No one’s…” Marcus trails off.

“Hm? No one’s what?” you ask.

He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. “No one’s been in this part of the house before. Well, except me.”

You kiss his cheek. “I’m honoured to be the first, then.” You glance at the room. The lighting is soft. There’s a table with art supplies – brushes, charcoal, paints, sketchbooks – an easel propped up against the wall next to the table, a stool, and a soft-looking red couch. There is a small window that must let in natural light during daylight hours. You can only imagine what it’s like working in here in the summer.

“Where do you want me?” you ask. A loaded question if ever there was.

Marcus swallows. “Um. You can get changed and then you can lie down on the bed – on the couch,” he corrects himself.

There isn’t a privacy screen here, so you have to strip down in front of Marcus. Ever the gentleman, he keeps his eyes trained on your face even though you know he wants to look. You want him to look. You clear your throat, mentally willing him to look. You know the second his resolve breaks and looks below your neck and your skin flushes warm from his slow, almost sensual look of appraisal. He licks his lips and you nearly melt right then and there. “G-go and lie down, however you’re comfortable.”

When you’re in a comfortable position, Marcus sits down on the stool, sketchpad in one hand, propped on his knee, charcoal pencil in the other hand. “Stay still, honey,” Marcus says. “Just like that… Perfect.”

As he draws, his focus laser sharp, his tongue sticking out between his teeth in concentration, you begin to realize why this is such a sensual thing for people to do. In the class, it’s to see how people draw shapes, how they understand how lighting works. It’s almost banal. But this?

This might be one of the most erotic moments of your entire life. You’ve been on display for Marcus before, have been for weeks. In the context of the class, it’s been mostly innocent.

Mostly.

But this? You’re not sure how you’re able to stay still, how you’re able to breathe. When all you want to do is wrap yourself around him, stay with him and never leave. The tension in the room is so tightly wound, it’s only a matter of time before it snaps.

“Almost done,” you hear Marcus say moments or hours after you first lay down. Time has lost all meaning to you. Another five seconds or an hour goes by and he sets down the charcoal on the table. “Okay. I’m done.”

Your muscles thank you as you sit up on the couch, stretching your legs out in front of you with a soft groan. Marcus meticulously removes the drawing from the sketchbook, careful not to tear it, and sits down next to you on the couch.

He looks nervous as you take it from him. Almost hesitant. All the same, he draws you into him as you examine his drawing, his arm brushing against your bare shoulders as you settle your gaze on what he’s presented you with.

It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You already know this from seeing his sketches of you drawn from nothing more than memory. But this? He clearly sees you as someone to be revered, like how a goddess would be drawn should she model for someone, Aphrodite or Venus or perhaps even your favourite out of all of them, Persephone. You wipe away tears that threaten to spill over. When Marcus sees, he says your name, so nervous that you hate it. You can’t help but chuckle at the thought, the absurdity of the notion that you could possibly dislike how he’s drawn you. How could you ever hate this, when he’s made you into someone to be worshiped? When he’s all but confirmed that this is how he sees you?

“Marcus – this is… It’s beautiful,” you manage to get out, but unable to properly convey just how much this means to you. How moved you are.

“But still not as beautiful as the real person by half.”

Gingerly setting down the sketch on the arm of the couch, you find that you’ve temporarily lost the function of coherent speech. You’ve never felt so… so bare. So you do the next best thing. You reach out and cup his cheeks gently, bringing his face to yours, meeting his mouth with yours.

And it’s like a dam opens. His hands move to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You move away from his lips, your eyes on his, sparkling and filled with unspoken but obvious wants and desires. “Marcus,” is all you manage to get out before he kisses you again. This kiss is different from others you’ve shared with him, the ever present tension snapping like a branch as you realize what is finally about to happen.

--- taglist in reblog

#pedro pascal #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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