Summary: Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain.
Pairing: Husband!Marcus Pike x Wife!Reader
Warnings: angst, drama, Husband!Marcus, F!Reader, reader is afab and goe sby she/her, brief smut, unprotected pinv, kissing, happy ending, no use of y/n, marriage drama,
WC: 3.9k
A/N: This is my entry for @pedroscurls dialogue challenge! I guess i woke up in a mood one day and wanted to be angsty, but i struggled because Marcus is Perfect™ and he would never do this but i figured if he did he would absolutely bust his ass to make everything okay. Come yell at me if you disagree
Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you sit in the waiting room, the incessant ticking of the clock on the wall delivering another blow with each beat, with each grating click. You fidget, watching the clock, the nail in the coffin hammering deeper and deeper.
You know the receptionist isn’t judging you. Her eyes are kind, but underneath, you know it’s pity she feels for you.
Because he’s late again. Always delayed. Always prioritizing his career. Always sacrificing your marriage for another opportunity. Always keeping you firmly planted to the side where his job remains front and center.
He always attends your sessions. He at least makes an effort for that. But after last night’s fight, you’re not even sure your marriage is worth the trouble anymore. The thought makes you ache, your chest growing tight and the tears burning hot now. One slips out and you swipe it away before it has the chance to fall. To become real. If the receptionist notices, she doesn’t say anything, which you’ve learned is a small mercy.
A door opens and your head snaps up. It’s the wrong door. Not the entrance to the comfortable, sparsely decorated waiting room, but the door to the office housing your therapist. Your heart sinks, another fresh tear springing up and threatening to spill over.
A couple steps out. The woman grins at her husband over her shoulder, muttering something. He laughs, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her back to kiss her cheek. They whisk by you without a glance, touching, holding, cherishing each other. They’re absorbed in one another in a way that’s become a faint, distant familiarity to you.
That used to be you and Marcus. But it hasn’t been for some time.
“You didn’t even call to tell me you couldn’t make it, Marcus,” you sigh, arms tight around yourself, leaning against the counter just out of his reach. He knew better than to touch you right now.
“I know. I know, baby. I’m so sorry —“ he answers softly, eyes pleading and warm. Almost irresistible.
“Then why does it keep happening? If you’re sorry, why do you do this to me every time?” You demand, eyes stinging. You don’t want to cry right now. You never want to cry in front of him. Because a sick part of you knows he hates it and it hurts him to see you upset. And you don’t want that. You never want to hurt him. “Why can’t you just —“
“Just what?”
“Just — keep your promises! I looked like such an idiot waiting there for you. Alone at a table set for two,” you sucked in a breath when you couldn’t hold your tears back anymore. “The server just looked at me like I was pathetic. Like I’d been stood up by some blind date. She even asked me if it was a first date. And I just lied to her and told her it was. Because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that no, it’s my husband who stood me up. Not just some random guy I met. My husband!”
Your chest heaves after your outburst, tears flowing freely. Marcus looks like he’s in physical pain, like every word had sliced through him, down to the bone.
“I am so sorry, baby,” he says again and takes a step forward but you inch away. He stops, “Please, let me hold you. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I’m an asshole. Don’t push me away.”
“I’m not the one pushing you away, Marcus. Your job is doing that for you,” you sniff, turning your back to him.
“No, no, no, honey,” he reaches for you again, a hand grazing your bare shoulder before you whip around to glare at him.
“Don’t touch me right now.”
He clenches his hands into fists, keeping them pinned at his sides instead. You swipe at your tears before looking down at yourself. You were stupid to get so dressed up for a date night you knew would be ruined by his job. But you did it anyway. You wanted to feel beautiful. You wanted to feel like your marriage wasn’t hanging on by a frail, easily snapped thread. Like it was a normal date night and you knew without a doubt that he would show up and you’d have dinner and laugh and be in love and strip each other down when you got home.
The dress was a waste, clearly. Simple. Black. Thin straps, enticing neckline, slit in the thigh. You wanted to look good for him. And you did. You look stunning.
And he hadn’t even shown up. Hadn’t even bothered to tell her he couldn’t make it.
“Why is your job more important than me?” You ask the question you’ve been careful to avoid in your therapy sessions, always skirting around the true issue, always minimizing your pain. Your voice was so small, so feeble, one small blow would incapacitate you. Shatter you beyond recognition.
His eyebrows draw together, jaw clenching. Big brown eyes brewing with heartbreak. You can see it. The realization.
“It’s not. It’s not more important. Nothing is more important than you,” he tells you, voice low, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles are white.
“You love your job. I know you do. I would never ask you to stop doing what you love. I just wish you’d love me too. I don’t want to feel like I come second to some case or some promotion or whatever else.”
You can’t help the sob that rips out of you. The bone deep misery crashing into you. You cradle yourself, arms wrapped so tight it squeezes the breath out of you, as if keeping the last shreds of yourself intact.
“Honey,” his voice wavers, reaching out to you, fingertips grazing your arms, “Please, baby, I’m sorry. It’s not like that. I swear, you’re — you’re everything to me. Maybe I — maybe I get preoccupied sometimes. I get a little busy. Maybe I lose track of time. But that doesn’t mean my job means more.”
“I ask for one night a week, Marcus. One night where I get you all to myself,” you sniff, “You can’t even manage that.”
“I’ll do better, I swear,” he promises, finally resting his hands on your arms and pulling you into him, but you shake your head and look up at him, eyes burning.
“You always say that.”
“I mean it. I can’t stand seeing you like this. I don’t ever wanna be the reason you’re so hurt. I’m sorry. Please, don’t –“ he chokes on whatever thought passes through him and you frown.
“Don’t what? Leave you? Divorce you?”
His eyes are so dark and pleading, you wish you hadn’t spoken the words. Wish you hadn’t just confirmed his worst fears. Because you had considered it. He knows you must have thought about it at least once or twice. But to verbalize it is the very same thing as manifesting the outcome.
You can’t look at him anymore, and even though you don’t want to hurt him, you still say it, “Well, maybe that’s what’s best.”
”It’s not,” he says immediately. Firmly. Final.
”How do you know? You’re barely involved in our marriage as it is.” It’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever said to him, and it silences him in the blink of an eye.
You regret it the moment he turns away from you. The way his shoulders shudder, his hand trembling as he drags it down his face. The anguish in his posture is evident. And before you reach out to him, you force your hands to still, reminding yourself that he hurt you long before you hurt him.
Still. It was a shitty thing to say. But you don’t apologize. He can think on your words. Stew over them, turn them over in his mind until he’s wrung dry with the pain of loving you.
“I’m going to bed,” you say softly, sniffing. The tears have run out, but you know the moment you lie down, they’ll return. They always do.
He only nods, doesn’t look at you, ashamed. Good, you think.
You go upstairs, strip out of your dress, the sexy lingerie you’d worn for him, and slip into a pair of his plaid pajama pants and an old FBI t-shirt. You wash your face. Press a cold washcloth to your eyes, and try to push him out of your mind. You can’t, though. Part of you doesn’t want to. The part that’s so hopelessly in love with him, you feel like your chest will cave in with the intensity of it.
The other part, the part that wants to forget, remembers the pain. The humiliation. The loneliness. The neglect. And you want to purge it all from your mind. Everything tainted by him.
You finish getting ready for bed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks before you’re even nestled under the covers. The exhaustion drags you under. And just as you’re slipping away, you swear you can hear the front door closing. And you think it means something. But you’re too tired to understand.
You waited with your therapist for fifteen minutes before leaving. Even though you cancelled the rest of the session, you still paid for a full sixty minutes. You didn’t care. You only wanted to go home, curl up in bed, and succumb to your misery. Drown in the despair of your failed marriage. But you keep telling yourself – it wasn’t you who failed. It was Marcus.
You’re buried under your comforter, consumed by soft down and fluffy pillows, hiding from the weight of your turmoil, when you hear the front door open and close. It’s nearly nine o’clock at night. On a typical evening, that would be considered an early arrival for Marcus, but on your therapy nights, he’s not only missed the appointment, but he’s over three hours late.
He doesn’t come upstairs right away. You can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen, and you’re dreading the moment he decides to confront you, because you know he will. He didn’t come to bed last night, and you’re almost positive he went back to work after your argument. Good. At least he’ll always have his career to keep him company.
When your bedroom door opens to reveal him, his tie is loose, jacket missing, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows, you almost flinch with the intensity of his presence. Like he’s the physical embodiment of the culmination of your pain. Right in front of you.
He doesn’t say anything when his eyes land on you, concealing yourself among the bedding, so you speak first.
“You didn’t come to therapy.”
Shaking his head, you can see his jaw clench, his eyes drop to his shoes, and his shoulders slump. “I had some things to take care of.”
You nod, eyes burning, anger pooling in your chest, hot and bright, “Of course you did.”
He sighs your name, pinching the bridge of his nose, “It couldn’t wait.”
“I never can.”
He looks at you then, his eyes sharpening, pained.
“They offered me the promotion.”
You expected as much. It’s the reason his life has been centered around his job for the past couple of years. At first, he’d only been held up a handful of times. It was nothing you didn’t understand and he always made it up to you. You were supportive, enthusiastic even, encouraging him to work as hard as he needed to to get the position.
Then, he missed one date night, then two. Then several in a row. He’d get home later and later each night until the two of you were simply strangers living under the same roof. You'd never felt lonelier.
And now, the job that kept him away for so many nights, was within his reach. You were proud of him for working so hard for it. But the bitterness that crept in was unmistakable. An odious, noxious feeling you wanted to smother. You didn’t want to be this person. This kind of wife. But his absence was worse. It carved a hole in you you didn’t think you could ever fill. Not without him. Not if it meant his job would rip him away from you permanently.
“I said no.”
Your eyes snap to his, unsure if you actually heard him correctly or if it was wistful thinking. If your mind was playing tricks on you. Your heart hammers away at your chest, blood rushing through your ears. You’re sure he can hear it.
“Told them I wanted to transfer.”
That makes your heart sink. Transfer. Transfer where? A different city? Is he trying to tell you he wants a divorce after all?
You swallow thickly, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. His eyes are so dark, so unreadable, you don’t know the path his thoughts are taking. When he doesn’t say anything else, you only nod, willing, pleading for your voice to be steady when you said, “So you’re leaving.”
You prepare for the worst.
With his muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, he scoffs, and it stills your beating heart for just a moment.
“You drive me crazy.”
That makes you scowl, makes you want to jump out of bed and storm over to him so you can slap him. But you remain rooted in place, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I want you to listen to me very carefully,” he begins, his voice low and solid in a way you’ve never heard before. He’s never stern – not with you. He’s always been soft and gentle. Now, the grave look he gives you silences you. “No job, no promotion, no opportunity, no pay raise, or anything else will ever be as important to me as you are.”
Your eyes well with tears, hands clasping in your lap, heart racing. Your skin buzzes with awareness, with the shock of his declaration.
“Do you hear me?” He says, loud and crisp, “Tell me that you understand.”
“Yes,” you answer, voice so frail and searching. You’re not sure if this is real or not. You don’t dare to hope.
“I’m taking over Analytics. It’s still a promotion. But less field work. More delegating. More in house investigating.”
“What does that mean?” You ask, looking down at your hands, twisting your fingers together, gripping the comforter.
“It means less late nights. Less absences. Less making you feel like you come second to absolutely anything. Because you don’t.”
You’re crying now, your face twisted, hands flying up to hide yourself from him. Ashamed. You never expected him to make such a drastic decision, not when he’s worked so hard for this. You never expected him to abandon it all just to make you happy. The guilt builds in your chest, bursting like a dam. You’d been prepared to divorce him, primed and braced for divorce.
And he’d surprised you.
“Hey,” he says softly, his weight sinking the bed, warm hands on your wrists to pull them away. When he does, he lowers his head to find your gaze and what you see there is warmth and understanding and remorse and it only makes you cry harder. “I can never take back the time that I missed with you. And I’m sorry I let myself get lost in my work like that. I know I can’t repair the damage I’ve done just by saying all of this. It’s going to take time for you to trust me again. But I want —“
He closes his eyes and takes a breath, centering himself.
“I’m sorry I missed our appointment today. I couldn’t get away, but I want to keep going. I need us to keep going. I never meant to make you feel like my job was more important than you. You’re —“ he swallows thickly, eyes pleading, fingers trembling against your wrists, “You’re my entire world. I would quit my job entirely before I let you go. I need you to know that.”
He lifts your hands to his lips, kissing each of your palms, then your fingers, holding them close, eyes squeezed shut like he’s fighting his own tears. You press your hands to his cheeks, making his eyes flutter open to look at you.
“Did you really reject the promotion?”
He nods, kissing your hand again, lowering his eyes, "I did what I should’ve done the second I made you feel neglected.”
“Marcus —“ your throat feels tight when you speak, but you have to tell him, “I never wanted you to choose between me and your job. I’m sorry —“
“Don’t,” he hushes you gently, “It was never a choice, baby. You are the only thing that matters.”
“But you worked so hard,” your eyes burn with more tears, the terrible, aching sensation of dread clouding you, this moment, “You’re going to resent me.”
His eyes soften and he shakes his head, resolute and firm, “Listen to me.”
“I gave you an ultimatum —“ he shakes his head again, cutting you off, letting the words die on your tongue.
You stifle the next sob that threatens to escape, looking at him — genuinely looking at him — for perhaps the first time in months. His eyes are so dark. So warm. Gentle in a way that makes you regret ever looking away.
“I made this choice. Not you. You didn’t give me an ultimatum. You didn’t tell me to choose between work and you. You were very clear about what you needed, and I refused to see it. Do you understand?”
You nod.
“I did this to us. And I had to fix it, okay?”
You nod again.
“I can’t have you thinking I’m not completely and totally in love with you.”
You can’t help it. You let out a laugh. Partially a sob, and a huff of air. A breath you’d been holding in since the first missed date night. The tension in your body melts when he wraps you in his arms, still seated on the bed next to you, your legs buried under the comforter. He holds you so tightly, so securely. You never want him to let go.
You burrow a hand in his hair, turn your head to kiss the side of his neck. He pulls away, giving you a beseeching look.
“Can I kiss you?”
You don’t hesitate, nodding, diving into him before the sentence is even fully formed on his lips. He meets you there, and it’s the best kiss you’ve ever shared. It takes shape quickly, dripping with desperation and longing and sorrow. You taste the remorse on him as he licks past your lips, threads his fingers in your hair, tips your head back. It’s hungry and deep and searching for salvation.
You’re the first to begin undressing him, pulling his tie loose and working on the buttons of his shirt as he continues to pour his entire soul into the kiss. He shrugs out of the shirt and breaks away when you start yanking his undershirt up his body. He does the same to you, both of you shedding everything in a matter of seconds.
When you’re both bare from head to toe, and he’s settling between the valley of your welcoming thighs, hand braced next to your head, he just looks at you. Takes you in. Scrutinizing the details of your face like he hadn’t done for some time.
“I love you so much,” he whispers like it’s a secret he’s been keeping to himself. More tears spring to your eyes and you pull him down for another kiss, his stiff cock brushing your slick folds.
You whimper as he breaches you. It’s been so long since he’s touched you this delicately, this tenderly, or at all for that matter. His job has consumed every moment of his life, leaving little to no room for you. The lack of intimacy between you and Marcus an unwelcome side effect of his burgeoning career.
The sting of him pressing into you makes you gasp, your walls clenching tight. You break away with a whine, clutching at him, arching your body into him. He moans into your neck and flexes his hips.
“Never gonna let you go,” he mutters, sinking into you further. Your eyes flutter shut, and then you feel the brush of his thumb against your cheek. “Open for me, baby.”
You look at him then, and the adoration and truth behind his words strikes you, makes you shudder underneath him. It breaks you open in a visceral, raw way that has you pulling him impossibly close. He drops to his forearms, the weight of him covering you, grounding you.
When he starts to move, his lips are on you. Your neck, your breasts, your cheeks, anywhere he can reach. In turn, your hands roam his body, feeling the muscles of his back tense with each thrust, nails digging and hips meeting.
He’s slow and deliberate at first, making you feel every thick inch of him the way you were always meant to. But when your pleasure builds, his desperation eclipses anything tender and slow in favor of power and depth. You come on his cock with a cry of his name, chanting how much you love him, how you never want him to stop.
He’s right behind you, careening over the edge so fast, you’re unprepared for the intensity of it and the aftershocks it delivers. Marcus remains seated inside you as your breaths even out, pressing delicate, intentional kisses across your shoulders, up your neck, until he reaches your lips. You clutch him to you as though he could slip away at any moment, reveling in the attention he willingly gives.
Neither of you speak as he slides out of you and collects you in his arms. You can’t even remember the last time he held you like this, and it makes your chest ache at the lost moments his career stole from you both. You nestle against him, he tightens his arms around you, likely dwelling on the same misgivings.
His thoughts are loud, the tension in his body not quite eased. You look up at him and he’s already staring down at you. Forlorn, somber eyes greet you, and you kiss his jaw.
“I’m not perfect,” he says quietly, “But I want to be. I’m trying to be – for you.”
The twinge of his admission is sharp and prominent. You press a hand to his cheek, “Marcus, I never wanted you to be perfect. I just wanted you.”
He frowns, and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Exactly how his insecurities are burrowing under his skin, darkening his thoughts.
“Tell me,” you say, kissing his jaw again.
“I almost lost you. I hurt you. And I didn’t even see it. I’m a fucking idiot.”
You don’t want to lie to him. But you also don’t want to tell him how his neglect had plagued you. How it wrung your self-worth completely dry. How lonely you were. How unloved. But you also know that neither of you can heal unless he knows. Unless you’re honest with him too.
So you tell him. You watch his face fall, his eyes shimmer with unshed tears, then close because hearing how deeply he’d wounded you is unbearable. His grip on you tightens, fingers threading in your hair.
And though your marriage is far from perfect, and you two have a lot of ground to cover before it’s as strong as it once was, you’re hopeful.
Because for the first time in months, maybe even years, you fall asleep with your husband at your side.
Here’s the Masterlist for my very first challenge, I’m so excited to share this stunning list of fics and I’m grateful so many of you decided to join♥️
Honestly, being a small blog, I thought no one would participate, but I'm so happy to have proved wrong and I don’t know how to thank you all!
The list will be updated as the fanfictions are published, there’s more to come and I’m pretty sure everything will be phenomenal 🔥
I’m having the best time reading these works so please give them all the love, any kind comment and reblog means so much and these writers deserve all the flowers!
Thank you again to everyone who participated!
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Joel Miller
'Till it sticks - Joel Miller x f!reader by @shadowqueen2024
Summary: When Joel sees you taking care of Benji, he couldn't help but think what it was like having your own kids. And once he knew it's what you've wanted, he was going to make sure it happens.
Heaven or Hell - Stepdad!Joel Miller x fem!reader by @aurorawritestoescape
Summary: Joel helps you to master self-control - OR - your stepdad makes you cockwarm him.
Just Relax - Joel Miller x f!reader by @ess-evo
Summary: You've been dating Joel for a while and your sex life is great, but you can't stop fantasizing about that one thing that you've always wanted to try and never have. After bringing it up numerous times, Joel caves and you're over the moon about finally getting to edge him.
Overachiever - Joel Miller x f!reader by @hanahleah
Summary: you want to give Joel a birthday gift he won't forget, but desperate to prove you can, you almost hurt yourself in the process. Joel has to remind you of some ground rules.
15 minutes - bffdad!Joel Miller x college!reader by @softly-potter
Summary: You’re in town from college and decide to put all those words to Joel to good use
Marcus Pike
Beauty Sleep - Marcus Pike x f!reader by @peepawmiller
Summary: Marcus loved it when you stole his clothes. Loved it even more when you paraded around in them like an insatiable temptress. It's like you wore his clothes for the specific purpose of letting him unwrap you. To unearth the beauty hidden under his too-large button downs, or the oversized sweats you had to roll three times in order to walk safely around the apartment. But his favorite was the FBI t-shirt. Because it had a very. Specific. Meaning.
Clint Flood
Just a Hand - Clint Flood x reader by @mcthsman
Summary: The sex is great. It really is. Clint makes you come more than any man ever has, is attentive to your needs and makes you feel like a goddess, but… It's so sweet it swerves into the lane of boredom. And while Clint's loving nature is a very welcome change to what you're used to, you still feel like there's something amiss. So, one late night on the phone with your best friend, you concoct a plan to get freaky.
Safety off - Clint Flood x f!reader by @missadangel
Summary: There’s a lotta ways a Friday night can go sideways. For a debt collector, most of them ain’t pretty. But getting robbed by a fine-ass thief? That’s new. Her gun? Safety off. His temper? Already ON.
Ted Garcia
Hole in the wall - Ted Garcia x f!reader by @baronessvonglitter
Summary:The Hole in the Wall is the best kept secret in New Mexico.. and the mayor of Eddington is its newest guest.
Dieter Bravo
It's all Brad's fault - Dieter Bravo x pregnant!reader by @tateypots
Summary: You start using Dieter’s trailer to pump when your breast milk comes in. It drives Dieter wild.
Harry Castillo
Touch of Love - Harry Castillo x OFC by @sawymredfox
Summary: Being together after a week apart brings forward some revelations.
Earned it - Harry Castillo x f!reader by @cozymochaa
Summary: Harry is a man who always needs control. But when you come along, the lines between lust, obsession, and love start to blur, and he gets the urge to let go completely.
Mirror mirror on the wall - Harry Castillo x f!reader by @maroonpascal
Summary: life with Harry is always full of surprises, and the next one is just hanging on the wall, waiting for you.
Jack Daniels
Heat of the moment - Jack Daniels x f!reader by @broad-shouldrs
Summary: you tell jack your darkest sexual fantasy.
Javier Peña
Crosshairs - chapter 3 - Javier Peña x Jackson!Joel Miller by @rosharanfiction
Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of a violent patrol, Jackson goes on high alert. Javi and Joel both struggle to recover, and the pull between them strengthens. But exploring it would be a mistake… right?
Somewhere only we know - Javier Peña x fem reader by @milla-frenchy
Summary: it’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
Please, rb the fics you appreciated, that's how they live 💛🙏
Check the warnings before reading
(dividers @/saradika-graphics 🙏)
Joel Miller
Lead me not into temptation | part 23 @tateypots
Closer @time-for-my-weekly-spanking (Tess x reader x Joel)
Trying to control her attraction to you was one of the hardest things Tess had ever done. But she'd succeeded. Until you made it clear how much you wanted to get closer to her. For Joel, falling into this scenario was just the natural closing of the circle
Endorphins @baronessvonglitter
The hot personal trainer in your neighborhood gives you a one-on-one session
Marking @mcthsman
Your boyfriend catches everyone’s eyes. Joel, for the most part, doesn’t seem to notice but you know better: They want him just as much as you do, and you need to figure out a way to keep people away
Love on the brain @time-for-my-weekly-spanking
As a storm rages over Jackson, you finally confront the man who saved you. And who has chosen to ignore you, even though you're forced to live in the same house. You’re pretty much convinced he hates you. And like a flash of lightning that tears through the sky and lights up the night, the truth finally dawns before your eyes. And maybe it's not what you expected…
Give me another @shadowqueen2024
After a few days of Joel working late with patrols, watch duty or contacting duties for Jackson's safety, comes with the price of not being able to spend as much time with you as he'd like. Since today is his day off, the two of you spent it being lazy, staying at home, ending with the perfect nighttime routine you had missed
Gifted kid burnout @hanahleah
After weeks of working overtime, between looming deadlines and a dreaded annual performance review something just had to give. The AC gave out first. You weren’t far behind
Baby mine | part 1 | part 2 @tateypots
After losing Ellie to the fireflies Joel has lost his purpose. He finds a new one when he meets you.
Aka, Joel is obsessed with you being pregnant, whether you want to be or not.
Homecoming @magpiepills
Coach Joel has to deal with cheerleader reader at the homecoming dance!
You should feel lucky | part 8 | part 9 | Joel can't get it up @ess-evo
He wants you, and he is going to find you
Piece of you @aurorawritestoescape
There’s a rule in Joel’s house — you give him a hard-on, you deal with it!
The wolf you feed | part 8 @arcane-fox
Set in fictional New England town, you fall for your handsome, intense and outdoorsy neighbor while renting out your parent's vacant summer home during a brutal winter
Joel Dealing with His Girlfriend (pre-wifey): Milestone @pedge-page
Clint Flood
Obligations of love @ess-evo
Clint is the man of your dreams. You're planning a wedding; every day with him is filled with love and affection, so then why do you have a knot in your stomach every time he leaves home?
Marcus Pike
Restoration @peepawmiller
Marcus is a workaholic, and you're not sure your marriage is strong enough to handle the strain
Javier Peña
Headcanons @cowgirlscrubs
Until the end of time @cozymochaa
You and Javier have the house to yourselves this weekend
Din Djarin
Eyes drabble @sawymredfox
Pero Tovar
Magnolia blooms with you | Act II @kokoluwie
Deciding to stay at The Great Wall of China might just be the best decision Pero Tovar has ever made. Peace after annihilating the Tao Tei? Maybe. In love with a comrade? Absolutely. Retirement plan? Secured
Dave York
Video vixen @baronessvonglitter
You're Dave's favorite camgirl and his ultimate fantasy. Could he ever see you as anything else?
Frankie Morales
When I think about you, I touch myself @aurorawritestoescape
Your older brother Santi has always been against you dating his hot best friend, Frankie Morales, so when the cockblocker leaves town for a week, you work out a daring plan to seduce the man of your wet dreams
The small things of a whole | part 3 | part 4 @sawymredfox (Frankie x Ben Miller)
A gentle morning coaxes a meaningful conversation and a revelation
Oh baby @aurorawritestoescape
Frankie finds your panties in his pocket and his mind starts wandering
My writing
Somewhere only we know (Javi p x reader)
It’s a story about two people who are very dear to each other, but too scared to turn their friendship into something else. They search for each other in other people and places until fate brings them back together at the right time
summary: a hunt for a religious relic with your possibly soon to be ex husband, what could possibly go wrong?
word count: 7.9k
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, Indiana Jones AU, historical fiction, vague 20th century vibes, adventure romance, magical elements, strained marriage, exes to lovers, kidnapping, reader is an academic/professor but has no physical description, miscommunication, major violence & gun violence, blood imagery, use of gendered language and pet names, minor (violent) character deaths, major yearning & light angst, mentions of Catholic relics & history, protective!Marcus, wound tending as a love language, dry humping, lot of kissing, light praise, allusions to smut, Marcus Pike being a lovesick romantic who just wants you, his wife, back
a/n: so yeah, another weird AU no one wanted but here I am lol, please know if you aren’t familiar with this franchise you can still dive in! My heart is so grateful to everyone’s support in this fic know I appreciate y’all dearly!! Divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics
Tied to the foot of an abandoned mansion’s bed post, the one thought currently brewing in your mind is… you really should have signed those divorce papers sooner.
You’ve tried fighting against the ropes, even wondered if you could wiggle out of this hold. But now you sit in a quiet broken sense of hollowness.
Yes you should have signed the divorce papers.
But you also should’ve known something was wrong the minute Dr. Marcus Pike arrived at your office last week on campus.
— ⟡ —
Marshall College
A knock comes at your office door. Thinking it’s a student dropping by, of course you welcome them inside.
Instead a handsome ghost pops his head in.
Although you work on the same campus, you’ve actively been trying not to run into Dr. Pike. It helps that you know his schedule and avoid his wing of the campus, even avoid his lecture hall across from yours.
He’s in the same studious glasses, sharp suit and bow tie he wears for class.
Except now Marcus sports faint traces of a beard and mustache.
You’ve seen days where he hasn’t shaved and how handsomely rugged he’s looked. Now this change of appearance is utterly devastating on the studious professor.
“The facial hair...” You greet with a dry tease, achingly fond.
As attractive this new look is, you already miss his clean shaven face. Or maybe a part of you just misses him.
“Uh yeah, just trying something new.” He laughs nervously fixing his glasses.
“It looks good.” You truthfully nod.
The softest gleam glazes over his eyes, and the weight of it makes you look away.
“So…you must have a reason why you’re here, Dr Pike.” Clearing your throat you try to refocus.
“I do indeed, Dr Pike.” Marcus replies swiftly.
“Unless… you’re going by your last name again.” Until he rapidly and politely corrects himself.
Always so damn polite and considerate, even during this mess of a monster known as marital separation.
You wave him off.
Some days you go by your last name, others you find it hard to let his go. The papers haven’t been officially filed after all.
Like he’s done days before, Marcus slides into the seat across your desk. It’s been so long since he’s been here.
You can still remember the first time he arrived at your office ready to greet you, the new Iconography and Symbolist professor.
“Guess we’re campus neighbors! My lecture hall is right across from yours.” His charming sweet smile and earnest welcome you swear won your heart over that very moment.
Now Marcus being here again feels habitual, like part of your heart returned seeing him place his weathered leather briefcase on your desk. Almost out of habit you want to lean across the table to kiss him like you’ve done before.
Instead you patiently sit while he scrambles and searches his briefcase. Readjusting his glasses, Dr Pike then slides a torn book page towards you.
The painting is one you recognize instantly.
“Raphael’s Crucified Christ,” you nod at the familiar work.
The distinct style and angel poses were topics you and Marcus both have discussed at length.
He points at the nails keeping Christ on the cross.
Confusion bubbles up as you glance back to Marcus.
His rich soil of the earth twinkle with an eagerness you recognize. The same one you’ve seen when he’s got something up his sleeve.
“I may have found a lead…” He eagerly begins.
“To what?” You narrow your eyes suspicious.
Dr Pike taps the page again.
“Wait…To the crucifix?” You question unconvinced.
Marcus is good, but he’s not that good. There’s no way he could have found the actual wood.
“No, the nails.” He clarifies quiet.
That equally makes your mind get stuck in a tangled web. There was no way.
“Need I remind you the Vatican already claims they’ve been found.” You politely offer a rebuttal.
“The lead I got says otherwise.” Marcus shrugs his shoulders, incredibly boyish and casual.
“And you wanted to tell me why?” The familiar cautious tone turns your words to stone.
You already hated where this was going.
“Because I know your thoughts on the matter of the current nail's authenticity.” He starts.
“And… you’re the one I know who can help me.” His voice then dips drenched in earnest.
Those beautiful eyes of his pierce your soul.
You exhale already feeling exhausted.
Just from his composed stare, you understand this means he’s going to leave no matter what you say. You can’t even get upset with him anymore. After all, you're signatures away from legally not being his wife anymore.
“You can drop by the house after class.” You sigh defeated.
Marcus’s hand immediately reaches out to rest over yours. His larger warm hand squeezes yours tight and fond.
The touch lingers with you the rest of the day. Even heading home his warmth prickles your skin. Has it been that long since you’ve touched Marcus?
An ache of longing swirls in your chest as if your body begs to have his return to yours. You shove all those thoughts away and step into your home.
The hushed stillness of moving boxes greet you.
Marcus, ever the gentleman, has been staying at a friend’s house while you pack your things as you and him try to rearrange this situation. Your neighbors have started asking more questions. You can’t even bring yourself to answer them.
But you press on.
The night settles in. Marcus is late. Must have gotten caught up at the university.
You now start heating a kettle, ready to make his favorite chamomile tea to unwind, grateful you didn’t throw these tea leaves out. There’s actually a lot of Marcus’s things still lingering, unable to bring yourself to pack them up or dispose of them.
It’s like your mind is split in two, wanting to leave fast as you can while also feeling snagged on the floorboards.
A knock arrives, and your heart jumps ready to greet Marcus.
Except he isn’t there when you open the door.
A sleek and dashing stranger instead grins at you. His piercing blue eyes stare unflinching.
“Good evening….Dr. Pike, I presume?” He greets you.
This time you correct him sharply with your maiden name.
“Ah yes, my apologies.” He nods.
The stranger introduces himself as William Musgrave, who apparently is a Vatican official. He even holds up a badge with the familiar papal key symbol.
“I’m here on behalf of your ex husband…” he begins, and your face falls.
“No, I'm sorry,” you cut him off. “But whatever Marcus is involved in I don’t want to be a part of it.”
His face, which has kept a polite smile, now twitches as if this mask could crack.
“Professor, please understand-”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but I need you to leave. Now please excuse me.” You shut the door on the stranger.
Rushing to the house phone you immediately call the school, hoping maybe Marcus is still there and you can catch him before he leaves.
Then the door to your home is forcibly kicked in.
Immediately men rush in to grab you. Slapping a hand over your mouth, someone muffles your screams. Thrashing hard trying to fight back, the last thing you hear is the kettle screeching in the kitchen.
Then the world goes dark.
— ⟡ —
Now you’re here tied to a bed post somewhere in Italy.
Of course, the mercenaries and treasure hunters must have caught onto the same rumor Marcus heard.
They need you to decipher something from the location.
A polite knock comes at the door, almost mocking. William Musgrave shows himself in.
Some fake Vatican officer he was.
“Sorry for the unfortunate hospitality, can’t have you running away.” He frowns as if he cares.
You simply glare back.
“I know you think I’m the villain here, but I’m not the only one who has secrets.”
Musgrave holds out photographs.
In their black and white shading Marcus sits at an outdoor restaurant, one you recognize instantly. He took you there on your first date.
Except this time he’s sitting across from a sleek and gorgeous mystery woman. The two are caught mid laugh, like the picture of effortless charm.
“The woman he is with is an associate of ours,” Musgrave explains. “She was the one who gave Dr. Pike the lead and he apparently got wrapped around her finger. Even tried to convince her to help him instead of us.”
Something inside you drops.
“But she turned him down.” Musgrave tuts.
If Marcus refused to work with them, suppose you’re the next best option. And these photographs along with this story feel like attempts to sway you to willingly help Musgrave instead.
Anger bubbles in, and you flicker your gaze back to William.
“Looks like you were stalking him.” You hate that even feeling this hurt you’re still bitterly protective of Marcus.
Musgrave sighs seeing your refusal.
“Guess we have to do this the hard way.”
The knife happily pointed at you speaks of a deadly response if you refuse to cooperate.
A voice in your head sounding so much like Marcus urges you not to fight back.
Marcus.
As frustrated as you are with him, you can’t even hate him.
Even now.
“Well, I heard you were smart, had a strong spirit. Glad to confirm the rumors are true... I can see why a man like Dr. Marcus Pike fell for you.” The man’s tone is fond, faintly flirtatious.
It doesn’t settle you one bit.
“I’ll be back with dinner later.” Musgrave says cheerfully shutting the door behind him, and you blink back tears.
Suppose this is what love is. Even in the face of heartache and frustration, and of course impending divorce, there might always be a piece of you that achingly adores Marcus. Even knowing he’s moving on.
You close your eyes and simply try to pass this solitude.
Feels like minutes have passed and you check the clock on the fireplace.
A little past midnight.
Musgrave is late.
Normally a guard even comes to let you walk around, use the facilities or even get water. They need you alive after all. This night has been relatively quiet. Even the guard at the door seems to have maybe forgotten you.
Closing your eyes again, you quietly hope this will all settle down soon.
Until the door gets yanked violently open, striking panic into your heart as you snap awake.
Barging in with the force of a hurricane, Marcus emerges.
Yet the sight is not of your scholarly Dr. Pike.
Ditching his glasses, dressed in a dusty rustic jacket and wearing a dark hat that accentuates his eyes, the studious sweet professor is instead replaced by a danger seeking excavator and adventurer.
You remember the first time you saw him like this. You had stayed late one night at the college and ran into him by accident.
You almost didn’t recognize him in the new outfit.
“Going to a costume party, Dr. Pike?” You had even jokingly asked him that.
To which Marcus lied and said yes.
Then, after a few more dates, he showed up to your apartment late one night.
After narrowly escaping a trip from Cairo, Marcus didn’t even allow himself time to change. He simply just appeared at your doorstep exhausted looking like this different man.
A part of him you would come to know and love.
Now that same man kneels before you. A deep hint of a 5 o'clock shadow lingers on his jaw and his mustache is coming in stronger.
Glistening in sweat, slightly covered in soot, you’re grateful he’s okay.
Sobbing your name, Marcus’s hoarse voice sounds caught in his throat as he rushes to you.
You almost don’t feel like he’s real.
But his steady hands cut through the rope. Then tenderly he checks you for any cuts or bruising and the truth settles in.
This is him. He’s here.
“You came for me.” Now your muttered words escape thick with tears tired from the fright but filled by a shaken relief.
Those stunning rich bourbon eyes of his immediately widen. A large warm calloused hand cups your face.
“I’ll always come for you.” Marcus breathes out with something akin to devotion.
You can’t even stop yourself or remind yourself that you’re possibly divorcing this man. Instead you throw your arms around him.
Instantly Marcus draws you into his embrace squeezing you tight.
“Thought I lost you.” His voice continues to wave through tears. “Went by the house and saw… a nightmare. Couldn’t find you anywhere.”
You couldn’t imagine the type of panic he must have experienced.
But a harsher realization does arrive.
“Guess you need me to make sure I’d sign the divorce papers, huh.” You joke lightly.
He chuckles quickly, yet it sounds uncomfortable as he pulls away. Footsteps stamped down the hallway breaking the moment and igniting a sense of fear.
Scrambling up, your hand finds his or maybe he finds yours first.
This pocket of peace shatters as commotion unfolds fast and blurred.
Marcus keeps you behind him while fighting off the remaining guards, throwing punches when he can. But more henchmen arrive to ambush him.
Then one of the mercenaries yanks you away.
A sharp crack electrifies the air. Suddenly the man cries out in pain, releasing you.
Immediately you rush to Marcus and that’s when you see the snake-like whip effortlessly flutter back to him.
You’ve seen the weapon before. Once you begged him to show you a demonstration. It was absolutely sinful at how well he maneuvered it.
Now Marcus rapidly takes down another guard with the bull whip. He stands a Sir Galahad brought to life, his whip powerful as any ancient sword.
Extending his hand out, you grab it and rush out.
Running past mercenaries, peering around corners with your heart racing, Marcus never once lets go of your hand. Whenever gunfire starts he immediately flings himself over you, a firm shield.
Unfortunately, one bullet does graze him.
He yells in pain, and you scream frantically if he’s alright. Stubbornly, he ignores you and rushes out of the rundown old mansion.
After managing to steal a motorcar you command him to sit in the passenger seat, and you drive away fast as you can into the darkness.
— ⟡ —
The inn you stumble upon is quaint, a bit rustic but perfect to hide out for the night.
“Is that signore your husband? He is one lucky man to have you caring for him,” the sweet elderly inn keeper says with a longing sigh when you return to grab more alcohol from the bar.
You don’t even have the heart to correct him.
Entering your shared room, you stumble upon Marcus, shirtless now, messing with the gash on his arm.
“Stop,” you order, and he blinks like a guilty puppy caught red handed.
Sighing you plant yourself on the bed with him.
The routine comes effortlessly, soaking the clean rag with the distilled liquor to disinfect the wound. You miss the first air kit you kept at your office for times like this.
“Can’t believe he gave you more liquor.” Marcus mutters a bit amused while you work.
“Yeah well… had to flirt with him a little so this didn’t come cheap." You half joke, and he chuckles.
“I can do it-”
“The wound is in an awkward spot, I got it.” You cut him off sharp.
Marcus stays quiet.
He seems broader, bulkier, like he’s been exercising more, or maybe going out on these exhibitions more. Or maybe it’s the sweat glistening on his skin and being so close to him that intensifies everything.
Your heart races as if it's the first time you’re doing this.
“Remember when you first patched me up?” Marcus, ever the intuitive mind reader, speaks first.
“I was worried you were going to bleed out in the middle of my kitchen.” You lightly snort.
“Yeah, you kept running around like a scared barn cat.” He chuckles.
“Hey, I like to think I did pretty well.” You huff back.
Dabbing the alcohol soaked rag to the wound, Marcus hisses.
“I know, this always is the worst part,” you comfort him soft.
“Suppose this is payback for me getting you wrapped up in all this huh? I really am a bad husband.” Marcus tries to slip in a bit of self depreciating jest.
Yet you find no humor.
The silence suffocates the room. You continue tending to his wound, winding the extra spare cloth as a makeshift way to stop the bleeding.
“I’m sorry…” Marcus apologizes sincerely, somber and serious.
“I promise you won’t have to deal with me or any of this anymore once we get the divorce finalized. I know you’ve always hated this.” His voice comes sharp as a knife, and his gaze won’t even meet you.
“I never hated you doing this… I hated worrying if I would ever see you again.” You answer back low and serious.
“I hated wondering if my husband was safe and why…” the words get caught in your throat.
“Why? Why, what?” Suddenly Marcus asks, turning to finally catch your gaze.
You swallow hard, shaking your head.
“It’s nothing.” You dismiss.
“No please, I want to know.” Marcus pleads, his eyes glistening.
You give yourself a moment.
“I used to wonder why you wanted to be out on these adventures instead of wanting to make some with me.” Your voice cracks as you feel like an exposed nerve.
The first few years of your marriage, he rarely left on any excursions. Of course during the times he did you welcomed him home with open arms grateful he came back safe. But when the problems started to trickle in, he slipped away more and more. Until his absence greeted you home more than he did.
His face falls, stunned. You blink away, averting your gaze now.
“It's silly, I know.” You laugh hollow.
You always loved and adored Marcus’s sense of adventure, how much he enjoyed being among antiquity.
“You’re allowed to enjoy your own time. I never wanted to be possessive or always keep you by my side, but I always felt….”
Your voice trails off as you realize you’re rambling.
“Tell me.” Marcus urges again, moving in closer, his voice begging soft.
“You grew bored of me and didn’t want to be around me anymore.” You reveal.
Because why wouldn’t he? When he can enjoy being whisked away on these adventures or meet gorgeous women instead of being at home with you…
He breathes your name, scared and trembling.
“You…” Marcus stares at you like he’s witnessing a heartbreak. You regret saying anything now.
“I could never… would never get tired of you.” He shakes his head.
“You’re the adventure I waited my entire life for.” Marcus breathes those words out like they could be his last, and tears spill from your eyes.
Like the sun and the moon simply orbiting, you don’t know who moved first or maybe it’s simply two souls moving as one, reuniting.
But the kiss steals your breath.
Marcus kisses you desperate, drenched in a hunger you greedily surge to meet. He shifts in the bed drawing you fully onto his lap, straddling him, as he licks into your mouth.
Feverishly you quickly yank off your blouse and brassiere wanting to let yourself melt into him again.
Seeing your exposed skin Marcus groans and immediately dives his face against your chest to breathe you in.
Effortlessly his hands go to your hips and guide you in a fluid rhythm, letting you grind down onto him.
The rut is delicious, torturous and beautiful. A whimper escapes you when you grind harder against his bulge, and you see stars.
You think of the days when you rode him like in his office after hours, and a louder moan escapes you.
“More, wanna hear you more.” Marcus growls deeper.
His hips ground up into you letting you feel his hardened cock against your soaked core.
Even with all the clothes separating you two, the friction is mind melting, addictive.
Your hands move to his shoulders to steady yourself and simply touch more of him.
Immediately Marcus hisses in pain. You snap your hands away.
“Oh Marcus, your arm,” you sob worried and apologize rapidly.
“S’fine, honey. Don’t care. Not when you’re here. You’re the only medicine I need.” He mutters, returning to kiss your jaw.
When he nips gently at your neck your resolve wavers.
“You need to rest,” you mutter that responsible thought out. “Can’t strain your wound.”
Marcus grumbles your name, trying to get you to reconsider.
“Honey please,” he sounds like sin, pure temptation.
A part of you wants to give in, to fully ignore his wound and embrace the desire clawing its way out of you.
The energy in you buzzes like a gleeful frenzy, yet also tangled in worry.
It’s like a piece of you is afraid this might be the last and only chance you’ll have with Marcus before the dream disappears and you wake up to find yourself divorced.
You wonder if he’s feeling the same way.
So wearily opening your eyes, you run your hand up to his rugged unshaven face and draw his gaze to you. Those dark eyes of his open, star dazed pools you could swim in forever.
You lean forward to kiss him soft, gentle.
“We have all the time in the world Marcus,” you reassure him, softly saying the words against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”
“Besides, you speak Italian so you’re my ticket back.” You add grinning and teasing.
“Sweetheart,” he sobs half an awed laugh, looking at you teary and heartfelt.
Once you and Marcus settle, you stay curled against his side, blanketed across him like you’re the one protecting him now. His hands stay touching you, running his fingers against your soft back.
“I’m afraid… I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.” Marcus reveals among the dimming candle light and soft bed sheets.
“Me too,” you admit and press a kiss to his bare shoulder.
His eyes never leave you while his hand traces across your face.
“How do you keep getting more beautiful?” Marcus mutters.
Bashful your burrow your face against his uninjured shoulder.
“What? Don’t hide from me.” He teases now.
“Now I’m really going to divorce you.” You joke back.
“Hey,” his voice drops dejected.
“Sorry too soon, too soon,” you reassure Marcus, rubbing a hand against his warm broad chest.
He picks up your hand and kisses your palm.
“So… can we talk about how it took me getting kidnapped for us to face our marital problems?” You ask, humored by this truth.
“Hey, saved us on the expensive lawyer fees.” Marcus teases again with a shrug.
You bust out into a bright laugh.
“God I missed this, misses that sound. Missed you.” Marcus, ever the romantic, draws you even closer into his embrace.
“I missed you too, more than you know.” You admit, closing your eyes in peace.
Then an image flashes into your mind.
The photos, him and that woman…
Suddenly you stiffen and sit up from his warmth.
“Darling, you alright?” Marcus asks.
You inhale, then shakily exhale.
“Are you sure you want to do this… with me?” You keep your voice as level as possible.
“What? Of course I do. You’re the love of my life.” He urges sitting up gently without straining his arm.
“Those men that took me… they showed me photos of you and another woman.”
Your words silence him.
It wasn’t the yelling or arguing that rattled the foundation of your marriage, but the silence. The fearful hollow silence, the quiet acceptance, ate away at so much. It continues to make its presence known here.
This moment felt so gilded. Now it melts away like fool's gold.
“She… was an associate I thought I could trust. But I was proven wrong.” He answers collected and level.
So Musgrave wasn’t fully lying.
“You took her to our spot.” You mutter not even able to look at him.
“I… I wanted it to be a fresh start, a way to get over you.” He admits freely, ashamed.
“After I saw Dr. Freeman getting friendly with you and hearing around campus that he apparently was interested in you…”
His voice trails off.
He assumed you were the one moving on.
“Doug did ask me out, but I politely told him no.” You truthfully tell Marcus. You couldn’t bring yourself to date, even someone as charming and smart as Dr Freeman. Your heart stayed tied to a certain archeology and art history professor.
Softly Marcus leans forward and rests his head on your back. Faintly his tears trickle against your naked shoulder.
“I think about you, everyday. And I wished it was you the entire time. I know you might not believe me, but it was.. so hard knowing I was there without you.” His voice wavers.
A jealous and pained part of you hisses that he still took this woman there. But the ache inside your heart weighs more knowing you don’t want to imagine another day where he could be dating someone else.
You turn to embrace him and let his face burrow into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder.
“I won't ever lie to you, won’t hide anything from you. Never again.” Marcus vows, and you believe him.
In the silence now you and him find solace in each other's arms allowing the night to gentle greet you.
— ⟡ —
The nails supposedly used to crucify Jesus Christ are known as the holy nails. They’re a part of significant artifacts known as the Arma Christi or the instruments of the Passion.
Considered some of the holiest artifacts, the Catholic Church deemed their existence to be undeniable reliquaries of Christ’s existence. Yet their credibility still holds some discussion.
Many have claimed to house the true nails, but their authenticity has been debated for centuries.
Saint Helena, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine, is said to be the one who first discovered the current relics.
“You’ve never believed she brought the real things back.” Marcus notes as you look over the journals beside him in the car ride.
“Always had my doubts.” You mutter going over the notes.
As the mother of the Emperor who changed a national faith, you believed Helena needed to solidify the holiness compared to the nation's old pagan faith. In theory, it made sense for the Empress Dowager to so conveniently find the holy relics to further justify her son’s new conversion.
“Where do you think they are?” Marcus's voice dips while staying close beside you.
“Honestly? Here.” You say nudging out the window.
The beautiful Vatican streets roll by the window. An ache squirms in your chest thinking about how you and Marcus had always dreamed of coming to Italy.
“On our tenth anniversary I’m making it happen,” he had once grinned telling you that.
“Reached our fifth anniversary last year and finally made it here… I think we’re on the right track, baby.” He now jokes holding the taxi door open for you.
Rolling your eyes, amusement still tugs at your lips.
Normally, you would have begged Marcus to simply book a flight back to the states and come home with you.
But now you hate curiosity has sunken its claws into you. You want to see if this lead here holds any truth.
You take this time during the day to truly scope out the Vatican Museum.
Saint Helena’s sarcophagus is a sight.
A deep crimson red, covered in etching of Roman soldiers, the piece draws attention. Your eyes try absorbing every detail you can from the distance.
The lions on top of the tomb catch your eye.
Strange that one sleeps while the other lion is simply lying down.
If only you could inspect the burial piece closer, try to see if there’s any hidden religious iconography hidden.
“You notice something?” Marcus questions keeping a hand against your lower back, soft and protective.
“It’s lovely finally getting to meet your wife I’ve heard so much about.” A new voice, crisp and achingly saccharine, interrupts the moment.
Off to the side stands the woman, the one from the photos.
“Margaret,” Marcus curtly nods to her.
She grins at you wicked and sweet.
“Good to see you again, Dr. Pike,” she purrs, and Marcus stiffens beside you.
“See anything good, gorgeous?” Then the familiar voice of William Musgrave arrives.
You glance around and find even in the crowded space, it’s obvious you’re surrounded by their goons.
“I always knew you were the brains between the two Pikes,” Musgrave grins at you.
Your husband’s hand tightens into a fist against your back, angered.
“Now we can do this the easy way, or the not easy way.” Musgrave explains politely.
Either you and Marcus would both accompany them to the spot you believe the nails could be at, or they’d take you by force.
“The sarcophagus is the only clue we had. I’m sure you figured out something, Dr. Pike. Marcus always did praise your intellect.” Margaret coos at you faux adoringly, and your blood boils.
“No. This supposedly great lead was unsuccessful.” You snap back.
Musgrave sneers unconvinced. But glancing around he also notices this isn’t the time or place to be having such a conversation in the broad daylight among other visitors.
“Guess we can just return here later, once things have settled down.” He suggests.
“Now, don’t make this harder and come with us.” Margaret smiles.
True to their word, they bring you and Marcus back to the exhibition sneaking in under the cover of nightfall.
At any other time you’d be over the moon getting to examine such a rare and ancient artifact with Marcus by your side.
Now a horrible distaste rots in you.
“So… what plans do you all have for the nails? Are they really that expensive? Don’t you think the Catholic Church will find you first before you even get to sell them?” You suddenly speak up, momentarily lionhearted.
Marcus under the hood of his weathered hat shoots you a sharp cautionary look to tread lightly.
“Well, the money is nice,” Margaret begins.
But the truth was that the sacred nails apparently hold the dried sacred blood of Christ. Legend says the blood could heal any wound.
“Imagine the payout we could get if it’s true?” Musgrave greedily grins at the thought.
“Even if it’s true, those belong in a museum," Marcus snaps now.
One of the many qualities you loved about Marcus was his resolve, his integrity and steadfast determination.
Marcus championed artifacts being returned to their cultures, or for certain relics being restored within the safety of a museum. He would never think about seeking any artifacts out for his own gain.
Hearing him speak so firm and in his dusty leather jacket, even in this stressful moment, you’ve never been more in love.
Margaret makes a gagging noise and mockingly laughs.
“Oh you’re such a wet blanket, Dr Pike. No wonder why you were a disappointment in bed.” Her words slice through you.
Immediately your gaze snaps to find Marcus, almost accusatory. He already looks back at you, eyes shining in unshakable clarity.
“She’s lying. I never slept with her.” His words ring firm and true.
“So says the desperate lonely soon to be divorced man. I don’t know how you stayed with him for so long, you poor thing.” Margaret frowns staring at you.
“There’s nothing here.” You now declare fierce ignoring Margaret and her venomous words. “I’ve looked at every inch of this thing but found nothing.”
Musgrave sighs now.
“A shame… that’s all we had to go on.” He mutters.
Was this it? Was this finally over?
Marcus even seems to exhale a bit relieved.
Until Musgrave pulls out a pistol and points it to you.
“No!” Marcus screams and tries to reach you until another gun gets drawn stopping him.
“Now we can’t have you two love birds coming after us can we?” Margaret grins.
“We wouldn’t dare, just let us go.” Marcus urges and tries to negotiate saying he can lead them to other artifacts.
“Sorry Dr. Pike, we were set on those nails. It’s unfortunate that you or your pretty spouse couldn’t find anything.” Musgrave whistles disheartened.
“Wait.” You suddenly blurt out.
“I think… there might be another spot we can try.” You mutter.
“Now that’s the type of talk I like to hear.” Musgrave beams at you.
Marcus mutters your name petrified but confused, wondering where you’re heading with this.
“We can maybe try Helena’s original burial site.” You explain.
Your favorite professor blinks, processing what you’re saying.
“I remember… There was a mausoleum Constantine had commissioned for his mother,” Marcus mutters thinking out loud.
The original burial ground where Saint Helena rested is at another location.
This was your final attempt at finding something, or until you and Marcus figured out a way to escape this band of devils.
It pains you knowing you’re seeing this sacred site under awful circumstances. The mausoleum sits towering within the night and looms with the grace of an ancient world.
Musgrave’s men keep watch as everyone sneaks into the ancient site.
Among the beautiful old stones, listening to the softness of the wind, all you can think about is the sarcophagus.
And the image of those two lions.
One resting and the other sleeping. Two distinct forms that seem connected.
You finally take notice of the mausoleum’s peculiar build with two particular layers.
A thought strikes you. When you turn to Marcus he already stares at you, and you wonder if he arrived at the same conclusion.
“Some nails are up top,” he whispers.
“The other is buried below.” You finish.
“Don’t get brave and try anything silly now,” Musgrave reminds you and Marcus.
There’s still hope to escape this. But now you’re on a mission trying to search for some sort of clue.
Marcus however goes to stand in the center of the gravesite. Muttering to himself his eyes scan the walls while he holds the lantern up.
Then he scurries to a side of the wall.
Immediately Marcus kneels down and begins swiping at the stone wall edge with his hands, a makeshift attempt at trying to preserve the stone
You rush to his side.
“I figured we’d try for the sleeping lion first. Biblical prophecy and all. Just had to remember what direction the lions were in.” He grins boyish.
This smart, incredible man.
The stone wiggles under Marcus’s delicate touch.
Musgrave hisses something to his men while more of his men approach.
Neither you or Marcus care about the mercenary now. Everything in you simply focuses on the dig.
“I need something to move the brick blocking the others.” Marcus huffs a bit frustrated at himself for not having his dig site tool kit on hand.
“Not if we do this.” You grab a nearby discarded stone and start using it to knock away the brick.
“Hey!” Marcus cries a bit horrified at your actions, and Musgrave laughs.
“It’s fine,” you reassure Marcus. “Don’t you remember Helena desecrated and destroyed a pagan temple dedicated to the goddess Venus. This was bound to come back to her.”
Now you hear a breathlessly laugh come from Marcus. The jagged stone wall scrapes your hand, and you flinch in pain. He grabs the rock and instead takes over for you.
Further and further he digs into the rock wall’s edge that meets the floor.
His dusty hat unfortunately covers your eyesight when Marcus leans down closer to the ground.
Reaching into the stone gingerly he then pulls something out.
Ancient and aged cloth, almost delicate enough to be paper, is wrapped around something.
The air stills.
Delicately Marcus unfolds the wrapping. His eyes meet yours.
Inside sits a large rusted ancient nail.
Your breathing stops.
Stunned, you glance to Marcus who stares at this artifact trying to process the sight before him.
No one moves.
Until Musgrave reaches out and simply grabs the holy nail out from the wrapping.
Then, before you or Marcus can even react, immediately Musgrave begins screaming.
A horrible smell fills the air.
Then you watch as if a mysterious acid starts eating away at Musgrave’s hands. They disintegrate right before your eyes. His men and Margaret scream in confusion as their leader perishes right before them.
Margaret’s terror transforms in anger, and she whips out a gun pointing it at you.
Everything happens so fast.
The gunshot fires into the night, the sound ringing in your ears.
Yet you never feel the impact of a bullet.
All that comes is Marcus’s body barreling into yours as you and him collide falling over onto the ground.
Maybe she missed?
Margaret screams again, but this time it’s in pure agony. Wearily on the stone floor you watch her collapse to her knees. Her hands start disintegrating too. The holy nail she tried to escape with falls to the ground.
Utterly petrified, the rest of the men quickly flee in fear.
“Some mercenaries they are.” You chuckle.
Yet Marcus stays quiet.
Worried, you call his name and sit up more.
Blood stains your clothes.
The source leaks from the bullet wound -
That hit Marcus.
“No… oh please no,” you frantically cry trying to press your hands against the bleeding on his shoulder.
His breathing comes shaky, wheezy.
“Marcus, stay with me!” You snap, ordering him to stay awake.
“Love you, my bossy wife.” His tone is fond, but his slurred speech worries you.
Sliding your coat off, you use it to help put pressure on the wound. But so much blood continues soaking into your coat.
“Darling….” Marcus’s voice trickles out softer, weaker.
“No,” you cry harder trying to think of something, maybe run out into the streets of Rome to find help.
You can’t lose him.
Looking around the ancient site hoping to find anything, frantically you spot the nail on the ground.
Gingerly you move Marcus off your lap.
He coughs out your name.
“What are you doing? Honey?” Marcus speaks up a bit stronger against the pain and blood loss.
Resolved and hoping for a miracle, you gingerly pick up the nail through the wrapping, making sure not to touch the holy artifact. Your hand stings from the scrapes, but it doesn’t matter.
Against the lantern light you delicately shift Marcus to see his shoulder. A soft pained groan leaves him.
“I know, honey,” you hiccup.
This is all you can think of.
You run the tip of the nail against the wound.
Marcus shouts in pain. Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision.
What have you done?
Did you just lose the love of your life?
But then the bullet simply plops out from the wound.
Your eyes go wide.
The bleeding stops.
You beg Marcus to sit up and help slide off his jacket.
The wound is gone.
More sobs overtake you. The paper covered nail drops from your hands, and you fling yourself to embrace Marcus into your arms.
“You dumb man!” You cry hard. “Don’t ever jump in front of a bullet again!”
“I’m sorry, but I’d do it again to keep you safe.” He comforts you.
You shed more tears now simply relieved he’s alive. Marcus moves to draw you into his arms, cradling you.
Suddenly, the screech of police sirens break the air. A rush of police and Vatican officers arrive. A distinguished elderly priest speaking Italian storms in. He must be the main guy in charge.
Managing to steady himself Marcus answers the priest back in Italian.
The priest’s eyes go wide. He nods then returns to ordering the others around. The officers show no sign of arresting you or Marcus, and it confuses you even more.
“I told them what happened.” Marcus explains sensing your confusion.
“But how… why are they even here?” You still question, clinging to Marcus.
“Before we left, I told the innkeeper if we weren’t back by midnight to call the police and send them here,” Marcus reveals.
He already knew you might end up here.
“Kinda figured we’d both come to the same conclusion and check this place out. Guess my hunch was right.” He chuckles.
A watery relieved laugh fills your body, and you clutch onto him.
“I love you so much, you beautiful ridiculous man.” You laugh cry.
“Not as much as I love you,” Marcus exhales, kissing the top of your head while he clutches onto you tight.
“You saved my life.” He says reverently.
“You saved mine.” You argue back.
“Please… don’t ever touch a terrifying artifact again.” His voice wavers heavily with thick emotion.
“I’d do it again to keep you safe.” You repeat his words back to him.
Marcus busts into a watery laughter so love sick you want to hear it over and over.
Under the shadow of the ancient stone, you find anew in his arms.
— ⟡ —
The beautiful Italian sun coats the mausoleum in a soft light. The police and other authorities are still keeping everything off limits.
You’re grateful to finally appreciate the historic site without the stress of mercenaries or Marcus possibly bleeding out in your arms.
“I owe Saint Helena an apology. Guess she did really find the Holy Nails.” You note.
“I’m sure she’d understand your doubt.” Marcus ever reassuring replies.
“But you did break part of her mausoleum. So maybe you should apologize for that.” He adds teasing, and you playfully elbow him.
“You know it’s funny, I just remembered Helena is considered the patron saint of archeologists.” You add feeling a fondness swell in your chest.
“Very fitting,” Marcus squeezes your hand, grinning soft.
The priest from last night emerges out from the site and kindly smiles at you and Marcus.
“We appreciate you both keeping watch over these sacred relics,” the priest is earnest in his gratitude but also politely urges to never speak a word of what you saw.
“Safe blessings and travels to you both,” he nods and turns on his heels to return to the site.
“Father,” until Marcus calls out and stops him.
You’re just as confused as the poor priest.
“Can you… maybe do me a favor?” Marcus asks with kind pleading eyes.
Now you’re even more confused.
“Can you marry us? I want to renew our vows.” He asks sincerely.
An unflattering confused noise escapes you.
“Are you serious?!” You continue to squawk.
Marcus turns to you, clean shaven now and more stunning than ever in his blazer.
“Never been more serious in my life.” He reassures you and then turns back to say something in Italian to the priest.
The holy man sleepily grins, almost understanding. He now turns to you, waiting for your decision.
Without hesitation you step to stand beside Marcus before this priest.
The vows are familiar. You remember the officiant who did your first ceremony got emotional when Marcus politely interrupted the vows and declared his own.
Now under the watch of the ancient building, you and your husband declare yourselves to each other again. In your heart you promise to fight any battle with Marcus by your side. You again want your life tied to him in every way.
There’s no rings but you don’t mind.
Until of course Marcus eagerly moves to pull something from his blazer’s breast pocket.
His ring.
“You have it?” You can’t even believe your own words much less the sight of the familiar wedding band.
“Keep it on me for good luck,” bashfully Marcus shrugs.
You truly would love this man for all eternity.
Sliding his ring onto your hand, it feels like coming home.
“You may now kiss,” the priest declares warm.
It’s even better than the first time.
The inn keeper greets you relieved and teary eyed when Marcus and you return back.
This sweet older man is the true hero of this trip and you thank him graciously.
“So, are you ready to leave that signore and stay here with me?” He playfully winks, and you laugh.
“Maybe another time. This guy is my ride back.” You joke.
“Husband,” Marcus politely corrects. “I’m your husband.”
Damn right he is.
Tomorrow you’ll be flying home with your husband.
“Wish we could stay later, maybe see more here in Rome” he admits dreamily placing soft kisses against your shoulder as he gathers up his things.
“We have papers to grade,” you weakly reply back.
“Ugh no talk of school. We’re on our second honeymoon mind you.” Marcus huffs, and you laugh.
When he pulls you down to the bed alongside him, he winces a bit.
“Does your shoulder still hurt?” You ask worried.
“Just sore, it’s fine.” He reassures you. The wound is completely healed still, but you understand how sore he could still be.
Your eyes find the spot where the bullet hit him, where his warm skin now remains unblemished.
Leaning down you place a soft kiss to where the wound was. The soft exhale Marcus gives is music to your ears.
“I’m a bit sore here too honey, might need a kiss,” Marcus mutters moving to point at his lips.
The action makes you laugh, but you happily kiss him all the same. Greedily your husband sweeps you in his arms.
When your hand reaches for his face, the scrapes still fresh against your skin suddenly sting sharp, and you now flinch.
He immediately notices, says your name worried, and pulls away to tend to your hand.
“It’s nothing.” You’re the one reassuring him now. Especially compared to his wound, you had almost completely forgotten about your hand.
Once the tender wrapping is around your scrapes, Marcus lifts your hand to place a soft kiss against it like he’s a beautiful knight pledging his fealty to you.
“You wanna hear my theory on why I think the nail worked, Dr. Pike?” he mutters.
“Tell me, Dr. Pike.” You perk up curious.
“Because you used the nail on someone else, someone you love.” Marcus explains with the most gentle tone.
“I’m just glad it worked.” You agree.
Gentle he gathers you back into his arms, and you melt into blissful peace. He kisses your forehead.
“So… what’s your next adventure, Professor Pike? Want to find the ark of the convent?” You tease.
“Why? Is my beautiful wife thinking of accompanying me?” Those gorgeous eyes of his go wide in surprise.
“Maybe… I don't know. Guess I just now understand why you do this.” You shrug playfully.
Leaning out from his arms, you reach and grab the dusty hat perched on top of the best post.
Turning to Marcus you place his hat on your head.
“What do ya say…Up for another adventure?” You grin wild.
You’re worried he might have taken this as teasing since he intently stares at you.
Marcus doesn’t let you utter another word as he suddenly surges forward to kiss you.
In the beautiful afterglow among the sheets again, dark brown hat fully discarded, you slowly fade in and out of sleep. Your husband’s fingers aimlessly tracing gentle shapes on you.
“I’ve always wondered if Atlantis is real,” you suddenly say dreamy burrowing closer to Marcus. “Can you maybe try to find Atlantis?”
Your favorite professor burst into a wild wonderful laugh, one that brilliantly touches his eyes.
“No, my darling. I think I’ve had enough adventures for a while. Now I want to enjoy the best ones with my wife.” He grins.
Then Marcus kisses you like you’re the most precious treasure he could ever find in the world.
tag list: @sin-djarin @copperhalfcent @sunnytuliptime @iamladyp
Summary: Dieter becomes a face of a dating app and meets you and your husband while shooting an ad for it. Feeling an immense attraction, he invites you both to his penthouse, planning to enjoy the night and you to the fullest.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, fluff, threesome, shifting pov’s but it’s mostly Dieter’s, love is in the air, wholesome depravity, a lil bit of cuckolding, mm oral, body worship, lactation kink galore, pregnancy kink, unprotected piv, f/m! oral, breastfeeding, cumeating, Dieter is nasty and sweet, alcohol consumption, swearing.
Word count: 3,7k
A/n: first of all, Happy Valentine's Day, lovelies! I’m sending y’all kisses and hugs! This is written for Bouquets of Pedro creativity challenge created by @happypedrohours 💞 but also for me and for like minded ppl🥛 If it’s not your thing, it’s totally ok (give it a taste tho, you might like it hehe) Kisses to my baby @milla-frenchy for the support and beta-ing!💋Have a wonderful weekend, y’all!❤️
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
MASTERLIST
“A face of a dating app? Me? Are you shitting me right now?”
Dieter lowered his sunglasses to stare at Erin, his PR manager. They’d met at a restaurant to discuss the future of his career after it had been hit by yet another scandal, involving the famous actor.
“It's not just a dating app,” Erin began explaining. “They guarantee that a person will meet their soulmate there. It’s called ‘Perfect Match‘. They have some kind of an algorithm to … ehm.. whatever. Not important. What’s important is that it’s wholesome, Dieter, and we desperately need to clean up your image. At least try,” the woman added, failing to hide defeat in her voice.
“ ‘s all defamation,” Dieter mumbled before taking a sip of his 11am White Russian.
The woman continued,
”If you want to ever be in a good movie, that’s a great start. Right now casting directors avoid you like a plague. B movies will be all you can get pretty soon.”
“Ouch.”
“You know it’s true.”
Dieter did know it so he said ‘yes‘.
He and his team met with the app people the next week. He missed half of the shit they discussed playing ‘animal crossing’ on his Switch but at the end of the meeting he signed the contract and they scheduled an ad shoot.
On the day of the shoot, Dieter was ready to die of boredom, filming the boring ad - he had to interview a happily married couple that had found each other on the app. In his mind he was already planning what he was going to drink, sniff, take and fuck that night, barely noticing what was happening around him on set.
Yet when he saw the couple, his attitude made a u-turn, especially when he laid his eyes on the most precious co-star - you. His mind short circuited and every part of him started buzzing.
Especially his cock.
You were a beautiful woman, there was no question about that, but what made him howl like a cartoon wolf was your big pregnant belly, accentuated by your thin summer dress. Your boobs were almost spilling out of the neckline and Dieter immediately bricked up as he shamelessly took you in.
"Meet the Pikes," his manager introduced the two of you. "They met on the app, got married and now they’re expecting a baby. Isn't it wonderful?"
"Amazing. When's the due date?" Dieter blurted out, shaking your hand, almost choking on his saliva.
"Next month," you replied without a beat, smiling widely at the actor. "I'm a huge fan of yours, Mr Bravo. And my husband too."
Your husband, Marcus, turned out to be an aspiring actor. He was hot as well, tall and well built with short dark hair and eager eyes. He looked too clean for Dieter, too put-together in his white dress shirt and black slacks, but it could be fun to ruffle the guy up a bit.
Dieter smirked, ogling the two of you. He knew exactly what he was doing tonight.
The shoot was done fast, thanks to you two being really great on camera and Dieter applying all of himself to finish the job. He couldn’t wait to spend more time with you in a private setting.
“Hey, guys, would you like to have dinner at mine? Get to know each other better?”
Your face lit up and you looked at your husband with your eyes full of hope and excitement and Marcus accepted the invitation with a polite smile.
“Yay!” you exclaimed, making a tiny joyous jump, which made your beautiful breasts jiggle. Dieter smiled and bit his lip. ‘Yay’ indeed.
Dieter took you and Marcus home in his limo and on your way there you told him about your husband’s little roles, sounding very proud of his accomplishments. Marcus asked Dieter for some advice on how to make it big in the industry and feeling flattered the actor happily shared his thoughts.
Dieter really liked you both but you made his heart beat faster and his cock throb. Talking to your husband, he couldn’t tear his eyes off you, imagining fucking you in every possible position. He’d prefer to rail you on your back so he could see your amazing tits and your bulging belly on full display. He needed to lay his hands on your gorgeous body as soon as possible.
Suddenly he noticed that you got nervous and fidgety.
"What's wrong, beautiful?" he asked with furrowed brows, his tone concerned. "Is it the baby?"
"Oh no." You shook your head. "It's - no, nothing.
It's embarrassing."
Marcus came to your help and, when you nodded for him to go on, he explained.
"She has milk coming in and it gets uncomfortable sometimes."
Dieter almost jizzed in his soft pants that very moment.
You were looking upset, trying to fix your jacket over your boobs. Gorgeous, wonderful, perfect boobs which were apparently leaking milk right in his limo. Dieter could have thrown his hands up to the sky in a thankful prayer but instead he took your hand in his and cooed at you,
"Oh, baby, don't be embarrassed. It's the most natural thing. And it's beautiful. You're beautiful."
“Thank you, Mr Bravo,” you said with a shy smile and relaxed a little.
“Call me Dieter, honey.”
Dieter didn’t lie. You were glowing, your beauty leaving him breathless. He really wanted to see your wet top but he stopped himself from asking just in time.
Soon you arrived at his penthouse and had a nice dinner, talking about Dieter’s roles, your hopes and dreams. The older man found you two delightful but at the back of his mind he was still thinking about your leaky boobs while his cock was stiffening in his pants again and again.
After the dinner, you continued the conversation in his living room, you and your husband on the couch, Dieter in the armchair. He got you some water, two glasses of white wine for Marcus and himself and then returned to the topic on his mind.
“Can I ask you something, honey? I’m afraid it’s inappropriate.”
You looked a bit surprised and glanced at your husband before saying,
“Oh…ok.”
”I thought milk comes after a baby’s born. And you have it now?“
“Yeah, sometimes it happens before,” you started explaining, looking a little shy. ”My doctor says it’s normal. The body is getting ready.”
“Yeah, nature is amazing,” Dieter mused before taking a sip of his wine.
You sighed.
“It’s not really convenient though and it hurts a little.”
“Oh, because there’s no one to drink it yet?”
“Yeah.” You both laughed and Dieter tilted his head.
“Have you ever tasted it?”
“Mr Bravo,” you gasped, averting your eyes with a timid smile on your flushed face.
“Dieter, baby,” he corrected you. He noticed the way you bit your lip and how Marcus squirmed in his seat. You both didn’t look scandalized or offended.
“Ehm, I tasted it once,” you admitted quietly. ”Just to try it. It’s sweet.”
“Oh, really?” Dieter gruffed, his eyes sparkling at your confession. He bucked his hips— even in his soft pants his erection was getting painful.
“What about you, Marcus?”
“No, it’s for the baby,” the younger man replied with a shake of his head but immediately glanced at your gorgeous chest.
“Well, the baby isn’t here yet, right?” Dieter pushed, not tearing his dark eyes off the two of you. Marcus nodded and swallowed hard as his hand darted to adjust his crotch.
“But we are,” Dieter purred, testing the waters. Your breath hitched and you pressed your thighs together. You glanced at Dieter, your pupils dilating. The actor was sure that your pussy was already tingling, so he gave you a playful wink, then leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees, and asked,
“Can I see them?”
That’s how you ended up moaning and whimpering, sandwiched between Dieter and your husband Marcus on the couch. Your dress neckline and bra were pulled down, your naked tits pushed up, Dieter’s lips tightly wrapped around your breast, as much as he could engulf with his greedy mouth. He was growling into your tit, slurping down your sweet milk, kneading the other leaking boob with his big hand. His cock was tenting his pants, the crotch stained with pre cum, but he was hesitant to pull his dick out. He didn’t want to push you further too fast, didn’t want your husband to take you away from him.
Marcus seemed a bit uncomfortable when you showed Dieter two wet spots on your chest and when the actor held your clothed boob, as if weighing it in his hand. But Dieter knew what he was doing. He was gushing over your beauty, meanwhile mentioning how much he wanted to help Marcus with his career, how much he was going to do for him, for your family. The prospect of being Dieter’s protégé excited the young actor. Besides he couldn’t deny that watching the older man touch your milky breasts made Marcus rock hard in seconds.
While Dieter was gulping down your milk, your sweet noises were driving Marcus mad with arousal. He would hear you moan like that only when his cock was ruining your tight pussy. A pang of regret painfully stung his heart and he chided himself for never sucking on your tits, never giving you such great pleasure.
The actor interrupted his thoughts.
“Pull him out, man. I know you’re fucking hard. We both are,” Dieter mumbled, after letting your puffy nipple out of his mouth with a pop.
Milk immediately trickled down the curve of your breast and Dieter rushed to scoop it up with his tongue, before latching onto the source of your creamy nectar again.
Marcus’s head was clouded with lust, it was difficult to think straight, and he let himself get swallowed by the depravity of the situation.
“Baby?” He croaked, questioning his next move, and when you nodded eagerly, his hands immediately began unbuckling his belt. He took his stiff cock out and started stroking it, watching the famous actor suck milk out of his wife’s tits.
Dieter felt himself on cloud nine. The taste of you was divine, your soft whimpers were getting louder and needier, and you kept squirming in your seat. Just a minute and you’d be inviting him to taste not only your titty juice but your pussy juices too.
The older man moaned when he saw Marcus’s gorgeous cock. It was not as big as his, less thick, but it looked like a good time and besides was very aesthetically pleasing.
Your faces were flushed, your pupils blown out to the max. You both were ready to take the plunge into the world of lustful ecstasy.
“Fuck, you two are so hot,” Dieter breathed out and then whispered into your ear, playing with your wet nipple, ”C’mon, baby, let me make you feel real good. I wanna celebrate your gorgeous body the right way.”
He offered you his huge hand and you took it before glancing at your husband.
“Marcus, you two won’t regret tonight. I promise you,” Dieter said to the younger man who visibly shuddered with desire.
The actor smirked and helped you up from the couch. Marcus got up too, his hand wrapped around his crying cock, stepped up to you and kissed your lips. His hands were holding your face gently, his member bobbing between your bodies. The kiss was passionate and soft, and Dieter smiled, witnessing your love and lust for each other, but soon his own desire overtook him.
“Get a room, lovebirds,” he chuckled. “And I know just the place.” You parted from each other and followed the actor to his bedroom.
The first thing Dieter did when you three stepped into his spacious bedroom was undress you. Slowly, taking his sweet time, showering you with praise, he freed your wonderful body from the confines of your clothes.
Marcus hastily discarded his own clothes, watching the older man take your dress off and then slide your panties down your legs.
Dieter brought your wet underwear to his nose and the scent of you sent shivers down his spine and electricity through his cock. He got naked fast and then, taken with admiration and lust for you, fell on his knees. He looked up at you with piety in his puppy eyes, gently placed his palms on your round belly and cooed, taking in your beautiful form.
“Fucking goddess! Look at her, man,” he turned to Marcus who was sitting naked on the edge of the huge bed, slowly stroking his shaft.
“We must cherish her,” Dieter gushed, caressing your belly and your hips, “You're a miracle, honey.”
“She really is,” Marcus smiled.
You looked shy, standing naked in front of the men, one of whom you had met that very day, but Dieter saw how much you enjoyed his praise- your eyes were sparkling and your wide smile was genuine.
“May I…?” Dieter reached up on his knees and kissed your belly, gliding his hands over the roundness of your body. He was leaving soft kisses over the stretched skin of your stomach and you were breathing faster and faster. Then his lips travelled south to your mound and he kissed it gently with his mouth open. You hand flew to his disheveled hair but not to stop him - you caressed his head instead and tilted your hips forward, silently asking for more.
Dieter didn’t need to be invited twice. He spread your folds with his fingers and leaned in to give your hardened clit a lick. You gasped at the sensation and your knees almost buckled. Marcus rushed to you immediately and wrapped his arm around your torso and under your arms. Like a devoted husband he let you use him for stability while the older man was eating you out.
Dieter pushed his tongue deeper, reached your crying hole with the tip of the hot muscle, then dragged it between your folds back to your clit. Your moans filled the room when he began sucking on your engorged clit just like he’d done with your leaky nipple minutes ago. He couldn’t dare to touch his cock, he was afraid to come too soon.
After a few minutes Dieter pulled away from your cunt and admired you two, standing before him— you, beautiful and soft, Marcus strong and muscular. Your husband’s cock was bobbing in front of the older man’s face, and Dieter tentatively put his hand on the man’s hip, silently asking if he could go further. Marcus locked eyes with him and Dieter got his answer.
He slowly took the man’s cock in his mouth, inch by inch, and heard you moan.
“Baby, that’s so hot,” you mumbled watching your husband getting blown by the actor. Dieter hated leaving you without attention so his thumb quickly found your clit, two of his fingers plunged into your hole, and he began fingering your soft pussy.
At that moment Dieter dreamed of two more hands and another mouth so he could pleasure you both at the same time, but alas, he had to alternate between licking your pussy and sucking your husband’s cock.
Marcus and you began kissing, swallowing each other’s pleasured whimpers, while Dieter was feasting on your cunt and his length. Soon you came, shaking against your husband’s body who was holding you tight, not letting you fall when the waves of euphoria were hitting you over and over.
Dieter was happy with his job for now. He sat on his heels, looking up at your satisfied smile and Marcus’s engorged cock. Your tits were leaking again and he missed having them in his mouth so he ordered,
“Bed you two. Now.”
There was no harshness in his voice. Just desire and admiration for the two people giving him the pleasure worthy of gods.
You were lying down on the bed, your back resting on a few pillows, Dieter by your side. Marcus took place between your legs, licking the mixture of your cum and Dieter’s saliva off your puffy folds.
The actor began drinking from your tit again but now he wanted more.
“Can I play with you a little, beautiful? I’ll be gentle,” he purred into your ear and you moaned a soft ‘yes’.
Dieter latched to your nipple, sucked out a mouthful of your creamy liquid and sat up. He leaned down and slowly poured your milk out of his mouth right on your blooming pussy. It hit your clit first and then slid down to your hole right into the mouth of your husband, whose tongue was thrusting in and out of you. Marcus hungrily licked it off and growled against your cunt.
“Baby?” You sounded nervous.
“More,” your husband replied and you giggled with relief.
Dieter repeated the action a few more times, letting Marcus slurp your milk off your glistening cunt. Playing with you like that, they made you come again and then one more time. Drunk on euphoria you began breathing heavily, your forehead was sweaty, your lips parted and gulping air.
“My love,” Marcus cooed at you, climbing up the bed to the other side of you. “You ok?”
“Yes,” you huffed with a smile. “Just tired.”
Dieter looked at you with his puppy eyes and asked,
“Wanna stop, baby?”
You looked at his fat cock, then at Marcus’s crying member and shook your head.
“No, I wanna make you two come.”
“Oh, honey,” Dieter muttered and kissed your cheek. “You’re an angel. We don’t deserve you.”
“Where do you want us?” Marcus asked softly, caressing your belly with his sweaty palm.
“Yours in my pussy. Dieter, can I suck you off?
It took everything from Dieter not to come right then and there.
The men took their positions fast, yet still moving very carefully around you. Marcus got settled on his knees between your legs and was gliding his hands up and down your thighs, waiting for you to be ready.
Dieter kneeled next to your shoulder, bringing his cock to your mouth as close as possible, caring for your comfort.
“I won’t go deep, beautiful. Just lick him a little and I’ll come. I can bust just looking at you.”
You nodded, smiling up at his handsome face.
Marcus started first. The cold wet tip of his cock nestled at your entrance and he started pushing it in. Your cum and his pre fuck juice made it easy for you to take his length and soon your husband was growling, seeing his cock plunged deep inside your pussy.
“Oh, baby,” you moaned, watching his member move in and out of you, your greedy cunt swallowing him whole again and again. You twisted your nipple and a jet of milk burst out of your tit and hit Marcus’s lower belly. It trickled down the man’s happy trail and Dieter whined,
“That’s the hottest shit I’ve seen. Baby, can I do it?“
“Yeah,” you mumbled, delirious with lust and pleasure.
Dieter took your nipple between his fingers and gently pulled on it. ”Fuck me,” he grunted, as he began spraying your milk everywhere— Marcus’s chest, his stomach, your big belly, your glistening pussy. For some time you were mesmerized watching the sweet juice of your tits slide down your husband’s abs and then reach the place where the two of you were joined.
“Hnggg,” Dieter growled, “some extra lube for you two. Fuck this milk deep into her pussy, Marcus. Make her sweet all over.”
You were moaning loudly, drowning the lewd squelching sounds of your husband’s cock churning milk inside your cunt.
You needed to ground yourself or you’d die of immense pleasure, so you turned to Dieter who was still playing with your milky breasts and took the fat head of his cock into your mouth.
The actor made the neediest sound and bent over as if you hit him in the stomach.
“Your mouth, baby, it's heaven,” he moaned through heavy breaths and then roared, dropping his head back in ecstasy.
“Fuck— gonna come.“
A rope of his seed hit the back of your mouth and you took him deeper, breathing through your nose, letting the older man spill his cum inside your mouth and down your throat.
Marcus followed him immediately and his cock started filling you full of his hot sperm, adding even more wetness to your core. The men used both of your holes to discard their fat loads and you happily swallowed Dieter’s seed with your mouth and Marcus’s with your pussy.
When their balls were drained, they plopped on the bed on the both sides of you, panting and chuckling from time to time.
“‘s was fucking incredible,” Dieter breathed out, turning on his side, and looked at you with gratitude.
“Can I kiss your wife, Marcus?” He asked, lifting himself on one elbow.
“If she wants it.”
Marcus gave you both a tired smile.
Dieter looked deep into your eyes, leaned closer and your sparkling eyes screamed ‘yes’.
He finally kissed you. His lips were slowly caressing yours, your tongues tangled, his hand was rubbing your round belly, yours was cupping his scruffy cheek.
When you parted from him, Marcus seized your chin and turned your head to him. Your lips met and as Dieter watched your husband lick into your mouth, a satisfied smile spread across his face.
“That app is the shit,” he muttered. ”We matched perfectly.”
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!
Also check out my favorite milky stories. They’re amazing! Leave some love to the authors if you enjoy their work.
Liquid Gold (Joel, Tommy) by @gasolinerainbowpuddles
Tagging some friends who might be interested. No pressure to read, loves<3 @604to647 @myownwholewildworld @bonezone44 @toxicanonymity @tateypots @sp00kymulderr
Tags/Warnings: Older!Marcus Pike, Apocalypse AU, reader almost dies at the very beginning but she's fine, lots of mentions of food and being hungry because food is scarce, reader has lots of trust issues
Summary: You are lost, starving, and stuck in a snowstorm after fleeing a bad situation, when you see it: a cozy little farmhouse with smoke coming out of the chimney, and a large barn with the letters 'ART MUSEUM' painted on the front. The man who lives there and tends to the museum is unlike anyone you've ever met in this hellscape of a world...
A/N: WELL HELLO FRIENDS. It's been a little while since you've heard from me, but I promise I never left ;) I've just been low in the motivation and ideas departments when it comes to writing. But then my one true love Marcus Pike (aka clean-shaven Pedro) returned from the war and I started rotating him around and around in my mind again, and I simply MUST put this man in situations. I "told" myself this bedtime story the other night instead of sleeping and I hope you like it!
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Chapter 2 >>
You find him in a farmhouse north of Philadelphia.
You aren’t sure exactly where; you’ve considered yourself “lost” for at least a day and a half now. You can’t remember how many days it’s been since you left the Colony. A week? Two weeks?
The only thing you know is that you ran out of food three days ago, and it’s not like you’ll find anything to scavenge in this weather. You wish you hadn’t had to leave so quickly, leaving your cherished hunting rifle propped against the wall of the detached garage you had called home for the past year. If you had just taken the extra few minutes to run back and grab it, you would at least be able to bag a squirrel or two now.
Stupid.
Snow whips around you as you trudge through the deepening snowdrifts. Occasionally, you grab handfuls to stuff in your mouth, but it does little to help the intense headache that’s set in from the exertion of walking through a blizzard. You thought your heaviest parka would be enough–and maybe it would be, if you weren’t so close to starvation–but the cold is beginning to overwhelm your body, and as the sky begins to darken, your footsteps have slowed considerably.
When you see the little white farmhouse, it’s almost completely dark, but not so much that you can’t see the gentle plume of smoke rising out of the brick chimney. It’s not safe to approach a random settlement, you remind yourself. That’s like, Apocalypse 101. It’s the stupidest, most reckless thing you can do. You have no idea who’s inside. You have no idea what they will do to you.
You should turn around and leave. You should go knock on the door. No, leave. With your mind so foggy with hunger and cold and unable to process your conflicting urges, you just… stand there.
So… tired.
It isn’t until the cold snow begins to trickle into the neck of your parka that you realize you’ve fallen to the ground. You stare blankly at the large barn that sits a few yards away from the farmhouse. Someone has painted the words ‘ART MUSEUM’ in big, black letters on the front of it.
Weird.
When you wake up, you’re warm and dry.
Or maybe you’re dead.
No–if you were dead, you wouldn’t be able to smell woodsmoke, or hear the crackle of a nearby fireplace.
With a panicked inhale, you shoot upward, frantically trying to get your bearings and determining your best route of escape.
“Easy, easy.”
Your head whips in the direction of the voice. A man stands across from you, as far as he can physically get from you and still be in the same room. He holds both hands up, spreading his fingers in a show of peace. His eyes are cautious, but gentle, and his brow is creased as though he were anxious.
“Easy,” he repeats. “I found you out in the snow and brought you inside. I won’t hurt you.”
“Why?” you rasp.
The man seems confused by the question. “You were going to die,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t have any food in your pack. When was the last time you ate anything?”
Suspicion flares in your gut. “You looked through my stuff?”
He grimaces a little. “I can’t just bring someone into my house without knowing anything about them.”
“What were you looking for?”
He shrugs again. “Weapons. Drugs. I don’t know.”
“I don’t have any.”
“I know that, now.”
The two of you regard each other warily for a few moments, not speaking. Something about him makes you want to trust him, but trust is a hot commodity these days, for how scarce it seems to be.
“You must be hungry,” he says, breaking the silence. “At this point in the season, I’ve got venison jerky and… more venison jerky, but in your condition I’m more worried about it making you sick.”
“I don’t care,” you say quickly, the prospect of anything edible making your hands shake with anticipation.
“I’ll give you a little,” he decides, “and I think I have some cornmeal. I can make some poor man’s polenta.”
“Some… what?”
The man grins lopsidedly. “I mean, it’s just cornmeal and water. But it feels better to call it ‘polenta’ rather than ‘gruel.’”
You don’t respond, still watching him and trying to calculate whether this man is a threat. When he reaches into his coat pocket, you flinch, and he stops.
“I’ve got… I’m taking out some food for you. Okay?” He moves again, slower this time, and retrieves a small bundle of a handkerchief. “Venison, like I said.” He pauses, seemingly unsure of what to do next. “I could uh… throw it at you? If you don’t want me to come over there.”
“It’s fine,” you shake your head. “I mean, you… can. Come here, or… throw it, I don’t care,” you stammer out quickly.
Keeping his eyes fixed on you, the man slowly approaches, one hand holding out the bundle, the other still held outstretched in front of his chest in a show of supplication. You swallow awkwardly as saliva pools in anticipation. He’s moving too slow. When he’s just a few feet away, you lunge forward and snatch it from his hands, making him back away slightly with wide eyes.
You don’t care, not anymore. You rifle through the handkerchief and find a few precious morsels of jerky, stuffing them in your mouth all at once and swallowing almost without tasting.
The man huffs softly through his nose. “I’ve got more in the kitchen. And I’ll heat up some water for the uh, cornmeal.”
You nod, and he holds up both his hands again. “I’ll be right back. Just… stay there and get warm. I promise, you’re safe. I promise.”
The man vanishes, and in a couple of minutes, you can hear the metal clink of a pan being set down. You sit, staring at the place he vacated, willing yourself to stay alert and vigilant just in case, but the fire is so warm and your eyes are heavy and you really do feel safe for the first time in… well, you really don’t remember.
The next time you wake, daylight is creeping in through the windows and the man is gone. Next to you, though, is a bowl of whatever it is he made with the cornmeal, and more jerky, both of which you eat with gusto. Just as you’re scooping out the last little bit of the bowl with one finger, a floorboard creaks behind you, and you whirl around to face the man again, with one cornmeal-covered finger halfway in your mouth.
“You like it?” the man asks with a small, cautious smile.
“Mmhmm.” You awkwardly lick your finger clean and wipe it on the front of your coat. “It’s… sweet.”
“I still have a little bit of wildflower honey, I had forgotten.”
Honey? That he had forgotten about? Who IS this man?
“Honey.”
He shrugs. “Otherwise it really is more like gruel than polenta.”
“How…” you shake your head in confusion. “Where did you get honey?”
“I trade for it.”
“You trade.”
“Yes.”
The silence hangs awkwardly between you, and the man shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another. “I’m glad you’re up. I usually open the museum at dawn, and I’m running a little behind.”
“The… what?”
“The museum,” he repeats, as though that clarifies anything. “I need to feed the horses first, though. Do you drink coffee?”
You nod dumbly, unable to process the rapid-fire change in topics.
He springs into motion, heading toward the doorway to what must be the kitchen. This time, you follow him. Cautiously, of course–always staying at least six feet away as you watch him pour water from a large cistern into a cast-iron kettle and place it onto a wood stove. Then, he rifles in a cabinet and withdraws a faded, stained tupperware full of dried meat.
“More jerky?”
“You shouldn’t… you shouldn’t be sharing this much of your food with a stranger,” you say, frowning, but your hand still reaches toward the food.
“Good point. I’m Marcus. What’s your name?” He extends his free hand with an expectant look.
Your frown deepens. You don’t just… give out your name like that. Doesn’t this man know anything?
After another uncomfortable silence, the man… Marcus… withdraws his hand with a nod, and suddenly, you realize you feel incredibly guilty.
“S-Sorry–” you try, but he interrupts.
“No, it’s fine. I get it. Trust me.”
You take a small piece of jerky and chew on it, mostly as an excuse not to have to continue speaking. When the kettle sings, you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Marcus pours the boiling water into a worn-looking french press, and you watch his hands as he presses the lid down, then pours the steaming liquid into two mismatched mugs.
“I’d offer you cream and sugar, but I’m trying to cut back.” He looks at you, and when you don’t laugh, he huffs softly to himself anyway. “Kidding. But it sure was a struggle switching to black coffee when… well, you know.”
You know.
That’s how most people your age talked about life now–two distinct periods of time: Before, and whatever this is. Now. You know.
Marcus is still looking at you. You drop your gaze, and sip the coffee. It’s strong. Something about how the taste of coffee has been one of the few things that has always been the same calms you, and you feel just some of the tension leave your shoulders.
“I’ve gotta feed the horses before they revolt,” he suddenly announces, setting his mug down. “The weather is shit, and you’re still recovering your strength, so you should stay here, but…” He trails off, bashfully. “When you’re feeling up to it, you can come see the museum.”
Still not understanding what he means, you shrug and nod. “Yeah. Sure.”
Marcus beams, and that’s when you realize he’s really quite beautiful.
You nap a while longer while Marcus is outside feeding the horses, and whatever else he’s doing out there. He comes back covered in snow, brushing it off his shoulders by the front door and hanging his coat.
He rubs his hands together and breathes into them as he walks into the living room, making an exaggerated ‘brrrr’ sound. “Once this clears up I can go trade for some bread and butter, but for now, I’m afraid it’s venison jerky for lunch again,” he jokes. He grabs a handful for himself and extends another little bundle out for you.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Up to a little walking around?”
“To see the… museum,” you deadpan.
“Yes!”
It’s only when you leave the little farmhouse again that you remember the large barn you saw just before losing consciousness. On the front, large black letters read ‘ART MUSEUM’ just as they did in your fleeting memory. In the light of day–and without the delirium of hunger–you realize it used to be an airplane hangar.
As you approach, you notice the smaller sign near the door. It reads:
ADMISSION: Trade*
RULES: Be respectful of all visitors and occupants of the property
Must ask before accessing Archives and Rare Books
*Can be physical item, trinket, information, story, etc.
Thank you for your support of the arts
“It’s great, right?” Marcus is saying as he trudges toward the front door. “I stumbled upon this place through sheer providence, and I couldn’t believe my luck.” He unlocks a heavy padlock and opens the door with a flourish, gesturing for you to come inside. You stare at his hand, still not trusting him enough to enter an unfamiliar building before him.
Marcus seems to get the hint, and steps through the door himself, leaving it open for you to inspect. You peek your head inside, and…
Well, you aren’t sure what you expected, but for some reason, you hadn’t taken ‘Museum’ literally–and yet, here you are, standing in an old airplane hangar whose walls are completely covered with artworks of every style and time period you can imagine. The large open space is filled with sculptures, vases, and other artifacts, and on the left side of the hangar is a large, overflowing bookshelf.
For the moment, you’re too stunned to speak, but as usual, Marcus does it for you.
“It’s not exactly climate-controlled, of course, but this is better than any of the situations they came from.”
“You… you did all of this?” you whisper, taking in the museum with a look of sheer bewilderment.
“It’s been my life’s work–well, this life’s work, at least,” Marcus corrects himself. “Most of the major cities, I mean… you know how they are.”
You do. You have firsthand knowledge, although you don’t feel like sharing that information with the man.
“Sure, some museums were completely destroyed by the blasts, but some are still intact, just… inaccessible.”
You snort. That’s one way to describe it. Any portion of the cities that remain unburnt are treacherous, full of desperate people who can’t leave, and large syndicates of raiders and thieves who hoard what resources are left.
Marcus gestures at the walls. “When I started, I tried to keep them all organized, I really did. A wing for the Expressionists, a wing for Postmodernism, and so on, but things have gotten a little jumbled over the years.”
“You. You go to the cities. And you. Take the art.” you sputter, still focused on the insanity of it all. “And you bring it. Here.”
“It’s not stealing,” Marcus protests, his voice rising in pitch as he shuffles nervously on his feet.
“That’s not what–” You laugh in disbelief. “How the fuck do you get safely through any of these cities?”
“...Carefully.”
“Why?!”
Marcus shrugs. “I guess… when I started, it was because I wanted to preserve our history, but it’s grown to be so much more than that, it’s–” he sighs. “I want the world to have something beautiful. To know that it’s still possible.”
You stare at him. “How… how have you survived this long?”
“How do you mean?”
“You give food away. Way too much of it. You spend your time sneaking into the most dangerous areas of the country and for what? To sit here by yourself in this… graveyard of humanity?”
Marcus looks affronted, and you try to force yourself not to feel bad for clearly hurting his feelings. “It’s not just for me,” he says indignantly.
As if the universe was waiting for this cue, the doorknob behind you turns, and you jump backwards as the hangar door slowly swings open.
Two Pikes, One Bed {Marcus Pike x Ex-Wife!F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 12.2k
Warnings: Awkward encounters, Marcus is a sweetheart, mentions of breakups, mentions of therapy, there was only one bed, mentions of drunken sex, unresolved feelings, fingering, rough sex, flirting, nipple play, showering together, cream pie, after care, feeeeelings, protective reader, communication
Comments: Send to a conference, your luggage is lost by the airline and you find out that the hotel has cancelled your room reservation because why would there be two Pikes? Leaving Marcus to offer to share his bed with you. After all, your divorce was amicable.
Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers
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|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
The hotel is nice but not too fancy, typical government accommodations when the higher ups are trying to get you to comply with their shitty demands i.e going to this stupid training conference. You sigh as you walk up to the desk, tapping your fingers as you give the receptionist your name. "Pike?" She frowns in confusion, "but I just checked in a Pike." You frown, "how - I just got here-?" You ask but then you hear his voice. "I'm so sorry. You didn't write down the room number and-?" Your eyes widen as you turn your head, "Marcus?" You gasp, setting eyes on your ex husband for the first time in years.
Marcus freezes for a split second before he says your name, surprised but not completely upset to run into you. As far as ex’s go, you might have the friendliest relationship, the divorce lawyer amazed at how amicable you both had been in your breakup. Marcus had been heartbroken, but he had understood that you were at different points in your life. He opens his arms for a quick hug, the desk clerk forgotten for a moment. “What are you doing here?” He asks, pulling back to look at you. You look annoyed, the little crease between your eyes is there, a sure sign your day was not going as planned.
“Got sent to this boring conference and I don’t know why. I guess because I’m the only single, childless agent we got.” You snort and admire how he’s aged. He was always devastating handsome, you’d describe him as cute, but now, he’s sexy as fuck. A little broader with a beard that has your stomach twisting. The sex between you was fantastic. Your relationship was perfect…until you decided to go different directions. “You got stuck here too?” You ask, wondering if he’s gotten married again. You haven’t spoken for years, both amicable but not friends. He nods, scratching his jaw, and you turn back to the receptionist who clears her throat. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a mistake. Our system thought the booking got duplicated and, uh, we only have one room under the name Pike.” You nod, annoyed but understanding, “I’ll just get another room.” You say and Marcus frowns, concerned about your accommodation. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s - we are fully booked for the conference.” You huff, “then I’ll find another hotel.” She shakes her head, “everything is booked up. I’m sorry.” You close your eyes, stomach twisting at the news that you don’t have a room to sleep in. “Shit.” You murmur, trying to figure out what to do.
Marcus tuts, looking around. “Where is your luggage?” He asks, making you sigh. “The airline lost it.” You sound almost defeated, proving things really hadn’t been going your way. “Shit.” He hisses, knowing how much that sucks when it happens. He has taken to just using a carry on when he could get away with it for just that reason. “Listen…” he shrugs slightly. “Since we don’t hate each other and are probably the friendliest divorced couple ever-“ the clerks' eyes widen, realizing the relationship now. “Why don’t you stay with me?” He offers. “At least until a room opens up.”
You know this isn't ideal but you sigh, knowing you have no choice. "Wouldn't your new wife be mad?" You tease, testing to make sure he's not re-married. He snorts, "single as a pringle." You chuckle, nodding at him, "then yes. Thank you, Marc." You murmur, squeezing his hand. The receptionist nods, making another key for you. "Then that's settled." You let go of Marcus's hand, "good thing I have a pair of panties and a makeup bag on hand." You smile, trying to make light of a stressful situation. You're sharing a room with your ex husband.
He chuckles. “I’ve got some extra boxers and t-shirts.” He offers. “You used to steal them all the time to sleep in when we were married.” Giving you the key had also told Marcus his own room number so he guides you towards the elevator. “What about you? I’m not going to have an angry boyfriend coming for me, am I?” You had said you were single, but he finds it hard to believe you aren’t at least dating someone. You are still just as gorgeous as the last time he had seen you. You always had men falling over you, even when the two of you were together. Marcus hadn’t been jealous, he had been proud you had chosen him.
You shake your head, “single as a Pringle.” You repeat his earlier phrase and he chuckles. “As a man, I gotta say my gender is crazy.” You snort, “well, you divorced me.” You remind him and he sighs, “I filed because you wouldn’t do it, even though you wanted to.” You lean against the wall of the elevator after he presses the button for the right floor. “We both wanted to.” You remind him, tilting your head, “and it was the right decision for both of us. We wanted different things.”
He could argue that, but he doesn’t. “So did you end up where you wanted?” Marcus asks, curious about what you’ve been doing. He knows that several conferences are going on in town, but you had said ‘agent’. What three letter agency did you join? He knows several speakers are from joint tasks forces with other agencies. Even the famed Javier Peña from the DEA is speaking. That’s the only one he’s really interested in.
You nod, “FBI.” You answer, “cyber division.” You reveal and his eyebrows raise, making you smile at how he looks just like the young man you married. “Me too. Uh, art crime.” You aren’t surprised by his job involving art but the FBI agent status surprises you. “Wow. I didn’t know - didn’t think you wanted - I always figured you’d be an art gallery owner or something like that.”
He shuffles as the doors to the elevator open and he motions for you to go in first. “After we- uh, split up, I needed a little more focus.” He admits, rolling his bag inside with you and pressing the button for the tenth floor. “Here I get to appreciate art, pay my bills and make sure others get to appreciate it too.” What he didn't say was that he had originally joined because of all the cases you had talked to him about when you were together. How it had proven a point in his own mind about how you could have stayed together. How he could have been what you needed, even if kids had been off the table at that time. Back then, it had seemed like such a deal breaker, waiting to have children, but he was just as childless now as you had been together back then. “I’ve got a great team.”
You smile, “that’s great. I’m so happy you found what you wanted to do.” You are a little bitter about it to be honest. Marcus was always a dreamer, wanting to have the perfect life, and at the time, the perfect life was you at home raising his kids while he painted and started a gallery. It was an impossible dream and you had to be realistic. It appears he had that reality check but it was too late. “Do you have any kids?” You ask, knowing he said he’s single but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a kid or two.
His smile is a little bittersweet and he shakes his head. “No kids. Never made it back down the aisle or had a slip up.” He has thought about that several times in the middle of the night when he’s gone through every mistake he’s ever made. “Funny how things work, isn’t it?” He doesn’t mention being engaged to Teresa.
You snort, unable to help it. You know that he has always wanted kids and to be pushing forty without them has your stomach twisting with the irony that your marriage ended for that particular dealbreaker. “Me neither.” You answer despite your feelings on the issue changing over the years. “Never remarried.” You confess, “ironic, huh?” You say as the doors open and you step out into the hall.
“Yeah.” The room is honestly just a few doors down from the elevator so it’s just a matter of opening the door and waving you inside. “After you.” He insists, knowing that you always enjoyed the first look at a new room, wherever you are staying. “I didn’t ask, but there should be a safe for our weapons, if you brought yours.” He had, but that was because he had left directly from the office to make his flight. Unsure if you carried, being in cyber crimes.
You nod, “always bring it especially when I’m alone in a hotel room.” You confess, “it’s in my purse.” You see his eyebrows raise, “believe it or not, we do a lot of raids in cyber.” You chuckle at his disbelief, pulling your gun out of your purse so you can put it in the safe. “Safety first, Agent Pike.”
He chuckles, leaving his bag near the door and opening the closet to reveal the safe. “Perfect.” He reads the instructions and hums. “It’s a four digit code. What about using our old anniversary?” He suggests. “Or is that weird?”
You wrinkle your nose at the idea, finding it strange, but it’s not a bad thought. You both know the date. “Kinda, but it works.” You nod, watching him hesitate for a second before he punches the code in. Your guns are soon secured and you set your purse down, “one bed.” You observe and there’s no sofa, not even a chair in the corner. Marcus turns to look at you, “you comfortable? I can sleep on the floor.” He offers and you shake your head, “no. No. We are adults. We used to share a bed every night years ago. We can handle it.” You murmur, looking down at the sheets. “God, our anniversary seems like a distant thought. Our wedding day. We were kids really.” You remember how excited you were, dressed in a white wedding dress you’d found at a thrift store, flowers in your hair, and Marcus wearing an ill fitted suit he borrowed from a friend. His hair was longer then, more suited to a bassist in a band. You were young and in love. Nothing seemed impossible. You’re not that person anymore and neither is he, for one, his suits are perfectly fitted to his form.
“Yeah we were.” He admits, smiling softly at the same memory. “But it’s not something I’ve ever regretted.” Even if you didn’t stay together, he won’t ever say it was a mistake. “We never got to have a honeymoon, unless you could that weekend we had our apartment to ourselves when our roommates were out of town and we ordered take out.” He laughs, remembering how grown up you both had felt. You were broke, living with roommates had been the only way you made it through college, but it had been the best of times in his opinion.
“Sooooooo, what now?” You ask, unsure of what to do with your ex-husband. Normally you would go down to the hotel bar and have a drink, or stay in your room and order room service but you don’t want to infringe on his plans.
“Food and a drink.” He laughs. “I think today you deserve a stiff drink or three.” He knows he needs one, especially if he’s going to be in close proximity to you. Not because you annoy him, not because he doesn’t want to be around you, but because he knows old memories will come up. There were some bitter arguments, but there were also some times that he will never forget, that he cherishes.
You grab your purse, walking towards the door, and open it, feeling him behind you as he grabs the edge. The elevator to the lobby is quiet and you are soon seated at a small table in the bar area, looking over the menu. “Oh they have pork belly tacos. You used to love those ones we’d get from the food truck down the street.” You smile at the memory of getting tacos and heading to the park to eat your tacos on a ratty old blanket.
“Yeah.” He’s surprised that you remember, pleased that you seem pleased with yourself as you stare at him expectantly. “Then why don’t we have a plate to share?” He suggests, tapping his own menu. “They also have poke nachos. Unless you decided you don’t eat sushi?” It was rare that you were able to afford it when you were together, but you used to moan about the cheap ass sushi from the grocery store.
You smirk, “I love sushi. Ever since I could afford it, I go out with my friends and have it.” You reveal and he chuckles, “me too. Feels like such a luxury compared to our broke college days.” You nod and set your menu down, looking at the waiter when he comes over to take your order. He seems to pay extra attention to you, leaning in closer, and you ignore it, not interested in flirting after such an arduous day and with your ex-husband sitting opposite you.
Marcus is aware of the waiter flirting with you, but he doesn’t reach for your hand. Knowing that it’s not his place to claim you, even if you are still as beautiful as the day he had met you. When it’s his turn to order, he shoots the waiter a knowing look. “I’ll take a Michelob Ultra, pint.” You hadn’t ordered food, just your drink, so he tacks on the appetizers. “And we’ll have the pork belly tacos and poke nachos to share please.”
The waiter looks between you for a second and nods, writing down the order. He strides off after offering you a soft smile and you tilt your head, looking at Marcus who chuckles, “you still got it.” You frown, “still got it?” Marcus nods, “your entire - you have this way about you. Makes everyone notice you.” You bite your lip, flustering slightly, “I’m not twenty years old anymore. I’m sure he’s just after a bigger tip.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Guarantee if you didn’t want to share my room, you could go home with him.” He predicts, smirking slightly. “I always knew I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the room when you were beside me.” He glances around the restaurant. “Three other men are looking over here right now, wondering why the hell you are sitting with me.”
You snort, glancing around until you look back at him, “and there’s three women wondering what the hell you’re doing with me when you could be sitting with them. Maybe we can just admit we were a hot married couple back in the day and we still look good together.” You tease, smirking at your ex husband.
“We were.” Marcus winks at you and watches as your smirk widens slightly. “I won’t deny that. Hell, everyone was jealous of us back then.” Until the conflict started, when your visions of the future didn’t align and you didn’t know how you were going to move past it. “So what station are you out of?” He asks, curious to know about your career. You were always so much smarter than he was, driven.
“Seattle.” You confess, “I needed a total change of pace and I like the rain.” You reason and Marcus nods, “I’m in D.C. I’m, uh, I’m a department head.” He reveals and your eyebrows raise, “look at you. Agent Pike, department head.” You declare with an impressed tone.
He flushes slightly, feeling a little foolish for being so pleased to bask in praise from you, but in a way it’s fitting. You had fought mainly about stability, about what direction your lives were going to take and he feels like he’s done that. He’s solid and dependable. A leader. “I have a great team.” He admits. “They bust their asses on our cases.”
You nod, loving how he talks about his team when your own department head can be a bit of an asshole. “So no wife. No kids. Are all the women in D.C idiots?” You ask, knowing what a great personality your ex-husband has despite your marriage ending. It never ended because you fell out of love with him. It ended because you wanted different things and you couldn’t come together to work it out.
“Now, don’t judge them too harshly.” He jokes. “I just moved to D.C a year ago.” He admits. “I’ve been burying myself in work and getting the team exactly how I want them.” He doesn’t add that he had decided to take time off from dating and get a little therapy. Wanting to really work on himself before throwing himself back in the deep end. “What about you? I can’t believe that you are still single.” He admits. “No man wants a beautiful, career driven woman in Seattle?”
You sigh, tapping your fingers on the slightly sticky table, “I mean, I’ve been on dates. Had boyfriends…but no one came close to proposing. I have been so focused on my career, on making something of myself, and I totally forgot I’m supposed to be living life at the same time.” You confess, “I have…I’ve missed a lot because I focused on work.”
He nods slowly, knowing you had been focused on forging a path for yourself. “That can happen.” He admits, leaning back slightly when the waiter comes back with his beer and your cocktail.
You’re a little relieved he’s not said “I told you so” and rubbed your face in it but you watch him as he sips the beer. His neck tilted and your stomach twists. “How’s your mom and dad?” You ask, knowing they weren’t your biggest fans after the divorce but they loved you before.
He smiles, shrugging slightly. “Retired. Dad complains that there’s not enough time for all the projects mom creates for him.” He has always admired his parent’s relationship, even if his dad’s grumbling makes him laugh. “They moved to Florida. Terrorizing the locals with their bad driving and early bird dinners.”
You giggle, "I'm sure your mom loves it. She hates cold weather. I'm glad they are happy and still together." You knew they would be but modern marriage is hard. "I missed them." You confess, glancing across the restaurant until your eyes find his, "I missed you. It was hard. Going from seeing you every day to never. You were my best friend."
He swallows harshly. “Yeah.” Glancing away, he takes another sip of his beer. He sighs. “Sorry I never called.” There had been the perfunctory promises to keep in touch, but he had never reached out, knowing that he couldn’t move on if he was still talking to you. “It- it was just better if I didn’t.” He admits quietly, looking back at you with a serious set to his face.
You nod in understanding, knowing you likely would've given in and led the life he wanted, ending up resenting and hating him. You couldn't do that to either of you. "It's okay." You promise, reaching out to touch the back of his hand without thinking. "It was for the best." You reassure him, "I- I don't think either of us could've moved on if we kept in touch."
Marcus looks down at your hand on top of his and wonders if he ever did move on. It wouldn’t be fair to you though, you have the life you always wanted. “Then it’s good that we didn’t.” He says after a moment, clearing his throat first. It might have been a bad idea to do this.
The truth is on the tip of your tongue but the waiter returns with your food, setting it down on the table, and he turns towards you. "Let me know if you need anything else, anything at all." You offer him a polite smile, your hand withdrawn from Marcus's and you look down at the food after the waiter strides off. "This looks delicious." You groan, having been traveling most of the day and you are starving.
“Better than the sandwich they offered on the plane.” He agrees, reaching over to pick up the appetizer plates and sets one in front of you. “Shit, he didn’t bring your wasabi.” He frowns, looking at the plates. You always loved extra and he could swear he ordered more. “I’ll go ask for some.” Before you say a word, he’s jumping up and hurrying over to the bar to ask for some.
Your heart flutters that he remembered such a small detail and you take a sip of your drink to smother your smile. "He's gonna bring it over." Marcus says as he sits back down and you look at him in a way that he ducks his head like he used to. "You're too good, Marc." You smile, shaking your head softly and taking a taco from the plate in front of you.
He smiles softly and reaches for a taco for himself. “You always loved having extra.” On the rare occasions you had been able to get sushi, he had given you his wasabi since you couldn’t afford to buy those expensive little tubes. It was funny to him now every time he opens his fridge and sees one in the little condiment rack on the door.
You dig into your food, a comfortable silence between you like you just saw each other yesterday and definitely not acting like a divorced couple. You pass him a napkin without him asking and he squeezes lime over the nachos without asking. You are still in sync and that scares you a little. He is still so goddamn handsome and you know tonight will be a little awkward sharing a bed with him but you have no choice.
“So do you still carry a toothbrush in your purse?” He asks, smirking slightly. “Or do you need to find a drugstore?” You probably have a car, but maybe you had taken a taxi. He picks a wonton chip with a beautiful slice of salon on it and adds a little edamame pea on it too. “This looks so good.”
You nod, loving the food, and you smirk at your ex. “Still carry a toothbrush. I have my toiletries thank God but no clothes.” You sigh, shaking your head, “damn airline just had to lose my suitcase.” You huff, “and I came from work so I’m wearing the right clothes but I need to borrow one of your shirts.”
Luckily he can blame the groan that escapes his lips from the bite of the poke chip instead of what the real reason was. The thought of you wearing one of his shirts is incredibly sexy. Back when you were married, it was mostly band t-shirts, but in one of his button ups? God, his cock twitches right here at the table. “Sure.” He manages after he swallows. “I always carry extras, in case I spill something on my shirt.”
You smile at him, "thank you. Honestly, you've saved me. I don't know what I would've done without you, baby." The nickname slips out before you can think and your eyes widen, "so-sorry. I, uh, old habits die hard." You choke and he nods, waving his hand despite his stomach twisting. "It's fine...sweetheart." He adds with a wink that has you giggling and soon you finish your meal with jokes and stories of your past, settling into a comfort you've only ever felt with Marcus.
“You want another?” Marcus asks, ready to call the waiter over when you finish your drink, but you shake your head. “God no, I can’t get drunk here.” You huff. “Still get so horny.” Marcus nearly chokes, remembering how you would always beg him to fuck you when you got home from partying or a gig he had been playing. They always gave you his free drinks and he never minded. “Okay.” He agrees, knowing that he could use another beer, but he won’t if you are ready to close out. “Then why don’t we switch to water or we can close out?” He offers. “I know you probably want to soak in a bath after today.”
You chuckle, “you know me too well. I, uh, I think I’m gonna head up to the room, have a bath. You can stay if you want, have another beer. There’s some women eying you across the bar.” Marcus snorts, “you just want the room to yourself.” You smirk, “caught me.” You hold your hands up, “stay, I’ll be fine.” You promise, not wanting him to feel obligated.
“How about I come upstairs with you and get you the boxers and shirt and then I’ll take a walk back down here so you can have that privacy.” He offers with a small smirk. “Or… you can go through my bag. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
You nod, knowing it’s a lack of privacy but this is Marcus. “If you’re okay with that?” You ask and he nods, “use what you want.” He offers and you reach across to squeeze his hand, “thank you.” You reach for your purse, “let me pay for dinner. Least I can do.”
“No.” Marcus shakes his head. “My treat.” He insists, reaching for his own wallet. “You can buy dinner tomorrow night.” He wants to pay for this, wanting to treat you a little after wishing that he could have when you were younger.
You sigh, knowing you won’t win this argument. Marcus is as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. “Fine. My treat next time.” You promise and he smiles, nodding at the deal. “I’ll be heading up to the room then. There’s no rush.” You promise, even if your stomach twists at the idea of him down here flirting with other women. Which is insane since you’ve been divorced longer than you were married. He nods and you stand up, grabbing the key card to make your way back to the room. When you’re inside, you sit down on the bed and wonder how the hell you're going to ignore the fact that your feelings for Marcus never died, you apparently just hid them deep inside your heart. “Fuck.” You murmur, rubbing your cheeks before you stand up to run the bath.
“Fuck.” He mutters as he sits back down. This is complicated, too complicated. You’re his ex-wife but he wishes that wasn’t the case. Somehow, you had both ended up in the FBI, as crazy as that sounds. Your paths were much closer aligned than you ever believed and he wonders how he hadn’t seen that before. His idealist views had caused him a lot of heartache over the years, but losing you might be the worst of all his mistakes.
You sigh as you relax in the bath, enjoying the warm water, and you wonder how you’re gonna handle sleeping in the same bed as Marcus. Trying to relax, you close your eyes until your skin wrinkles and eventually you get out of the bath, wrapping a towel around your body. You make your way over to Marcus’s case, feeling bad going through it but you need his shirt and boxers. You’re just about to drop your towel when the door opens.
Marcus whips around, “shit, sorry!” He had thought it would have been plenty of time. Grabbing the door handle, he’s throwing the door back open. “I- uh, just open the door when you’re dressed.” He calls before he’s rushing back out, trying to banish the memory of your body wrapped in a towel from his mind.
You freeze, fingers hovering over his suitcase, and you wonder why he ran off. He could’ve just stayed and closed his eyes. With a sigh, you pull his boxers and t-shirt on, loving how soft they are. You bring the material to your nose and shit, it smells just like him. You take a moment to compose yourself and make your way over to the door. “Sorry. I thought you’d knock.” You offer, letting him inside now that you’re dressed.
“I should have.” He admits with an apologetic gesture. “I forgot how long you could soak in a bath.” He closes the door behind him and walks over to his suitcase to pull out fresh boxers and a t-shirt for himself. “I’ll just jump into a shower and let you relax a little longer.”
You nod, watching him rush into the bathroom, and you sigh, hoping things aren’t awkward between you now. You turn the TV on, smiling when you see an old episode of Buffy. You used to watch this together. You settle against the pillows, waiting for Marcus to come back out.
Marcus stares in the mirror for a second and shakes his head. It’s going to be fine as long as he doesn’t act like a jackass and make you feel uncomfortable. “Just don’t be a weirdo.” He huffs to himself.
You are anxious when Marcus comes back into the room, you watch him move some of his things around until he approaches the bed. In the lamplight, he looks so handsome and your heart flutters at how much he still looks like his younger self. “Buffy is on.” You gesture to the TV, “unless you wanna watch something else.”
“No, that sounds good.” Marcus shoots you a smile and moves to the closet to hang up his suit. “We used to plan our night around new episodes.” He snorts as he recalls those nights. There was nothing better than staying home with you to watch a new Buffy episode.
You giggle at the memory, “those were the days. When my biggest worry was passing my finals and how my hair looked.” You smirk, watching Marcus come over to sit on the bed. “You wanna put your phone on to charge?” He asks and you nod, leaning over the edge to grab your phone from the nightstand, leaning back to hand it to him.
He’s got a multi unit charger, perfect for you since your charger was in your luggage. He sets both phones down and waits to see the screens change. “Have to admit, I miss the days when I wasn’t accessible twenty-four hours a day.” He huffs playfully. “Sometimes you just don’t want to talk to anyone.”
You sigh, shifting to lean back into the soft pillows, “tell me about it. And don’t get me started on social media. I miss the days where I didn’t have to see everyone’s perfect life posted all over Instagram.” You confess, “and I don’t even wanna talk about online dating. It’s hell.”
Marcus winces. “You couldn’t pay me to get on a dating website.” He shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine how many unsolicited dick pics you get.” He doesn’t understand why some men think that will interest a woman. But then again, he is single. “All the shit on Instagram is lies. Made up to appear perfect because no one is gonna post about the toilet clogging up and the dryer breaking.”
“Exactly.” You gesture with your hand, “no one is gonna see the bad times. Only the good times. If we had Instagram during that time, people would’ve thought we were the perfect couple. They never would’ve known what was happening behind closed doors.” You bite your lip, reminded of the arguments you had between you at that time.
Marcus sighs softly. “Yeah.” He frowns slightly, trying to ignore the urge to apologize. The past is just that. Both of you were stubborn and refused to compromise. Hopefully his maturity with age will help a future relationship if it happens.
You shuffle to lay down, hand on your stomach as you watch the show, not needing to stay anything else to Marcus. You both know you made mistakes but right now, you’re sharing a bed because of necessity.
Marcus flips the covers back on his side of the bed and climbs in. “Oh shit, I remember this episode.” He huffs, smirking slightly. It was a nice memory, especially when you had jumped him after it.
You suddenly remember that night this episode aired, making you bite your lip, and you turn your head to look at him. “Spike was especially hot this episode.” You recall, “this was like my porn.” You joke, turning your head back to the TV.
“I wasn’t dumb enough to complain.” He snorts. “Even if you were thinking about a fictional character, I was the one reaping the benefits.”
You chuckle, “it was never about the fictional character. May have gotten me horny but I was hot for you, my husband, and I wanted you to fuck me. Not him.” You clarify, “I wanted you.”
He smirks, looking over at you. “Good to know.” He jokes. “Stroke my ego a little more and I won’t be able to get out of the room in the morning, my head will be so big.” It’s a good fucking thing he’s under the covers because your words have already given him a semi. “We always excelled in that part of our relationship.”
“Yeah. We did, didn’t we?” You giggle, “you remember that time you fucked me in your truck next to the baseball game while you were on the bench and then you went back and hit a home run?” You giggle at the memory, the way you struggled to get his cock out of the tight pants but you rode him until you both came.
“Why do you think I hit the home run?” Marcus snorts. “Still think about that every time I play a game of softball.” He joined a co-ed league to get a little bit of socialization that wasn’t in a bar and he giggles a little every time he’s up to bat. “Coach was pissed I disappeared but I think he figured out why. The guys called you Homerun Honey the rest of the year.”
You grin, proud of that fact, “made sure you kept your scholarship too. Even if you weren’t gonna go professional, at least it kept you in school.” You remind him and he nods, “didn’t hurt that you looked damn sexy in the uniform.” You smirk, turning to look at him.
“Those were the days.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his softer stomach. “Definitely don’t have that body anymore.” He misses it, but honestly? He’s too lazy to spend hours in the gym.
“Nah. You’re still hot, Marc. ‘Dad bods’ are in and I personally think they are sexier than a six pack.” You confess, biting your lip as you watch him rub his belly.
“Shit.” Marcus belts out a laugh. “Got the bod before I ever became a dad.” He rolls his eyes and looks over at you. “This is because of my dedication to pancakes and a little too much take out. Thai and Chinese are my go to, so you know it’s alllll noodle heavy.”
You giggle, “you have always loved a Pad Thai.” You hum, “and for the record, pancakes are the best.” You grin, loving how he hasn’t changed despite the years between you. “I personally love a man you can cuddle who doesn’t want to be in the gym all the time. There’s too many guys in my office who are obsessed with the gym.” You roll your eyes, making Marcus snort.
There’s a flirtatious nature to your banter that would make it so easy for Marcus to reach over for you. Honestly, a want on his part, but he doesn’t want to ruin this by misstepping. He’s loved your easy conversation and getting to see your smile has already made the conference for him. “Nahhh.” He shakes his head. “I prefer to exercise outside of the gym.”
You chuckle, knowing what he’s alluding to, “you always did.” You shift a little closer to him unconsciously and turn back to watch Buffy. “Shit, forgot how much this show makes my heart pound. Look.” You grab his hand without thinking, bringing it to your chest between your breasts. His eyes widen at where you’ve placed his hand, feeling the hard thumps of your heart that you suddenly realize are less to do with the show and more to do with the man you’re watching it with. He swallows harshly, dark eyes on you as he doesn’t pull his hand away. You stare back, eyes flitting down to his lips, and you squeeze his wrist. He’s certain you are going to push his hand away but you don’t. You slowly move it down from your chest, down your stomach, until his fingertips brush the boxers you’re wearing. His eyes are on yours, searching for answers to questions he doesn’t verbalize but you give him your response by pushing his fingers under the elastic so he’s touching your mound.
It’s probably a mistake. He knows this, but he reads the desire in your eyes, your chest heaving under the anticipation of what he will do. You’re not bare now, it’s different from the smooth skin you use to insist on. The soft curls protectively cover your sex and he groans, lunging forward to press his lips to yours while sliding his fingers lower to press against your clit.
You know this equals disaster, perhaps devastating to your amicable divorce but you want him. You moan into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slide between your lips, and you caress his chest. Your hand tugs his shirt up over his stomach, exploring the softer skin and you whimper when he expertly starts to rub your clit.
His cock hardens as he shifts, turns towards you and presses it against your hip. His hand delving deeper into the boxers as your legs widen, giving him more access. It’s been so long since he’s slept with someone and even longer since he’s touched you, but he still remembers what used to do it for you. Hoping that you still love those things.
You moan when he rubs your clit like he used to, still remembering how to touch you. You whimper against his lips when his fingers slide lower to drag through your slick coated folds, "fuck, Marc." You moan, sliding your hand lower to squeeze him through his boxers until you dip your hand under the elastic so you can squeeze his semi.
He’s always loved how you call him Marc, you’ve been the only one to ever do that. He drags his lips down your jaw. “So fucking beautiful and wet.” He groans into your skin. “What’s got you so wet, baby? You horny? Need someone to fuck you until you scream?”
He always knew exactly what to say to make you desperate for his touch. "Fuck yes. Please baby. I need you. You got me this wet. You did this to me." You confess with a whine, squeezing his cock. "I - fuck. I need you to fuck me." You plead, all dignity out the door when you are dripping for your ex-husband.
He twitches in your grip, loving how you are begging him. “Thought I was gonna have to jerk off in the bathroom after you fell asleep.” He admits, pressing two fingers into your pussy as he nips your jumping pulse. “So fucking sexy. Wearing my fucking boxers. Wanted to just strip you down and make you cum.” He gets to now, but there is so much that he wants to say to you, needs to say to hear those moans that have haunted his dreams.
His words already have your walls fluttering around his digits, and you moan, starting to pump his hardening cock. He pumps his fingers at the same pace. "I rubbed my clit in the bath thinking about how you used to fuck me, wondering how you'd fuck me know." You confess, breathlessly.
He hisses, pushing up so he can use his other hand to push up the soft t-shirt covering your tits. “However you want me to fuck you.” He growls, leaning down to wrap his lips around your nipple and his teeth sink into the tender flesh with just enough pressure to make you gasp. He’s gained some stamina, and has become a little more confident over the years, but he will always give you what you want.
You cry out, your free hand coming up to tangle in his hair, and you whimper his name when he sucks on your nipple. "Shit, baby. Need you to fuck me hard. Need you to show me what I've been missing all these years." You demand, continuing to squeeze and pump his cock until you release him so you can try to tug the material down. His cock springs free and you wrap your fingers around him again while his fingers curl inside your pussy.
Both of you seem desperate, ravenous for each other. He groans and soothes the tip of your breast with his tongue. “I- fuck-“ he hisses when you squeeze him again. “Let me-“ he hates to pull away, but he’s got to get you naked. “Condom?” He manages after a moment.
You shake your head, "I have an IUD. I'm clean. Got tested after my last boyfriend a few months ago. It's up to you, baby. I trust you." You promise him, lifting your hand to cup his cheek and you let go of his cock.
Marcus groans. You had been so worried about getting pregnant when you were married that he had to wear condoms all the time. It was rare he got to feel you and just you around him. “I’m clean.” He swallows harshly and pulls his fingers out of your pussy so he can strip both of you down. “I don’t want anything between us.”
You nod in understanding, "me neither." You let him pull his shirt over your head and he's quick to whip down the boxers, leaving you completely exposed to his dark eyes. "You too." You demand, your hand coming up to squeeze your own breast while you watch him pull his shirt over his head and soon his boxers are off. "Fuck. Missed this cock. The thickest I've ever had." You murmur, reaching down to squeeze him again.
“That’s because your pussy is so tight.” He smirks, his hand stroking your thigh. “Fuck baby, I’ve fucking missed this view.” Spread out and wet for him, desire lighting up your eyes and making eager to slide inside you. “It’s been awhile.” He admits. “Do you want me to eat you out first?”
You shake your head, "no. No. I don't care if you cum and I don't. Just wanna feel you inside me again." You demand, letting go of his cock to grab his hip, "please, Marc. Fuck me."
He can’t deny you, not when you beg him like he’s the only man in the world. Hooking his arms under your legs, he brings them back, exposing your core as he settles between your thighs. “Fuck. You want it hard?” He asks, double checking to make sure and he groans when you nod frantically. “Please.” You beg, giving him permission to wreck you. He can’t wait another second to be inside you, lining up and snapping his hips forward to bury his cock deep.
Your cry has to be heard by the room next door but you don’t care. It stings a little as he stretches you out, like he always did, but you don’t care. You moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as he fills you up in a way only he has ever been able to. “Fuck, you feel so good.” You moan, eyes fluttering closed as your body tingles from his touch.
It’s like coming home, his eyes slip close and he moans your name. Groaning when your walls clench down around him possessively, like you’re afraid he’s gonna pull back. “Best fucking feeling the world.” He grunts, leaning in to kiss you again.
Your hand comes up to cup his cheek as he devastates you with his kiss. Tongue sliding against yours like he's ravenous and you eagerly respond, sliding your hand up to tangle it in his hair. Your legs wrap around his hips, sending him deeper as he pulls out and pushes back into you without missing a beat.
There’s a passion between you, a fire that ignites and threatens to take over. Every thrust of his hips is encouraged, praised by the moans and whimpers you pour into his mouth. Making him greedy for more as he fills you again and again. “Fuck.” He hisses. “So goddamn tight.” His praise is breathless as he hammers into you. “Best pussy I’ve ever fucked.”
His words have your walls fluttering around his cock, loving the praise. “You feel so good. Baby. No one has ever made me feel like this.” You confess, “no one ever fucked me like you can.” Your hands slide down his back to his ass, pushing him even deeper on his next thrust.
You encourage him to go harder, faster. Every time your nails dig into his ass, he snaps his hips forward with just a little more force. Wild and unrestrained, he’s panting and puffing a little harder than he would have when you were married but he doesn’t give up. “Fuck baby, rub your clit.” He orders. “Need you to cum for me.”
You obey, your hand sliding up his back while the other snakes between you to rub your clit. You watch his face, wrecked and jaw clenched as his nostrils puff. Fuck, he looks so sexy. “Marc. Fuck. Need you to cum for me.” You plead, so close and it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart. His full name is a cry that leaves your lips as you soak his cock, squeezing him like a vice in your body's attempt to get him to cum for you.
“Shiiiiiiit.” Marcus hisses, gritting his teeth as he tries to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight. Squeezing him like a fucking gorilla grip glove around his cock and milking him of his own pleasure. Your name falls out breathlessly, almost worshipfully when he stiffens, cock throbbed deep as he paints your walls with his release.
You gasp at how he feels when his hot seed fills you spurt by spurt. Your eyes closed as you grip his shoulder, your fingers resting on your stomach as you ride the wave of your pleasure. “Shit.” You mutter, trying to catch your breath.
He chuckles, collapsing down onto his elbows to be closer to you, kissing you with a series of soft and lingering pecks. Still buried inside you as if he never wants to pull out. “I think we needed that.” He agrees.
You nod, kissing his chin while you run your hands through his hair, “absolutely.” You smile, feeling dizzy with resurfaced feelings. “That was - wow. Like old times but better if that makes sense?” You question and he nods, “I know what you mean.” You sigh, “I don’t think I can move.”
He smirks proudly. “Then lay there.” He hums, finally shifting off of you and rolling to the side of the bed. “I’ll get you a rag.” His hand reaches over and caresses your hip gently. “You need some water too?” He asks, thirsty himself after that.
You nod, feeling thirsty now that he’s worn you out. He returns moments later with the rag in hand, cleaning you up and handing you a bottle of water from the mini fridge. “Thanks babe.” You smile, taking a few gulps and collapsing back onto the bed.
He smiles as he watches you starfish on the bed, still just as dramatic as before. It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed. “Fuck.” His eyes light up at the sight of his cum starting to drip out of your pussy, creamy and thick as it slides out. “That’s fucking sexy.” He admits, kneeling on the bed, intending on cleaning you up.
You giggle, “didn’t get to see that too often when we were married, huh?” You ask and he shakes his head, “my pregnancy anxiety was insane then but I didn’t want to be a cliché and get pregnant, ruin everything I worked hard for and give it all up to be a stay at home mom while you got to chase your dreams.”
“I get it.” He hadn’t back then, but he can also admit that he was a little selfish himself when you were married. So obsessed with this idealized future he hadn’t really believed your wants for your life. His eyes flicker back up to you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs before he looks back down to start carefully wiping you clean. “I should have compromised with you more.” He is upset at himself for not being mature enough to have this conversation years ago, but that’s the realistic part of growing up. Wisdom that comes with age, things that his parents had tried to council you both on but neither of you had listened. “We made the choices the thought we had to.” He muses softly. “At least we didn’t stay together and resent each other until it exploded.”
You sigh, watching him shuffle off the bed to toss the rag into the bathroom and when he slips into bed, you curl into him, hand caressing his chest. “Exactly. Or have a kid and explode. We did the right thing.” You nod, breathing him in. “But I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t realize it until I saw you because I’ve buried it, but no one was you Marc.”
Marcus closes his eyes, letting your words burrow into his heart and it serves as a soothing balm to almost everything. “I missed you too.” He admits, his arm around your body tightening slightly. “I hoped you were happy, but I could never look you up.” He snorts, thinking about how easy it could have been. “I didn’t want to see that you had remarried.” It would have changed the memory he kept of you. “Didn’t want to hate some poor bastard I didn’t know because he got to have you.”
“I never looked you up either. Didn’t want to be like a psycho stalking her social media and comparing us.” You confess, tracing the moles that scatter his skin. “I didn’t want to hate some bitch I didn’t know because she got to have you.” You echo his words, tilting your head to look at him, “it’s always been you. Now I know that.”
He sighs softly, knowing that this has just completely complicated your lives. “It’s been you too.” He admits. “I knew that when we divorced.” He shoots you a deprecating grin. “But it’s not like I was going to chain you to our bed.”
You chuckle, “might like that now, but yeah…we did the right thing for us back then. I know you hated me for ruining our marriage. I was the one who wanted the divorce, if we are being honest.” You confess, caressing his arm.
“I never hated you.” He huffs, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Upset, heartbroken, but never hate.” He sighs softly. “You’re right. I would have pushed you into having a baby. It’s one of those things that my therapist made me face.”
“You went to therapy?” You ask and he nods, “yeah. For more than us. I had a lot of shit to figure out.” You lean in to kiss his chest, “good for you. The irony is I’m ready now. I would love a kid or two and I don’t have a husband or anyone I’d want to have kids with.” You confess, “well, except you.”
“And I’ve accepted that kids might never be the cards.” He chuckles. “How’s that for paradoxical?”
“Shit.” You giggle, “talk about coming full circle.” You sigh and caress his chest, “I guess if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” You declare and he nods, squeezing your shoulder and you curl into him. You want to enjoy tonight in case he wakes up tomorrow and regrets everything. You want to breathe him in and feel all of him while you can.
He knows it’s getting late and he sighs again. “We should get some sleep.” He murmurs softly. “The conference starts and we need to be ready for a full day of lectures and schmoozing.”
You nod, shifting so he can pull the covers over you, making you sigh as you close your eyes. “Goodnight, Marc.” You breathe him in and within moments you’re asleep.
****
“Time to get up.” Marcus hums, rubbing your back as he looks at the clock. His phone alarm is about to go off, but he’s been awake for about twenty minutes. Finding that he didn’t need as much sleep when he had probably had the best rest he’s had in years.
You whine, not wanting to be woken up when he’s so comfortable to sleep on, and you pull him close again, “Marc. Noooo. Wanna stay here. Fuck the conference.” You complain and he chuckles, “we can’t baby. You’re gonna need to be there.” You huff, opening your eyes and you nod, “fine. Fine. I’m up.”
You never have been a morning person and he grins to find out that seems to have not changed. “We can get ready and then go down to grab some coffee and breakfast.” He knows coffee will sweeten the deal.
You groan, “coffeeee. You know me too well, Marcus Anthony Pike.” You shift to sit up, “and I need one of your shirts.” You remind him, shuffling from under the covers and you’re naked still from the night before. “Unless you wanna shower with me?” You tease, looking at him from over your shoulder.
“I think we would get to the coffee faster if we showered together.” He grins, reaching out to slap your ass playfully. “Or later, depending on how you press up against me.”
You squeal when he slaps your ass and you pout, “I can be good.” You promise, “I won’t make us late.” You reassure him, “unless you want to be.” You tease as you disappear into the bathroom and turn on the shower, waiting for him and he doesn’t disappoint before his hands find your waist as you check the temperature of the water.
Marcus ducks his head, scattering kisses along your shoulder. “You want coffee or an orgasm?” He asks, smirking when he slides one hand up cup a breast.
“Can’t a girl have both?” You tease, covering his hand over your breast, and you turn your head to kiss his jaw. “You gotta pick.” He orders and you step into the shower, grabbing his hand to pull him in behind you, “come on baby.” You order, turning around to grab the body wash.
He laughs, finding it hilarious that you chose the coffee. “That’s my girl.” He shakes his head and grins. “Do you want me to wash your back?”
You nod, spinning around, and his hands caress your back, washing you off, and you hum, leaning back into him. "Fuck, you always lathered me up so good." You murmur, closing your eyes as you lean back against him.
He hums, his semi twitching. “You make it sound so dirty.” He coos playfully in your ear. “When I’m just cleaning you up.” He has enjoyed this, falling back into a routine with you as if you hadn’t spent years apart.
You love how his hands feel over your body and you press back against him, reaching back to wrap your soapy fingers around his semi hard cock. “You always do a good job. It’s a compliment, Pike.”
“Fuck.” He grunts, hands sliding around the front of your body and soapy hand cups your pussy. “Are you too sore from last night?” He asks huskily, not wanting to fuck you if it would be too much. You had been wet, but he knows it had stretched you out when he had just pushed inside.
You don’t care even if you are a little sore. You want him. “Fuck me. I’m fine.” You promise, squeezing his now hard cock in your soapy hand. “Please baby.” You aren’t above begging for him and he slides his hand lower to push two thick digits into you. “Feel okay?” He asks and you nod, turning your head to kiss his jaw.
He’s not even a little ashamed of rocking his cock into your hand. Moving his hips at the same pace that his fingers curl up inside you. “Fuck baby, always so fucking horny around you.” He bites down on your pulse. “Can’t fucking believe I get to touch you again.”
“We definitely don’t divorce because the sex wasn’t good. We had plenty of it. Corner store knew your name from late night condom runs.” You tease breathlessly as he withdraws his fingers. You shift to press your palms against the wall, looking over your shoulder at him. “Better be quick, baby. I still want a cappuccino.”
“Shit.” He quickly washes the soap from his cock and presses behind you. Knees bending to get positioned before he’s stretching you out again. Slower this time so he doesn’t hurt you, but it’s just as perfect.
“Fuck. You feel so fucking good.” You pant, resting your forehead on the cool tile as water slides down your back. Marcus grips your hips, giving you a second to adjust as he slowly rocks into you.
“Baby, you feel like heaven.” Marcus praises, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he rolls up onto the balls of his feet every time he thrusts up into you. “Perfect pussy, perfect woman.” He closes his eyes, those feelings that he had tried to deny for so long have been set free but he can’t push you. He can’t try to steamroll you again, so for now, he just focuses on making you feel good.
His words have your heart pounding and you whimper, grinding back against him. “God, I missed you. Missed this. No one has ever fucked me like you do.” You confess, “no one has ever made me feel like you do.” You know this is moving insanely fast, but it’s Marcus. “Fuck, Marc. I want you.” You moan into the tile and he kisses your shoulder, “you have me.” He promises and you turn your head to look at him, “and you have me.”
That could mean so many things, but for now, he just leans in to kiss you. The pace is slow and steady, making sure neither one of you slips and you feel every inch of his cock scrubbing your walls. His hands cup your tits, weighing them and squeezing them before he pinches and tugs gently on the nipples. Loving how you moan into his mouth.
You moan into his mouth, hands slipping on the tile but he keeps you upright as he slowly fucks into you. He squeezes your tits, pinching your nipples just how you like it, and you love it. He knows exactly what you need. “Fuck baby. Feel so good.” You pant, gripping his forearm to drag his hand from your tit and slide it down your stomach until his finger brushes your clit.
He groans into your ear and follows your lead. Knowing that you want to cum, he presses his fingers against the sensitive flesh and starts to rub in tandem with his thrusts. “You want to cum, beautiful?” He huffs in your ear. “Want to feel your pussy soak me. Hear you cry out in this shower. You gonna moan for me?”
How can you deny him when he asks you like that? This Marcus is more confident and cocky, and that sends you over the edge. You cry out as you clamp down on his cock within a few swipes of his fingers on your clit. "Fuck! Marc!" You squeal, nearly slipping but the hand on your hip keeps you upright.
He growls your name, loving how you clamp down around him. You always push him towards his own orgasm because of how tight you are. “Fuck, baby.” He pumps into you frantically and within a half dozen thrusts he’s pushing deep and filling you up.
You lean against the cool tile, trying to catch your breath, and you reach behind you to run your fingers through his wet hair. "So goddamn good." You pant, loving how he twitches inside you as he rides his high.
“Perfect.” He agrees, smiling as he presses his face into the juncture of your shoulder and kisses the skin gently. “Just because it’s you.” Pulling away, it’s time to clean up again. Needing to shower quickly before jumping out to get ready for the first day of the conference. He hands you a shirt. “Maybe the airline will find your luggage today.”
You snort, “I hope so. I had my best underwear in there.” You confess and Marcus raises his eyebrows, “for myself. I can treat myself.” You remind him, “but I do kinda like how your shirt looks on me
He smirks, wagging his brows at you. “You do look good in it.” He compliments. “Too bad you have to wear the rest of your clothes with it.” He’s fallen back into flirting with you outrageously.
You smirk, loving how he flirts with you. It’s like you’re back in college, and you flirt back, “I know, but later you can take them all off.” You promise, pulling on your pants and you tuck in his shirt as best you can. “Good thing I have my jacket and heels with me. I was gonna change into sweatpants. That would’ve been a disaster for me.” You see him struggling with his tie so you step over to him, taking over to knot the material perfectly.
He smirks slightly. “Bet you would still be the sexiest agent at the conference.” He watches you closely, admiring the way you bite your lip as you adjust his tie. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly when you smooth the material down his chest.
You pat his chest, “come on Agent, we still have time to grab a coffee.” You wink, slipping on your heels and you grab your purse, looking back at your ex husband as he shrugs on his suit jacket. He looks sexy as an agent and you’d love to see him in action.
****
The conference is predictably boring but Marcus sitting beside you, his thigh pressing into yours, has your stomach twisting. When lunch is called, you make your way through the convention center and notice Marcus freeze. “What’s wrong?” You frown, turning your head to see him staring at a man and a woman.
“Shit.” He had hoped that he wouldn’t see them, but he’s not that lucky. Even worse, the man turns his head and recognition and something close to smug satisfaction flashes on his face before he whispers to the woman beside him. She turns and immediately starts his way, making his stomach curdle and he doesn’t have time to say anything to you before she’s approaching. “Marcus.” Her tone is sugary, polite even though it was rare Teresa ever was anything more than blunt. Except maybe where her feelings were concerned. “Teresa.” He nods politely and glances behind her. “Jane.” Thomas Jane smiles as he wraps his hand around the woman’s waist and leans in. “Haven’t you heard Pike?” He asks. “She’s Agent Jane now.” Marcus had heard, but he hadn’t reached out. “Congratulations.”
You frown, sensing a past between the three of them and you're not dumb. You figure that Marcus was dating this woman and now she's with the pompous asshole who is looking at Marcus like he just bested him at a game of poker. "Nice to meet you, Agent Jane." You introduce yourself, "Pike?" Jane's eyebrows raise, glancing at Marcus and Teresa, who frowns at you. "You're the first wife?" She guesses and you nod, "one and only." You tease, winking at Marcus to help him relax a little.
“Oh!” Teresa gives a startled smile as she leans in. “He’s never done anything but say good things.” She promises. “Said you had the most amicable divorce ever. Must be true, considering you are friendly. How ironic you are both agents!”
You nod, "I know. We ended up on the same path. Then bumping into each other here." You smile at the woman, "he didn't mention you yet though." You tilt your head at Marcus, wanting to protect him when he is clearly irked by their appearance. "Guess he didn't have anything to say about you." You shrug.
She has the decency to look embarrassed. “We broke up a year ago.” She admits and her husband squeezes her hip gently. “It looks like things worked out how it’s supposed to be.”
You tilt your head, "apparently." You turn to Marcus, "come on, Marc. Let's get lunch. I'm starving." You say, reaching out to wrap your hand around his arm. He nods, looking at Teresa and Jane, so mad that she wouldn't marry him, wouldn't have kids with him, but she's doing it for Jane. You stride off, leaving a shocked Teresa in your wake and you wait until you're out of sight to speak to Marcus. "I'm guessing that was a bad breakup?" You ask, wanting to help him.
He snorts. “We were going to move to D.C together.” He explains, a little embarrassed. “She was my fiancé and she called me from the plane.” He twists his head and looks over his shoulder. “She chose Jane.”
You wince, "she's fucking crazy if she chose him over you." You shake your head, "and I'm sure you just wanted to give her the world." You sigh, knowing how he is, how he goes all in. "Well, she will regret losing you. I know I did."
“No.” He shakes his head. “She won’t, but I don’t care even if she does.” He admits, shrugging slightly but he shoots you an embarrassed look. “I’m just sorry you found out that way.” He murmurs, reaching for your shoulder gently. “That I had been engaged. It was stupid. Rushed. I was moving to D.C and I had just thought-“ he snorts out a laugh. “Now you know why I decided to seek therapy.”
You shake your head, reaching for his hand to take it in yours. “You’re entitled to a past, Marc. I have one too. You owe me nothing.” You promise, “but I hope you’re better off without her and happier now.” You squeeze his hand, “I’m happy we literally bumped into each other again.”
“I can’t believe that I’m here with you.” He admits with a soft smile. “You- you are what made me become an agent. What motivated me to become who I am now.”
Your heart flutters at his words and you know you still love him, still want him. You never had a bad marriage or divorce. You wanted different things. He wanted kids and you wanted your career and yet here you are, both on the same path without even knowing it. “I love you.” You blurt out, “I want to try again. I want to try us again.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He asks, even as that soft smile turns into the wider, happy grin you have always loved. “Because I might have developed bad habits you hate.” He teases playfully. “Snore.”
You roll your eyes, “you’ve always snored. I’m sure we have changed but who you hasn’t changed. I love you. If I think about it, I never stopped loving you.” You confess, “I want to be your wife again one day but let’s see where we go.” You caress his chest and his grin slides into a frown, “we are literally on opposite sides of the country.” His reminder is like a bucket of ice water. “Shit. I, uh, we could try long distance? Or I could transfer?” You suggest, willing to risk moving across the country for Marcus. The sacrifice you should’ve made for each other all those years ago.
Marcus’ brow furrows slightly. “You would be willing to transfer?” He asks, stepping to the side so others can pass you to get to the buffet the conference organizers had set up for lunch. His gaze is focused on you. “You- you said that you loved working in Seattle. Are you sure?”
You nod, “I’d be willing to transfer. I love working in Seattle but this is D.C. Headquarters. I am willing to move. I should’ve compromised back then and I’m willing to compromise now. I love you. I know you’ve changed and so have I but I can’t let you go again.” You tilt your head, cupping his cheek, “baby. If you don’t want this, just tell me.” You order softly, “but if you want this, I can get my own apartment. We don’t have to move in together if you want to take it slow.”
“No, I just-“ he wants this with everything inside him. “I don’t want to screw up again.” He admits softly. “I always push for what I want and I lost you because of it. I don’t want to do that.”
You shake your head, “I’m all in if you are. If it doesn’t work, then it’s truly over. I know it will though. I love you. That’s never changed. I’m all in if you are. I’m ready now. For all of it.”
He licks his lips. “I’ve never not been in when it comes to you.” He confesses softly. “I’ve always loved you. Always. Even when I gave you the divorce you needed.”
You don’t even care if people see you when you cup his cheeks, bringing his face to yours to kiss him. Your heart pounds and you love how he’s still the man you married. He’s just more established and definitely sexier. “I’m in. I’m in.” You promise, “I’m yours if you want me. I always have been, even if I didn’t know it.”
“I want you.” He promises, closing his eyes and smiling. “Always want you baby.” He opens his eyes and leans back in to press his lips to yours again. He doesn’t care who sees you, sees him. “What do you want to do?”
“Well first I wanna get something to eat and then I want you to take me to the bathroom and fuck me.” You smirk, “and then we are gonna deal with the rest of this conference before we plan the rest of our lives.” You know this would sound insane to most people but this is Marcus.
He chuckles softly. “That sounds like a perfect plan for us.” He agrees, completely in awe of you and getting a second chance with you. He had ended up right back where he was supposed to be all along, with you.
****
“MJ, baby, you gotta eat your blueberries.” You sigh, giving your son a look he knows too well. “I don’t wanna.” He whines and you chuckle, “you can’t eat the pancakes without eating the blueberries in them.” You shake your head and the baby begins to cry in your arms. “Ssshh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” You coo, pulling down your tank top so she can latch on.
“Blueberries are nasty.” He huffs, making Marcus chuckle as he sets down a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of you. “Let me get you some more coffee.” He murmurs, leaning down and kissing your lips before lowering more to kiss his baby girl’s head as she greedily nurses. “You liked blueberries last weekend.” He reminds his son with a grin as he moves back to the coffee maker to refill your cup. “You said they tasted blue.”
You giggle at your husband, yes, your husband for the second time. The officiant had chuckled when he found out he was marrying you for the second time. You had your son not long after. All within 18 months of you moving to D.C. “They taste icky and I like red.” Your son pouts, looking just like his father, and you chuckle, “if you eat all your blueberries, maybe we can go out and look at that new monster truck you like?” You reason with the little boy who nods, nose bunched as he spears the blueberries on his plastic fork. You look up at Marcus with a smile, winking at him when he sets your coffee down. “Lemme take her while you eat.” Marcus offers now that your little girl has gotten her fill. You nod, sliding her into his arms and you tuck your breast away. When Marcus sits opposite you, your daughter in his arms and your son between you, you realize this is where you were always meant to be. It took you a while and a few diversions to get there but you’re here now. “I love you.” You mouth at Marcus and he winks, making your heart flutter. He was always meant to be yours.
James “Bucky” Barnes AKA The Winter Soldier (MCU) *
Rick Flag (The Suicide Squad) *
Raleigh Becket (Pacific Rim) *
Triple Frontier
Backache - Will “Ironhead” Miller x GN!Reader
Boys BBQ - Will “Ironhead” Miller x M!Reader
Dirty Laundry - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader
A Less Than Gentle Reminder - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader
Frankie “Catfish” Morales (Triple Frontier) x GN!Reader * - He was supposed to meet you on the bridge at sunset, but he never showed
Benny Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader * - To think it all started because you grabbed the wrong suitcase at the airport
Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader - “I dare you”
Benny Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader * - First kiss
Frankie Morales x GN!Reader - Engagement disaster
Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x GN!Reader - Date Night In
Benny Miller (Triple Frontier) x GN!Reader - “I can’t live like this”
Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader * - Moving Day
Will “Ironhead Miller x Santiago “Pope” Garcia (Triple Frontier) *- “You can’t take back what you said, it’s already out there”
Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader * - Birthday Disappointment
Will “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader * - Unwrapping
Benny Miller (Triple Frontier) x GN!Reader - Surprise Party
Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader x Santiago “Pope” Garcia - Birthday Sex
Just Drive - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader (Triple Frontier)
Playoff Pressure - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader (Triple Frontier)*
Motel Adventure - Choose Your Own Smut - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader, or Santiago “Pope” Garcias x F!Reader, or Benny Miller x F!Reader, or Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader x Santiago “Pope” Garcias (Triple Frontier)*
Permit Pending - Will “Ironhead” Miller x F!Reader (Triple Frontier) *
MCU
Sam Wilson (MCU) x F!Reader * - “I’m giving you one more chance, that’s it”
Sharon Carter (MCU) x F!Reader * - Turns out, your girlfriend works for the CIA.
Sam Wilson (MCU) x GN!Reader - Wine Drunk
Worth Remembering - Mobius x F!Reader x Loki (MCU) *
Misc
After Your Team Loses - Marcus Pike x F!Reader (The Mentalist)*
A Personal Mission - Rick Flag x Powered!F!Reader (The Suicide Squad) *
De-Briefing - Rick Flag x F!MetaHuman!Reader (The Suicide Squad) *
Bad Vibes - Rick Flag x F!Reader (The Suicide Squad) *
Antidote to a Nightmare - The Batman x F!Reader (The Batman 2022) *
Pumpkin Patch - Rick Flag x F!Reader (The Suicide Squad)
Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x GN!Reader - He spun your wedding ring between his fingers
Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x GN!Reader * - You were surprised to find him down on a knee
Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x F!Reader * - Book Club
Marcus Pike (The Mentalist) x GN!Reader - “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more”
Raleigh Becket (Pacific Rim) x GN!Reader - Last Kiss
Raleigh Becket (Pacific Rim) x GN!Reader - Birthday Cake
