also...if you're taking prompts...how would you feel about writing even a little about marcus pike giving reader a massage and just generally being caring because you know how much I want you to write him and you also know how much I need that rn
okay, two days of ruminating and here’s what came of it. hope it lives up to expectation 🙏🥺:
Marcus Pike x (f!)xreader (f for mentions of wearing a bra, but that’s it), indulgent fluff, massage, cuddles, established relationship, Marcus Pike has husband material written all over him...hmm, what else? reference to not being a sprightly twenty-something anymore, but if you are presently a sprightly twenty-something you can still read this of course. in preparation for your future decrepitness or so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
words: 1101
“Uuuuuuuugh.”
Marcus poked his head out of the kitchen, brows raised in a sympathetic frown as he took in your brow-beaten form.
“You alright, honey?” Dammit, he looked too cute in his apron over rolled-up shirt sleeves. You were in no condition to truly appreciate the sight of your gorgeous boyfriend in all his domestic glory. You threw your keys in the dish by the coat rack and dropped your bag to the ground, managing an unconvincing thumbs-up with your other hand in lieu of words.
“That bad, huh?” You just nodded, wordlessly kicking off your shoes, then dragging your tired feet over to him and collapsing against his chest with another pained groan. You took a deep, fortifying breath from where you’d tucked your face into his neck.
“You smell nice.”
“Thanks.” He awkwardly wrapped his arms around you, being mindful of not getting any of the food on his hands onto your clothes.
“You always smell so nice.” A kiss pressed to your head elicits the first true smile of the day from you. “And you’re so good to me. What did I ever do to deserve you?”
You feel the low rumble of his little laugh more than hear it. You don’t want to move, because moving hurts. Some days you really hate not being twenty anymore. Mostly days like these when you come home tired and cranky, with the dull throb of a latent pressure headache between your temples, and small dumb things like moving your head wrong or sleeping funny result in your neck muscles locking up tighter than an activated safe room. You’d hoped it would dissipate over the course of the day, you even did some stretches, but to no avail.
“I gotta finish up dinner, my love. Why don’t you take a hot shower? It might make you feel a bit better.” He started swaying a bit on the spot with you, but you can tell he’s cautiously looking over his shoulder, probably making sure that whatever he has on the stove or in the oven isn’t starting to burn or boil over or anything. You make a displeased little sound, and then a pained one when you try to lift your arms to wind then around his waist.
“Come on, sweetheart.” Marcus started bodily shuffling the two of you along the hallway until you reached the bathroom door. He made to disentangle himself and you whined, burrowing closer. “Honey…”
You whined again and he sighed fondly. “Okay then. D’you just wanna sit while I finish up dinner?”
You nodded wordlessly. Marcus turned you both around and shuffled back towards the dining nook, settling you so you had a good view of the kitchen. You were miserable with pain and fatigue, but you appreciated that he never made you feel pathetic. With a kiss to the crown of your head, he left you to attend to dinner again.
You must have zoned out for a bit, because one moment you were watching Marcus cook – chopping, breading, stirring, frying, sautéing and so on – and the next a beautifully arranged plate was placed in front of you.
“Oh my god!” You exclaim. “Marcus this smells delicious!” Your answer is that pleased yet bashful little smile as he sits and motions for you to dig in, which you gladly do. How anyone could ever let this man go is beyond you.
Dinner enlivens you a bit. Admittedly a day of run-on meetings with only small breaks in between had left you ravenous. You can almost forget your aching back and tense muscles. Even go so far as to try and help Marcus with clearing the table afterwards.
“Honey, no.” He waved you off, but it’s mostly the intense pain when you try to lift your arms that makes you sink back into your chair. Not without a frown though.
“You already cooked!” You protested.
“Honey, it’s okay, really. You can clear out the dishwasher tomorrow if it makes you feel better.” Still pouting, you acquiesce. Marcus clears the table in record time and within minutes, you’re on your large, plush sofa, leaning back against Marcus who is warm and solid and comforting behind you.
You’re just about to doze off to the Golden Girls rerun on the TV when Marcus’ hands brush against your tender neck and you hiss.
“Christ, sweetheart, you’re tense enough to snap!”
“I almost did snap at Karen from accounting.”
“Very funny. Come sit up a bit yeah? Can you take your shirt off?”
“Oh, I’m suffering and you’re trying to get some action?” You sense his playful eyeroll even if you don’t see it. Nonetheless your hands start on the small buttons of your shirt. He helped you slide it off your arms, taking care to tuck the throw blanket up higher around you then moving to unclasp your bra. Once that too is discarded, he starts slowly, smoothing his warm fingers over the indentations left behind.
“Oooooh, I feel better already.” You sigh, only half in jest, and again he huffs out a short warm laugh, then presses a small kiss behind your ear. Your bliss lasts for about another half minute; when Marcus starts to dig his thumbs into the rigid tendons at the base of your neck you nearly sob. Marcus shushes you sweetly, humming a low ‘I know sweetheart, I’m sorry’ into the shell of your ear. To his credit, he is as gentle as he can be, but your muscles are so tight and coiled he does really have to dig in. But when he follows every forceful press with a soothing pass of his broad, warm hand over your skin, you can’t really object. Nor to the undeniable effect this treatment has. Already the tension lessens both in your muscles and your head, and with every minute you slip deeper into relaxation. Your eyes fall closed and the low noise of the TV faded into a mere background hum. You think you could fall sleep like this.
“Feeling better, my love?” Marcus passed one hand around to nudge gently against your collar bones, encouraging you to lean back against his chest. The small buttons of his dress shirt poke into your bare skin, but it’s a nuisance at best and you’re so woozy with relaxation now the sensation barely registers.
“Much.” You say. “Thank you, Marcus.”
You bend your head back against his shoulder, which you can now again do effortlessly, and kiss the corner of his smiling mouth while he tucks the throw blanket around your shoulders and wraps his arms around your middle.
- - - - -
taglist: @thewayofthemandalorian @opheliaelysia @cinewhore @heatherbel
@agirllovespancakes @pascalisthepunkest @aasimarr @knittingqueen13
@thirstworldproblemss @seasonschange-butpeopledont
To be added to a taglist pls go to the link at the top of my masterlist, which is pinned at the top of my blog. Thanks for reading 😊