Hello! My name is Isabel and welcome to my tumblr page! I’m mostly here to read, but I like to draw, and I post those when I do. I write but don't have a lot of free time to do so. It happens when it happens.
I’m firmly in the Pedro Pascal fandom, since the Mandalorian season 2 finale (and counting). Din Djarin has been one of my comfort characters for a long time. I’m also absolutely obsessed with Marcus Pike—he’s unabashedly my favorite.
This blog is a safe space for me and for anyone else who uses fandom as a way to escape and/or cope with life and the world we live in. I don't talk politics on here for that reason—I keep it to fandom-related things as much as I can. When I do post these things, I use the tag #isabel gets political (if you want to filter it).
Important Links
Taglist Form - For if you want to be added to or removed from any of my taglists.
Tag Navigation Post - I use tags to sort posts within my blog! It’s also a good overview of what I mainly post/reblog.
AO3 - My works are only available if you’re a registered user. All works have individual links on their posts or masterlists as well.
I reply to as many comments and reblogs as I can! I love getting feedback or just generally hearing about if you liked my stuff.
If you wanna stay, feel free! I hope we can be friends :)
The Way We Were Drawn (Marcus Pike)
Series, Ongoing
As an architect and designer, you spend a lot of time studying the historic buildings of Washington, DC. You never would have guessed that sketching the courtyard in an art museum would lead you to the man that could give you both everything you needed.
The Cupid Seller (Marcus Pike)
Mini-Series, Complete
When an 18th century painting is stolen out of an art museum in France, you and Marcus are sent to help with the case. Little do the two of you know that there is something—and someone—far more powerful than anything you’ve ever seen behind more than just the theft.
Spring Will Come Again (Javier Peña)
One-Shot in The Cupid Seller 'Verse
Javier Peña is back home in Texas for his cousin’s wedding, and amidst his family’s celebrations, he finds himself grappling with the two very different worlds he lives torn between.
Written in Song (Din Djarin)
Series, In Development
You grew up alongside Din Djarin as Mandalorian foundlings, and even though your roles within the covert differed—his as a bounty hunter and yours as the one who writes the songs—you find your paths intertwining as you figure out what The Way means to you and how you carry it with you long after you thought you lost it.
Whatever Forever Gives Us (Marcus Pike)
One-Shot
When it comes time for Marcus to meet your family, he doesn’t expect to find your mother at the cemetery. Nor does he expect the genetic baggage from her that you carry.
Violets (Marcus Pike)
One-Shot
When Marcus encounters an all-too-familiar painting, he reflects on his heartbroken past and how much he’s grown.
Three months ago, Javier Peña accidentally stole your table. Somewhere between sarcastic conversations, comfortable silence, and far too many cups of coffee, neither of you noticed when the café stopped being just another stop in the day… and started feeling like the place you always wanted to end up.
Pairing: S3 Javier Peña x f!reader
This one came from this request so I really hope I managed to do your idea justice.
I genuinely thought this would be a quick little one-shot... and then these two decided to make themselves at home in my brain haha. Fitting their story into one chapter was way harder than I expected, and by the time I got to the end, I was already missing them.
Part of me thinks they deserved a whole series. The other part kind of loves that we get to leave them right here, with their coffee, their table, and everything else still waiting to happen.
w/c: 2.5k • javi fic masterlist • taglist form
Three months ago, Javier Peña accidentally stole your table. It wasn't exactly his finest moment.
He walked into the little café a few blocks from the U.S. Embassy looking like he'd been awake for three straight days. His tie hung loose around his neck, his sleeves were rolled unevenly, and the stack of DEA files tucked beneath one arm looked heavy enough to ruin anyone's afternoon.
Without so much as a glance around the room, he dropped everything onto the first empty table he found. Coffee. Files. Newspaper. Then he sat down. What he never noticed was the small handwritten card tucked into the sugar holder:
Reserved
Not officially. Just for you. Everyone in the café knew that table belonged to you.
Carlos, the waiter, looked up from the espresso machine, spotted Javier sitting there, then looked toward the front door. He knew exactly who would be walking in within the next few minutes. A grin tugged at his lips. He decided to let fate handle this one.
You arrived less than a minute later, backpack hanging from one shoulder, already pulling your book from the front pocket. You smiled at Carlos.
Carlos smiled back.
Then you turned toward your usual table. Your smile disappeared.
Some stranger had claimed it.
You stopped beside the chair and waited.
Surely he'd notice someone standing there. But he didn't. He calmly turned another page of his newspaper.
You cleared your throat.
Nothing.
"Uh... excuse me?"
Not even a glance.
You waited another couple of seconds before finally reaching across the table and lowering the newspaper just enough for him to actually see you.
He looked up slowly. His expression wasn't irritated. It was simply the face of a man whose patience had been exhausted hours ago. "Yeah?"
"I think you're sitting at my table."
He blinked once before glancing around the café, as if the answer might be sitting somewhere else. "There are plenty of empty tables."
"There are," you agreed easily. "I'm not saying there aren't."
When he looked back at you, there was a faint crease between his brows. "So why this one?"
You rested a hand on the back of the chair opposite him, still making no move to sit. "Because this is where I always sit."
He glanced around the café again. A couple of people looked over for a second before returning to their own conversations. Nobody stepped in. Nobody confirmed what you were saying.
Eventually, his attention returned to you. "You don't have an assigned seat."
"No..."
"Then I don't see the problem."
You smiled, patient enough that it almost seemed to confuse him. "The problem isn't that there are no other tables. The problem is that you're sitting at the one I come to every afternoon."
He studied you for another moment, clearly waiting for you to give up and pick one of the other empty tables. "You really gonna make a thing out of this?"
You smiled. "I don't think I am."
"No?"
"No." You rested your hand on the back of the chair. "I'd just like my table back."
He looked around the café again before meeting your eyes. "You keep calling it your table."
"I do."
"But it isn't."
"Officially?" You gave a small shrug. "No."
His expression didn't change. "So why are you acting like it is?"
"Because everyone here knows it's mine."
He let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Funny. Nobody mentioned that."
"I thought the reservation sign might."
"What reservation sign?"
"The one you're covering."
He frowned immediately, following your gaze to the tabletop. "I didn't see one."
"You couldn't." You leaned forward, slid one of the thick folders a few inches aside, and revealed the small handwritten card hidden beneath it. "There."
For a second, he simply stared at it. Then he looked back at you. "Well..."
"You buried it."
"I guess I did." For the first time since you'd walked over, he looked lowkey embarrassed. Not enough to admit it out loud. Just enough that you noticed. After a brief silence, he looked back up at you. "You could've just said something."
A quiet laugh slipped out before you could stop it. "Hello? I've been standing here saying something for a couple of minutes."
Before either of you could continue, Carlos finally abandoned his role as an innocent bystander. "She's right, señor."
You both turned toward the counter.
Carlos was grinning without the slightest attempt to hide it. "That's been her table for months. We don't even ask where she wants to sit anymore."
Javier slowly closed his eyes. "Of course." He let out a tired sigh before gathering the files back into a stack, folding the newspaper under one arm and reaching for his coffee. As he stood, he shot Carlos a look. "You could've warned me."
Carlos shrugged. "I would've missed the entertainment."
Javier muttered something under his breath as he carried everything to the neighboring table.
Only after he'd settled down did you pull your chair out and sit. "Thank you."
He unfolded the newspaper again before answering. "I wasn't trying to be nice."
"I know."
He lowered the paper just enough to look at you. "So you don't have to sound so pleased about it."
"I'll try."
He gave a quiet shake of his head before disappearing behind the newspaper again.
The café gradually slipped back into its normal rhythm.
You opened your book. A page. Then another. Barely half a minute passed before you glanced sideways again. "You know..."
This time the newspaper lowered only an inch. "What now?"
"You picked the worst table in the café."
He sighed. "Why?"
You nodded toward the window. "The sun."
He followed your gaze. "It looks fine."
"It does."
His eyes returned to yours. "So what's the problem?"
"It won't stay there."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"In another ten minutes it's going to be shining straight into your eyes."
He glanced back toward the window as if checking whether you might somehow be wrong. "I'll survive."
"I'm sure you will." You looked back down at your book. "I just figured I'd warn you before you spent the afternoon squinting at your paperwork."
He watched you quietly for a moment. "You always this helpful?"
You smiled without looking up. "Only after people steal my table."
For a second he simply looked at you. Then, despite every visible effort not to… the corner of his mouth almost gave in. Not quite a smile. More like his face had considered it for half a second before deciding he wasn't in the mood. Then he unfolded his newspaper again.
Neither of you spoke for the rest of the afternoon.
–––
The next afternoon, Javier came back. This time, he walked straight past your table and sat down in the chair beside it like he'd already made up his mind.
The afternoon after that, he did the same thing.
A few days later, you got there first. Without really thinking about it, you left the chair next to you empty, you didn’t block it with your backpack.
When Javier walked in, he spotted it immediately. He didn't wave. He didn't ask if anyone was sitting there. He just walked over and sat down.
A few days later, he beat you to the café. When you walked in, your chair was empty. It was as if he’d been making sure no one took it for you. You smiled to yourself, set your bag on the floor, and sat down as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Neither of you ever mentioned it. You never thanked him for saving your seat. He never admitted he'd been doing it. Somewhere along the way, it had just become part of the routine. And neither of you saw any reason to question it.
–––
Three months later, the routine had become so normal neither of you questioned it anymore.
Most afternoons, Javier was already there by the time you arrived. Sometimes he was buried beneath paperwork. Sometimes he looked like he'd slept. Most days he hadn't.
You'd bring your book. He'd bring another impossible stack of DEA files. Carlos would place two coffees on the table without asking because, at some point, he'd simply decided Javier drank the same thing every day.
Neither of you remembered when the conversations had started. One day you'd commented on the terrible music playing through the café speakers. Another day he'd complained about embassy paperwork. Somewhere between those conversations, silence had stopped being awkward. It had become comfortable.
–––
"You know," you said one afternoon, closing your book halfway, "I still think it's funny."
Javier didn't look up immediately. His attention lingered on the report in front of him for another few seconds before he finally lowered it just enough to meet your eyes. "What?"
"The first thing you ever said to me."
A faint crease appeared between his brows. "I've said a lot of things."
You smiled. "'There are plenty of empty tables.'"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "I was right."
"You were so annoyed."
"I still am."
"I noticed."
He studied you for a moment over the edge of the file before giving a quiet shake of his head. "And yet..." he said, "you keep coming back."
You couldn't help smiling. "So do you."
For a second, neither of you said anything. Javier held your gaze just long enough to admit defeat. "Fair enough."
Carlos chose that exact moment to appear beside the table, coffee pot already in hand. "Your usual?"
Both of you nodded without a word.
Only after Carlos wandered back toward the counter did Javier lean back in his chair again. His eyes drifted to the novel resting beside your coffee. "You always have that book with you."
You looked down at it before looking back at him. "It isn't the same book."
"It all looks the same."
You stared at him in exaggerated disbelief before placing a hand over your chest. "That," you declared, "might be the most offensive thing you've ever said."
One of his eyebrows lifted. "I called you territorial over a table."
"And somehow this is worse."
A quiet laugh escaped him before he could stop it. It was barely there. Short enough that someone sitting across the café probably wouldn't have noticed it.
You did. Your eyes lifted from your coffee almost immediately. "What was that?"
Javier looked back at the report in front of him as though nothing unusual had happened. He reached for his coffee instead, taking an unhurried sip before finally answering. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You laughed."
"I did not."
You watched him for another second, waiting for even the smallest crack in his expression. "You absolutely did."
He lowered the cup again. "I breathed."
That only made you smile wider. "No," you said, leaning back in your chair. "That was definitely a laugh."
"I think you're imagining things."
You tipped your head toward the counter where Carlos was wiping down the espresso machine. "I have a witness."
Javier glanced over his shoulder, then looked back at you. "Carlos doesn't count."
"He absolutely counts."
He let out a quiet sigh, more resigned than annoyed, before shaking his head. "I liked you better when you only argued about furniture."
You looked at him over the rim of your coffee. "I still argue about furniture."
"Now you argue about everything."
"I'm keeping things interesting."
For a long moment, Javier said nothing. He simply studied you with the same thoughtful expression he usually reserved for reports he didn't trust. Finally, he gave the smallest nod. "That's debatable..."
You laughed quietly into your coffee. "You're in a better mood today."
"I'm really not."
"No?" You tilted your head. "You've smiled twice."
His eyes narrowed just a little. "I regret both."
You took another sip of your coffee before looking back at him. "Good."
Another quiet silence settled between you. Outside, traffic rolled past the café windows. Inside, cups clinked against saucers while someone argued softly in Spanish near the counter.
Javier rubbed a tired hand over his face, then let it rest against his jaw for a moment as he stared down at the paperwork scattered across the table.
"Tough day?"
He didn't answer straight away. His eyes stayed on the report in front of him, though it was obvious he wasn't reading anymore. Eventually, he exhaled through his nose. "The usual."
You gave a small nod. "You don't have to tell me."
"I know."
The conversation drifted back into a comfortable silence. You reached for your coffee while Javier absentmindedly straightened the stack of papers he'd barely touched all afternoon.
After a while, without looking up, he spoke again. "You coming tomorrow?"
Your eyes lifted from your cup. It was such an ordinary question that it almost slipped past you. Casual. Offhand. As if he hadn't given it a second thought. Except three months ago, he wouldn't have asked at all. "I usually do."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he looked back down at the table. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know."
Before either of you could say anything else, Carlos returned with fresh refills. He placed one in front of Javier, the other in front of you, then glanced between the two of you with a knowing smile. "See you both tomorrow."
Neither of you commented on it. Carlos disappeared again, leaving the two of you alone with the quiet that had become so familiar.
You wrapped your hands around the warm mug for a moment before looking back at Javier. "So… same time tomorrow?"
Instead of answering immediately, he took another sip of his coffee. His eyes stayed on you over the rim of the cup for a second before he finally set it down. "There better not be anyone sitting at my table."
You couldn't help raising an eyebrow. "Your table?"
He didn't look the slightest bit embarrassed. "You heard me."
A quiet laugh escaped you. "You really stole my table."
For a moment, Javier simply watched you. Then, before either of you had time to think about it, the words left his mouth. "And somehow you still ended up stealing me..."
Silence settled over the table. He froze almost immediately.
You stared at him. For the first time since you'd met him, Javier Peña looked like a man who genuinely wished he could take his own words back.
"I meant..." He cleared his throat, suddenly finding his coffee far more interesting than your face. "My afternoons."
You let him sit with that explanation for a second before a smile slowly spread across your face. "Sure you did."
"I did."
"Mhm."
He gave a quiet shake of his head, muttering something under his breath as he reached for his coffee again. Whatever he'd said disappeared into the rim of the cup before you could make it out.
You decided not to push him any further. Instead, you hid your smile behind your own coffee.
Neither of you mentioned it again.
But when you walked into the café the following afternoon, the chair beside his was still empty. Waiting for you, just like it always was.
Hi Friends. I hope June was good to you. It was a bit wild (but mostly good) for me. Below are the fics I read for the month of June.
If I have tagged you, and you would prefer to not be tagged, or have your works tagged, please let me know. A big thank you to each of you for sharing your works.
These works are 18+, minors DNI. Please read the tags on the fics before reading. If you read & enjoy let the author know! Leave a comment or a reblog!
Clint Flood
Call Me (September 1990) (October 1990) by @ak-vintage - Clint Flood x f!reader
Din Djarin / The Mandalorian
When a Feather-Light Touch is Agony by @bergamote-catsandbooks - Din Djarin x f!reader
Hush (Chapter 2 A03) by @djarins-cyare - Din Djarin x OFC!Reader
Frankie Morales
Frontier Hearts (Ch 4) (Ch 5) by @din-cognito - Frankie Morales x ofc
To Love Me Is To Suffer Me by @dreamedaboutitinthedark - Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader
Harry Castillo
A Baker's Dozen (Sixteen) by @avastrasposts - Harry Castillo x reader
Jack Daniels / Agent Whiskey
Jack & a Clown Costume by @ghoulettesinspace
Javi Gutierrez
Find A Man Who Can Do Both by @grogusmum - JAVI GUTIÉRREZ X F!READER
Javier Peña
Medium Well by @604to647 - Javier Peña x fem!reader
Here and Now (A03) by goodwithcheese - Javier Peña x ofc
Marcus Pike
run to you (ch 9) (ch 10)by @foli-vora - marcus pike x f!reader
The Way We Were Drawn (Ch 1) (Ch 2) by @ishabull - Marcus Pike x Reader
Reed Richards
Dirty move by @petalsinblood - Reed Richards x gn!reader
Crossovers
Seeing Double by @andrew-codys - Jack Abbot x F!Author!Reader x Grant Reilly
Dieter's First Yule by @quinnnfabrgay - dieter bravo x non-binary!reader x din djarin
Call of Duty
Heavy Weighs The Crown (A03) by @sentientcave - Fantasy AU. 2nd POV (OC Reader). 141 x Reader
captain john price x fem!141!reader by @warmfrequency
The Fifth Element (A03) by @the-californicationist -COD/Fallout Task Force 141/Reader Polyamory Fic
little milk on the tongue (ch 1)-(ch 5) by @anneofgreengabagool - john price x reader
fly, songbird, fly (A03) by pap3rtigers - Task Force 141 x Reader (omegaverse)
The Pitt
acute adoration (part iii) by @penvisions - Jack Abbot x F! Reader ;Michael "Robby" Robinavich x F! Reader ; Jack Abbot x F! Reader x Michael "Robby" Robinavich
These Walls Have Eyes by @asxgard - Dr. Jack Abbot x f!nurse!reader
Casual by @lovebugism - michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader
The Casting Couch - Michael “Robby” Robinavitch (P*rnstar AU) by @bullet-prooflove
I Think He Knows (AO3) by starallover Jack Abbot x reader
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms
A Stag, A Doe, and a Hedge Knight (A03) by Huntress_Moon - Lyonel Baratheon x reader x Duncan the Tall
Franke Castle
no one knows by @foli-vora - frank castle x f!reader
Off Campus
Rich In Love by @666eyed - John Logan x Reader
someday, someday by @folkloure - john logan x reader
Ashlee, thank you so much for including The Way We Were Drawn on this wonderful list! There’s so many wonderful writers and SO MANY wonderful fics here, and I’m so honored to be a part of it!
Chapter Summary: Marcus finds your drawing in his pocket and debates with himself over whether he should act on his feelings or let them be.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, no use of Y/N, language, light angst, self-doubt, mentions of food and eating, mutual pining, fluff
Author’s Note: One semester later, and I’ve finally got another chapter done! I guess now is a good time to say that I am currently a full-time design student at a university right now, which is an EXTREMELY time-consuming thing, so I work on this when I can and when I have the motivation. I will certainly not be churning this out at a quick or even regular timetable. Thank you for being patient with me for this story!
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Marcus didn’t get back home until evening the next day.
His team had called him in after the disappearance of another painting, their next case hitting the ground running as soon as it had come in. The debriefings with his team and meetings with the witnesses went late into the night, until Marcus had been too tired to drive himself home, choosing instead to crash on the couch in his office.
The next day had worn him out even more. The first full day of a case always did, leaving his brain too full of the new case to think about much else.
So he didn’t get a chance to think about you from the moment he set foot in the FBI building until he was finally back in his apartment with takeout from the nearby diner the next night.
Chapter Summary: As an architect and designer, you spend a lot of time studying the historic buildings of Washington, D.C. You never would have guessed that sketching the courtyard in an art museum would lead you to the man that could give you both everything you needed.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, no use of Y/N, language, meet cute, mild clumsiness, fluff, mutual pining, self-doubt from Marcus
Author’s Note: This is extremely self-indulgent. I am currently studying interior design with a potential interest in architecture, and Marcus Pike is absolutely perfect for expressing my love for what I do in a fic. It’s a shameless excuse to rave about architecture with the Pedro boy who would appreciate it the most. And also an excuse to give him everything he deserves.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Just a little more shading on this beam, you thought, pressing the pencil ever harder into the paper.
You were sitting in the courtyard at the Smithsonian American Art Museum, trying to finish the drawing you had been working on for weeks. It was a pleasant Saturday afternoon, and as you usually did on Saturdays, you had found a cool building to draw.
You were an architect and designer, and as such, you were fascinated by the way that space was designed. Since you took a drawing class your first year of undergrad, you had loved seeking out well-designed spaces and drawing them when you had free time. Now that you had a steady job in Washington, D.C.—arguably the one place in the U.S. with the most interesting architecture—you had made a habit of finding new places all over the city to draw when you could.
A couple of weeks ago, you found pictures of the Kogod Courtyard, where you currently sat. Each Saturday since then, you had spent your afternoon documenting the space in your sketchbook—the black granite floors, the stone facades of the museum’s various wings, and the glass ceiling that imitated the waves of the ocean. The courtyard was gorgeous, not to mention extremely large, and you had been ecstatic to discover it and add it to your sketchbook.
The fact that all Smithsonian institutions offered free admission didn’t hurt, either.
You’re so welcome! I added those retroactively after a few chapters were posted and they really make all the difference in visualizing the scenes!
I’ve been to the Smithsonian American Art Museum/National Portrait Gallery where the courtyard is, and it really does take your breath away. What’s funny is I wrote this chapter before I went, then had almost the same reaction I wrote Marcus having when I saw it myself 😂
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
Previous | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
Previous | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
I was tagged a little while ago in the Instagram grids by @secretelephanttattoo, and I finally had some time to do this (oh my god, it’s so fun, I wanna make so many more) so here’s my little offering!
I decided to do mine for the reader in The Way We Were Drawn, and I guess this is how I’m “announcing” it—she does have a name that I call her in my head and my notes, lol. It probably won’t show up in the fic, but it does exist.
So without further ado, here’s Sunny’s instagram feed—where each post of hers correlates with a chapter of the story (so you get a peek at what’s in store for the next 3 chapters)!
(Featuring light photoshop by me—also keep in mind she’s heavily based on me, so the profile pic of her somewhat resembles me)
I’m not gonna tag anyone but if you haven’t made one of these and you want to, here’s your sign to go for it!!!
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
Previous | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
Previous | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
Previous | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
Chapter Summary: You and Marcus have a quiet night in at his place after he returns from London.
Warnings: nondescript female reader, architect!reader, could be interpreted as original female character, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, language, fluff, mutual pining, light angst, descriptions of food and eating, sharing a bed
Author’s Note: There was at one point a goal to have this lovely little story wrapped up by the time The Mandalorian and Grogu was released. But between my motivation plummeting after low interaction on the last chapter, my childhood dog of 13 years dying back in January, and finally moving out of my dad’s house and into my own apartment, I haven’t spent much time writing since the last chapter. I’m so sorry for the long wait for those who love this story and wait excitedly for each update, and I really hope you love this chapter as much as I do.
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Excitement beat through your chest a few short days after you and Marcus made it official as you walked up to his apartment, overnight bag in hand.
It had been thrumming within you since he left your office that day, his kiss and that oh-so-gorgeous smile having left you weak, yet with more energy than you knew what to do with. And that buzz had only intensified the closer you got to right here, right now.
At his door.
You took a deep breath before knocking on his door, having already buzzed in and made your way up to his floor.
You may have double—no, triple-checked that you had the right building. And the right floor. And the right apartment.
But you knew as soon as the door opened that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.
Because suddenly, Marcus was there in front of you, beaming as he welcomed you in with a lingering kiss and a gentle hand on your hip.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said lowly, his voice rich as he rested his forehead against yours.
“Hey, handsome,” you replied just as low, closing your eyes for a moment to just enjoy being near him. “Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, indeed,” he chuckled, pulling away to close the door behind you. “I officially don’t have to think about the London case anymore until I go in on Monday. Which is good, because all I could think about since I left your office was you.”
“Hm, that’s funny,” you countered, “because all I could think about since you left my office was you.”
Marcus threw his head back as he laughed, exposing his throat to you as his Adam’s apple bobbed. You took the opportunity to draw your gaze down, failing to suppress a small smirk as you took in his navy flannel thrown on over a soft black t-shirt with a sinfully comfortable pair of gray sweatpants hanging from his hips.
By the time your eyes returned to Marcus’s face, he looked thoroughly smug and more than a little amused.
“See anything you like?”
“Always, with you,” you replied, your face heated both from checking him out and from getting caught.
“Good,” he murmured with a small kiss before he then looked down to take in your form, your casual yet comfy ensemble complementing your body perfectly. “I feel the same,” he whispered as he brought his gaze back up to meet yours.
The two of you stood there for a minute, eyes glinting as you each tried to convey unsaid words with a smile. Eventually, Marcus broke away from you to take your bag and lead you into the kitchen.
“Considering I was out of the country for a few weeks and am still partially jet-lagged, I figured we could just order in. Maybe watch a movie or something,” he suggested.
“Sounds perfect,” you agreed, grinning at him. “Nice and homey, but low effort.”
Marcus looked up at you with delight from the drawer he’d started pulling take-out menus out of. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
He laid out a few options in front of you on the counter before moving to your side. “What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “I’m partial to this Mexican place, but I kind of feel like Thai food tonight,” he said, skimming two menus he’d picked up.
You leaned over, pressing your side against him so you could see the menus. “Thai sounds good,” you agreed. “And I like that restaurant. They have excellent pad thai.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he agreed, nodding. He leaned into you, deepening the contact between you as you both stood over the counter. “I can call in an order for delivery if you wanna get comfy?”
“Are you just offering to call so you can pay for me again?” you smirked.
“Hey, you’re at my apartment. And I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you are dating a gentleman.” He paused his playful argument to kiss you. “I’m paying.”
“I figured you would,” you sighed with a smile. “And no one had to tell me you were a gentleman. You showed me you were instead, and that’s way more meaningful. At least to me.”
Marcus looked over at you, his gaze soft as he searched your face. “Well then, I’m doing my job right,” he muttered smugly before he grabbed the Thai menu and opened his phone. “Get settled, I’ll be right back.”
You watched him walk to the hallway before moving over to his couch. It was a large couch for such a small apartment, the kind of L-shaped sectional you would expect to see in a family home rather than an apartment where one man lived alone.
The space was comfortable, and very Marcus. Abstract paintings hung from the walls and plenty of lamps filled the room, letting him choose how bright or how dim he wanted it to be. A small record player sat alone on a bookshelf—the records and books, you noticed, were mostly in boxes and piles scattered at the base of the shelves.
You cozied up with some pillows and a fluffy yellow blanket on the couch as your eyes swept the room, the designer in you coming out to analyze how he chose to keep the space he lived in.
Marcus returned, joining you on the couch with a muted thud. “Should be here in 20 minutes.”
You hummed your assent, still eying his decor. He turned his head to watch you, finding you wide-eyed as you took in his living room.
“So what does my apartment say about me?” he asked, amused. You looked over at him, slightly startled but touched that he’d known where your mind was.
“You like to indulge in the small things,” you speculated. “Things that make you feel more comfortable and more like yourself. Or maybe more like a better version of yourself.” You eyed the boxes of his things by the shelves again, wondering. “Did you move here recently?”
He huffed. “I don’t know how recently you would say about nine months ago was, but yeah.”
“And you still haven’t gotten settled?”
Marcus looked over at the boxes, too, shrugging. “I don’t know. This place was meant to be temporary. I transferred here to D.C. from the Bureau back home in Austin, expecting for this to be a go-between before I found a place to really start my life here.” He looked back at you, a sad smile on his face. “I guess it didn’t feel like my life here started until I met you.”
You melted a bit at that, taking one of his hands into both of yours as you brought it up to your lips. You placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles, keeping your eyes locked with his all the while.
Marcus’s breath audibly hitched. You lowered his hand, holding it gently in your lap. “I’m glad we found each other, Marcus,” you murmured.
“Me too,” he agreed, his voice small.
You and Marcus smiled softly at each other for a moment as you ran your thumbs along his knuckles. Just as you opened your mouth to break the silence, the buzzer went off at Marcus’s door.
He reluctantly pulled his hand out of yours as he got up from the couch. “I’ll be right back,” he promised as he walked the 10 steps to the door.
In the brief moment it took him to grab the food, you filed away this new information about his semi-recent move. It was another piece in the puzzle of Marcus, one that you were increasingly eager to get to the bottom of. Though he didn’t let his insecurities show very often, what you saw when he did—a man worried about someone he loves actually staying—made your heart ache for him.
It made you want to show him that you were here to stay—no matter the challenges or conflicts, and in spite of everything he sees as something wrong within himself.
You didn’t have time to simmer on this long, though, as Marcus plopped down next to you and started unloading the food onto plates he’d grabbed from his kitchen.
As you both settled in with your meals, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, browsing what was on. He murmured the titles of various movies and shows as he scrolled the channels, gauging your interest out of the corner of his eye.
“Star Wars, Avengers, Game of Thrones…” he rattled off a few bigger series, things you’d be sure to know before listing some more niche titles. After a minute, he grew quiet, a silent question of whether anything sounded interesting.
“Let’s keep looking,” you gently encouraged him. “What channels do you usually go for on nights like this?”
He chuckled lightly before typing a channel number in. “Classics,” he responded resolutely. “The oldies and the goodies.”
“What do they have on?” you asked through a bite of food.
He paused for a moment, causing you to focus your attention on him. He almost looked scared, as if the answer wasn’t one he wanted to give.
“Casablanca,” he eventually provided in a low voice. “One of my favorites.”
You beamed at him. “Oh, that’s perfect! Let’s watch it.”
He turned to you, doubt written clearly all over his face. “You wanna watch Casablanca tonight? Really?”
Your smile fell a fraction at how quiet and unsure he sounded. “Well, yeah,” you reasoned. “If it’s one of your favorites, of course I wanna watch it. It’s like you said when we went to the classic movie theater. Movies are a part of what makes you you. And I can’t see any better way to spend the night than watching it with you.”
Marcus stopped for a second, his breath caught in his throat.
“Have you ever seen it before?” he asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not really.”
“Are you—”
“Marcus, why are you fighting me on this?” you cut him off. “Do you not want me to watch it?”
He sighed deeply, taking you in with eyes that seemed to be pleading you to stop. But as you let the silence drag on, waiting for an answer, he crumbled.
“The last time I watched this was with my ex,” he explained softly. “We didn’t get very far before it became clear she wasn’t interested in it at all and we switched to baseball.” Marcus took a steadying breath. “I love Casablanca, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch it since then.”
You took his hand, cradling it between your own. “We can pick something else, if you don’t wanna watch it,” you said gently. “But I would really like to watch one of your favorite movies with you, and I don’t think you should let your ex ruin something you love just because she was stupid and didn’t like it.”
He laughed at that, a watery smile growing on his face. Slowly, he brought his hand up, yours still clasping it, and kissed your knuckles. “What did I do to deserve you?”
A smile broke out on your face. “You were just you, Marcus. That’s the beginning and the end of it all.”
Marcus returned your grin and leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and sure on yours.
Before you knew it, he grabbed the remote to turn the movie on, and he was settling into the couch, leaning his weight on you.
You maneuvered yourself so that he could lay between your legs, his head resting on your chest. He let out a deep sigh of relief.
And when you wrapped your arms around him and started carding your fingers through his short curls, he absolutely melted into you.
As the movie went on, you truthfully couldn’t tell if Marcus was awake or not. He’d go from deep, steady breathing to muttering a fun fact about the movie or its actors so fast that it was hard to discern.
He needed the rest, so you didn’t push him if he really was asleep. Besides, his body still thought it was much later in the night than it really was.
But you stayed up through the whole movie to the end, watching the main character as he found a love he thought was lost, only to let her go when he discovered she loved someone else.
It made your heart ache in all the best ways, seeing the plot play out the classic trope of if you love something, let it go.
You wondered if maybe that’s why Marcus had been so hesitant to watch this. If he’d let too many of his own loves go, and he didn’t want the reminder.
Maybe it’s because he didn’t want to have to do it again.
He interrupted your thoughts with a light snore, confirming that he had fallen asleep. You chuckled lightly, admiring his relaxed form still tucked into yours.
Reluctantly, you nudged Marcus’s side until he awoke.
“Baby, the movie’s over,” you whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
He nodded slowly against your chest, letting a yawn overtake his face. “Thanks for watching Casablanca with me. Even if I slept through half of it.”
You smiled as you helped him up. “Of course. Now we can spend the next time we watch it discussing it since I’ll have seen it.”
He murmured a quiet, “Yessssss,” an exhausted grin lighting up his face as he led you to his bedroom. You quickly cleared away the plates from dinner and grabbed your overnight bag before joining him. Marcus sat on the edge of the bed, eyes droopy with sleep.
“‘M tired,” he stated, making you laugh.
“I can see that, baby. Let’s take that flannel off and we can go to bed.”
He complied easily, if groggily, as he shucked the flannel lazily into his hamper and raced to get under the covers. You just smiled, shaking your head at how silly Marcus was when he was exhausted, and loving every moment of how easy and domestic this was.
Soon enough, you were joining him in bed, and almost instantly, he snuggled up against you like you were his center of gravity. His arms wrapped around you, their weight comfortable and safe as they held you against him.
With a soft hum, you reached up to brush some hair out of his face and kissed him lightly. “Goodnight, Marcus. Sleep well.”
“G’night sweetheart. Can’t wait to wake up with you.”
You melted in his arms as he quickly drifted off to sleep. And watching him—his breath slowing, his muscles relaxing as all of the stress in his waking mind faded away—made one thing, one very important thing, incredibly clear in your mind.
You loved Marcus Pike.
But more than that, you knew that it was about time that he knew it, too.
Next
Author’s Note: Have you been wondering when the “sharing a bed” tag would come into play? Surprise, babes! It’s now! (I probably didn’t need to add it until now, haha. I wasn’t planning on taking this long to get here.) (Almost three and a half years. Yikes 😬) This fic was always planned to be smut-free, but that doesn’t mean they can’t literally sleep together.
