#marcus pierce

Commission for @versipellish !! ^^

Open commissions here !

TOM ELLIS & TOM WELLING

I have come to the conclusion there isn’t enough Marcus Pierce x reader or OC fics. Or in general Tom Welling that isn’t Clark Kent, don’t get me wrong, I love our boy Clark, but I need some beefy Pierce fics, my sanity actually depends on it.

If I could write well enough, I’d do it myself…but I’m not. So please anyone, I need to read some more Tom Welling fics!!!!

If you haven’t gathered already, Marcus Pierce is Tom Wellings Character in Lucifer Season Three, the first time I’d actually seen him on the screen ever. 🫣 Sue Me.

In other words…HAWT!

Pierce just wanting to get work done: I don't know your personality maybe.

Lucifer: You like my personality???

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥’𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫

-𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩

Pierce rapped his knuckles against the penthouse door, the sharp sound echoing through the marble corridors of the high-rise as he shifted his weight, file tucked under one arm, expecting the familiar smirk of the Devil himself. The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting a hazy golden glow over the sleek black furniture and the faint scent of aged whiskey and exotic spices that always clung to the place. Instead of Lucifer's drawling greeting, the door swung open to reveal a woman who stopped him cold—a vision of effortless poise with dark waves cascading over your shoulders, piercing eyes that held the same infernal spark as your father's but softened by something warmer, your lithe frame wrapped in a silk robe that clung to the curves of your breasts and hips, hinting at the full swell beneath.

You arched a brow, lips curving in a knowing half-smile as you leaned against the frame, and Pierce realized he was staring, heat prickling at the base of his neck from the way your presence filled the space, stirring an unexpected pull he hadn't felt in years. "Marcus Pierce," you said, voice smooth like velvet over steel, "Dad's out chasing leads again. You look like you could use a drink while you wait." Your gaze lingered on him with quiet challenge, and the air thickened between them, charged with the faint pulse of your perfume mixing with the distant hum of the city below. He forced his eyes away, jaw tightening as he straightened into his usual rigid stance, the familiar stern mask sliding into place to bury the sudden awareness of your body, the subtle shift of fabric against smooth skin, the way your presence had grown into something that rattled his careful walls.

Clearing his throat, Pierce stepped inside without invitation, the door clicking shut behind him as he scanned the room for any sign of Lucifer's return. "This isn't a social call. Precinct needs intel on the Sinnerman case—your father has contacts I don't." His tone came out clipped, professional, but the image of you lingered, stirring a low thrum of arousal he refused to acknowledge, his fingers flexing around the file as he kept his distance. You moved past him toward the bar, the robe parting slightly to reveal the elegant line of your thigh, and the emotional undercurrent hit him harder than expected: a flicker of vulnerability in your eyes that mirrored his own buried isolation, drawing him in despite every instinct screaming to keep it strictly business.

As you poured amber liquid into two crystal tumblers, the silk of your robe whispering against your skin with every subtle shift, Pierce found himself rooted in place, unable to look away from the graceful line of your back and the way the fabric draped over the curve of your ass. You turned, extending a glass toward him with that same knowing smile, your eyes locking onto his as if you could peel back the layers of his enforced detachment. "You brood like it's a full-time job, Lieutenant," you said, voice low and teasing, laced with that infernal warmth that made his pulse throb harder. "Dad's told me stories—always so rigid, so alone. But there's more under there, isn't there? Something that makes you stare at me like you're starving."

He accepted the drink, fingers brushing yours for a fraction too long, the contact sending a jolt straight to his cock as it stirred against the confines of his slacks. The air between you crackled, charged with the scent of your perfume mingling with the whiskey's oak notes, and he took a step closer despite himself, drawn by the flicker of shared loneliness in your gaze. Your free hand grazed his forearm, a light touch that felt like fire, and the proximity made his breath hitch—the swell of your breasts rising with each inhale, the robe's tie loosening just enough to hint at the dusky peak of a nipple. For a suspended moment, as a shared laugh over one of Lucifer's endless escapades slipped out, your body leaned in, lips parting, and his hand rose almost to cup your waist, the urge to pull you flush against him overwhelming.

But the weight of it—whose daughter you were, the forbidden heat pooling low in his gut—snapped him back like a blade. Pierce jerked away, jaw clenched tight, setting the untouched glass down with a sharp clink as he retreated toward the door. "This was a mistake," he muttered, voice rough with the arousal he couldn't fully bury, his body aching with the denial even as he forced the professional mask back into place.

But before he could reach the door, Lucifer's voice crackled through his phone with that signature flair, insisting Pierce attend the chaotic gala at Lux that night as his guest and colleague for the Sinnerman intel. The club pulsed with thunderous music and flashing lights when he arrived, the air thick with sweat, spilled champagne, and the press of bodies dancing under crimson chandeliers. He spotted you across the room in a slinky black dress that hugged every curve, your breasts straining against the low neckline as you laughed with a cluster of suited men, your hand brushing one's arm while your hips swayed to the beat. Jealousy sliced through Pierce like a blade, hot and unexpected, twisting his gut as he watched your lips part in another smile, the sight of your thighs flashing with each step igniting the arousal he'd tried to bury back at the penthouse.

He cornered you in the back office minutes later, the door slamming shut as he hissed, "What the hell are you playing at?" Your eyes flashed with challenge, calling him out on his sudden coldness, the undeniable pull between you crackling like live wires. "You stare like you're starving one minute and bolt the next, Marcus. Admit it, this thing between us—" Mid-sentence, you grabbed his lapels and kissed him hard, tongue pushing past his lips with desperate hunger. The kiss ignited everything, his hands yanking up your dress as you shoved him against the desk, his cock already rigid and straining against his slacks while your fingers freed it, stroking the thick length with urgent pumps that made him groan into your mouth.

You climbed onto the desk, spreading your legs as he thrust into your wet pussy in one rough stroke, filling you deep with the forbidden heat that had him pounding relentlessly, the slap of skin echoing as your breasts spilled free from the dress and bounced with each drive. He gripped your hips, fingers digging in while you wrapped your legs around him, the inappropriate frenzy building—your moans mixing with his ragged breaths, the risk of Lucifer or anyone bursting in heightening every slick thrust and clench of your walls around his shaft until he spilled inside you with a shuddering curse, bodies locked in raw, trembling release.

His cock pulsed deep inside your clenching pussy, hot spurts flooding your core as his body shuddered against yours, but the raw intensity only sharpened when his gravelly voice rasped against your ear. "That's it, good girl—take every drop." The praise hit like a spark to gasoline, your walls fluttering tighter around his thick shaft in response, milking him through the aftershocks while your legs locked him in place. You arched into him, breasts heaving against his chest, the forbidden thrill of his release mingling with the lingering sting of his grip on your hips, the desk creaking under the weight of your tangled bodies.

"Fuck, Daddy," you moaned, voice thick with need as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer for another bruising kiss. "You feel so good filling me like that." The words slipped out unbidden, charged with the same electric pull that had drawn you both here, and his hips jerked involuntarily, another pulse of cum spilling into your slick heat as the scent of sex and whiskey thickened the air. His stern mask cracked further, eyes dark with something deeper than lust—a shared ache for connection amid the chaos of his immortal entanglements and your shadowed lineage—yet he didn't pull away this time, instead tracing the curve of your breast with a callused thumb, teasing the sensitive nipple until you whimpered.

The moment stretched, your bodies still joined in the dim office light, the distant thump of music from the club a reminder of the world waiting outside. Pierce's breath steadied against your neck, but the pet name lingered on his tongue like a secret vow, his hand sliding down to cup your ass possessively as he murmured, "Good girl... my good girl," the tenderness clashing with the rough edge of his usual detachment. You rocked subtly against him, feeling him twitch inside you, the emotional undercurrent swelling as vulnerability cracked open between you—his isolation mirroring your own, the heat building anew despite the risk of discovery.

As the words hung in the air between you, the vulnerability cracking open in his gaze ignited something fiercer. Pierce's eyes darkened with renewed hunger, his spent cock twitching inside your slick pussy before he drew back and thrust into you again with forceful drive, pinning your wrists above your head against the desk's cool surface. The wood rattled louder under the renewed assault, each powerful snap of his hips driving his thickening length deeper, stretching your walls as the slap of skin echoed through the office and your breasts bounced with the impact.

Your moan spilled out unbidden, mixing with his low growl as he held you immobile, the rough grip on your wrists sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core. The forbidden thrill of it all—his body dominating yours, the risk of discovery just beyond the door—heightened every sensation, the wet glide of his shaft pulling out only to slam back in, filling you completely while his thumb traced possessive circles over your pinned skin. Emotion welled up alongside the physical rush, his isolation mirroring yours in that shared intensity, drawing you closer even as your legs tightened around his waist to pull him in harder.

Sweat beaded on his brow, the scent of sex thickening as he leaned down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, tongue claiming yours with the same relentless rhythm. The desk creaked and shifted beneath you both, his cock pulsing hot and insistent inside your clenching pussy, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge while his murmured praises—"good girl"—vibrated against your mouth. "Please daddy cum in side of me." He came inside you and then you came.

Your body shattered around him in that instant, your pussy clenching in rhythmic spasms that milked every last pulse of his thick cock as it flooded you with hot, thick ropes of cum. The orgasm tore through you like wildfire, your thighs trembling against his hips, breasts heaving as you cried out and arched hard into his chest, the slick heat of his release mixing with your own wetness and spilling out around his shaft with each aftershock. "Daddy," you gasped again, voice ragged and broken with pleasure, fingers clutching at his shoulders as the intensity left you boneless and quivering beneath him.

Pierce's breath came hot and uneven against your neck, his grip on your wrists softening into something almost tender even as he stayed buried deep inside your fluttering core. The praise tumbled from his lips once more, low and gravel-rough: "That's my good girl, taking it all so perfectly." His thumb stroked over the pulse point at your wrist, the touch a stark contrast to the earlier roughness, and in that quiet stretch of shared ragged breathing the isolation in his eyes softened into something raw and real, mirroring the ache you'd carried for far too long. The distant thump of the club's bass filtered through the office door, a reminder of the world outside, yet here the scent of sex and sweat wrapped you both in a private cocoon, his cock still twitching inside you as your walls continued to pulse around him.