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.
Oh, I have another idea! An AU for Jess and Rory where they both meet in New York for the first time instead of in Stars Hollow (you can pick the timeline and when they meet, whether they're both adults or teens when it happens)
This is definitely going to be longer than three sentences but who cares it's more content
Rory digs through her purse, searching for her goddamn phone - it's in there somewhere, she knows, but wherever that somewhere is, she doesn't know, but she's almost got it, it's-
In hindsight, burying her head in her bag while walking through the crowded streets of New York City wasn't Rory's best decision. Colliding with a random stranger on a Tuesday afternoon in a city not known for the friendliness of it's citizens wasn't exactly on her bucket list. She falls back, landing awkwardly on her ass but saving herself from hitting her head on the concrete. She looks up to see a guy about her age, donning a Distillers tee with a white long sleeved shirt under it.
"Woah. You should watch where you're going," he says, sans greeting.
"Thanks for the advice," Rory grumbles, starting to pull herself up. The stranger extends a hand, which she takes after a moment of hesitation. "Thanks," she says awkwardly once on her feet, brushing herself off.
He shrugs. "No biggie."
"So..." She's at an impasse, more or less. "Sorry. I'm in kind of a rush, and I couldn't find my phone, and...you didn't ask," she cuts herself off, catching his blank stare.
"Maybe not. Riveting stuff though, seriously." She's about to take offense, but he smiles a crooked smile that lets her know it really isn't that serious at all.
"Would you tell that to the Times? I've got a job interview in half an hour."
The guy raises his eyebrows. "The Times, really?"
"Yeah. And I'm worried I'm going to be late, and I need to call my boyfriend, so-"
"You know, the times is about five minutes that way," he says, pointing in the direction she was coming from.
"What?" Rory whips her head around behind her before looking back. "Damn. I so thought I had navigating this city down to a point."
He smiles again. "C'mon. I'll show you how to get there. I'm not really in any rush myself, and I was headed in that direction anyway."
"Would you? You're a lifesaver, really." Aren't people in the city supposed to be mean and rude? And how does she know he isn't a serial killer or some creep? Whatever. She'll risk it. She needs to be presentable for her interview at her dream job, and tumbling onto dirty city streets 30 minutes beforehand isn't going to aid her in achieving her goal. And damn, she's starting to get anxious. Maybe she should have ditched with Logan when he offered. He's probably having the time of his life on his father's private jet.
"Why not?"
"Wait," Rory says as the stranger starts to walk. He turns and looks at her quizzically. "I don't know your name."
"Jess," he offers.
She finds herself smiling. "Nice to meet you, Jess. I'm Rory."
tagging @spidey-schxyler @parkerscupcake and @httpsamholland y’all wanted to be tagged sorry it’s trash, but thanks for suggesting emotions! this is in the same format of that list i did for @tbholland‘s peter parker night a while ago, so if you recognize this, it’s from that
(bold is tom talking, normal font is you talking; gender neutral reader who’s his s/o!)
tired tom: this was the first one came to mind after watching his insta story. i think tired tom would try so hard to fight his exhaustion but eventually the kid’s gotta rest. you’re at an after-party for a premiere and he’s just finished shooting another movie and you can tell by his droopy eyes and posture that it’s time to clock out. he’d be so insistent on staying, but you know that he needs his sleep and he ends up falling asleep in your shoulder on the car ride home :’)
“we can stay! i’m fine look i’m gonna get another drink i’m not even that tired”
“tom you do realize alcohol is a depressant right”
“what”
excited tom: we all know what excited tom is like, he can barely keep his mouth shut about what he’s excited about. he’s bouncing around and bursting at the seams and just cannot contain himself
post-gym tom: ok half the time he’s super cocky and turned on flirty and is just feeling great about his sweaty self, the other half of the time he’s exhausted and aching all over the place and really just wants to nap
“hi the gym was horrible i’m gonna lay down”
“this is why i don’t work out- LAY DOWN WHERE?”
“uh on the bed”
“YOU BETTER SHOWER BEFORE YOU GET INTO ANY BED OF MINE”
frustrated tom: let’s say he didn’t get a part that he really wanted. after getting off the phone with his agent, he’d sit down, put down his phone, and just be quiet for a while, which is weird for tom because he’s pretty loud and on his phone a lot. when you ask him what’s wrong, he wouldn’t really be able to formulate the words, he’d just be upset about what happened.
“i didn’t- they didn’t cast me. i’m just- why? i thought my readthroughs were good, i was so excited too”
this most likely leads to some quiet cuddling, with you soothing him and telling him how much you love him aw the lil babe
needy tom: so going along with every fandom hc ever, when tom gets needy he’s very grabby. he’ll reach out his hands and motion you to come over, and if you don’t, he’ll move over to you and start playing with your hair or your hands or literally anything to get closer to you. whining noises may or may not be included.
“i wanna cuddleeeeee”
“tom, i’m have actual stuff to do”
“pay attention to meeee, i’m your boyfrieeeeend”
tom in looooove: tom is definitely vocal about how much he loves you. driving: “i love you”. in a store: “i love you”. ordering at mcdonald’s: “I love you”. in addition to physical affection, i think tom would also do little things for you, like write you little notes and leave them on your bathroom mirror or pack some snacks in your bag before work.
supportive tom: ok tom would be THE MOST supportive bf!! you have a job interview coming up? he’ll ask you questions, read over your resume, and make you breakfast that morning. have a test you need to ace? he’ll go buy you new pens or highlighters or markers, continuously bring you snacks, and remind you to take breaks. had a bad day? he’ll listen to what happened, reassure you, and comfort you in anyway possible. he’s your biggest cheerleader :)
“you’re gonna kill this test yes study that cellular respiration”
"good luck on your interview, if they don’t hire you they’re wrong”
these were a highkey mess i’m sorry but they were fun to write ok i’m going to bed
Chapter Summary: A year after Cupid’s arrows bring you and Marcus together, you turn to the gods again—to invite them to your wedding.
Warnings: nondescript gender neutral reader, no use of Y/N, friends to lovers, co-workers to lovers, Roman mythology, art history, mentions of food and eating
Author’s Note: Remember when I said I had something else, something special planned for these two? Surprise! I wrote them an epilogue!
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has participated in and enjoyed The Cupid Seller Valentine’s Extravaganza. I had so much fun celebrating this wonderful story with you all, and I hope you did too.
Suggested Songs: “You Are In Love (Taylor’s Version)” by Taylor Swift, “Venus and Mars (Reprise)” by Wings, “Lavender Haze” by Taylor Swift, “Juno” by Sabrina Carpenter
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Cupid and Venus weren’t the only ones who had a hand in love.
In fact, they only really played major roles in the beginning of a relationship—the initial attraction and desire and the subsequent love affair. The love of Cupid and Venus is made of explosive flames, the quick onset of something radiant.
Juno is the goddess that makes that flame last.
Sure, Venus had some importance over weddings—as the goddess of love, it was expected—but it was Juno who was the goddess of marriage. The one who presided over long-term romances and helped lovers to grow into the right relationship—together.
After all, she was the queen of the gods, most well-known for being the wife of Jupiter, the king of the Roman gods.
And she took that role incredibly seriously.
You see, Jupiter was like Venus, in a way—never satisfied with the love he had been tied to for eternity. He had many affairs, with other gods and with mortals. But Juno was different from Vulcan. She wasn’t content to sit by and let the affairs happen.
The bond of marriage meant something deeper to her. So, for every lover Jupiter took, Juno doled out consequences.
She stayed in the relationship, sticking beside him amidst it all. She made it known how he hurt her, and then she would forgive—but she would never forget.
From her own experiences with infidelity, Juno took on a fierce protection of those who had been affected by it, too. Those who had been cheated on, left behind for someone else.
She made sure that they could find their lifelong loves, and that they would be completely and utterly devoted to each other until death came to their door.
She didn’t want them to have to go through it over and over and over again, like she had.
And when the wedding bells chimed, the rituals completed at the start of a marriage, she was there to help the lovers to build their lives together. She walked alongside them in domesticity, supporting them as they built up their love, their home, their family.
Unlike so many of the gods and mortals who walked the earth, she never strayed from those she cared about.
And she protected those she blessed so they wouldn’t stray, either.
If there had been any part of you that thought the haze that had settled over you and Marcus in Paris would fade when you returned to the States, you would have been dead wrong.
If anything, the love between you just got stronger.
Life went on, as you knew it would. New cases came in, new stolen paintings to find. You went back to the routine you had always followed, slipping back into the way your life had been before the gods decided to intervene.
Of course, Marcus had been your best friend before, but now there was scarcely a moment where he wasn’t there beside you in some way.
Whether it was spending the night at his place after work, having lunch together after a particularly boring meeting, strolling through the city at dusk, or simply keeping each other in your minds, you were always together.
And it felt good. It felt right.
The cold of winter was soon to pass, and spring brought with it a warmth that you had never felt before. You had admired Marcus before for how much of himself he put into the things he cared about, and now that you were firmly at the top of that list, you were finding out just how much he had been holding back on showing his affections.
It was as if gentle waves lapping on a beach had turned into enormous waves, the kind you were all too eager to run to and ride.
The two of you fell easily into a new routine, one where you spent your days living between your two homes and exploring the city you lived in with the same rose-colored lens you’d had in Paris. In quiet moments and in the hectic hustle and bustle, you fell deeper in love with Marcus every single second you spent by his side.
And when he asked you to move in with him as summer dawned, there was no hesitation when you said yes.
“Who was that woman today?” you asked Marcus one evening as you made dinner in the kitchen. “I saw her sit in at your case briefing this morning, and then when I came to get you for lunch, you were in a meeting with her.”
It wasn’t an accusation, by any means—simply a curiosity. Since he was the head of the task force, he brushed elbows with a lot more people than you did, many of them directors with a lot more clearance than you had. You figured the woman had been one of them—a higher-up observing his performance as the team leader, someone there to see how he was doing, or maybe determining if he deserved a promotion.
Who she actually was, though, you weren’t prepared for. At this point though, after everything you’d been through, you really shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were.
“That was Minerva,” Marcus answered nonchalantly from where he was standing near the stove. “The goddess of wisdom, justice, and the arts.”
You stopped your movements as your eyes looked to him in shock. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Minerva,” he repeated, smirking a bit when he saw how your jaw had dropped. “She’s been keeping tabs on us, since, you know, everything we do is right up her alley. And now that we know about the gods, she wanted to stop by to see how we do things, then she stayed to offer some advice.”
You thought back to the woman you’d seen in the conference room earlier that day. She hadn’t seemed particularly remarkable, her hair pulled back at the base of her neck and her professional attire indicating she was important, but not that kind of important.
But, then again, none of the other gods you’d met had seemed that important, either.
You nodded slowly as you resumed working on the meal. “Did she have anything interesting to say?”
He ducked his head with a grin as he recited her words, as if he’d been repeating them in his head all day. “Art is the heart and soul of humanity. Do not take its constant presence in your lives as anything less than divine love.”
After that day, Marcus set his sights on learning more about the Ancient Romans, researching in earnest so he could know more about the gods you’d met—and the ones you hadn’t. He wanted to know which ones he could work with, seeing what they did and how they could fit into your everyday lives.
He eventually started to set up little altars around the house, leaving offerings and sending out prayers as he built everlasting connections with deities. As he did, the gods stopped being merely omnipresent beings.
They became confidantes. They became friends.
Minerva, you later learned, had gained Marcus’s favor long before they actually met. And now that they had, she was all too happy to talk with him, discussing cases and strategies and various works of art over coffee once a month.
You proudly watched as Marcus became an even better agent with every meeting he had with the goddess.
Of course, he never lost contact with the goddess who started it all, with Venus being a constant presence in your lives.
And although you never got quite as deep into godly worship as Marcus did, that didn’t mean you were without divine connections of your own. You grew quite close to Diana, the goddess of the hunt and of animals, as she helped you with your target practice in the Bureau’s gun ranges and guided you when you found—and ultimately adopted—a stray.
And of course, you never lost your friendship with Psyche, either.
The woman you had once known as a French federal agent had dropped the persona completely now, fully being her true self when she was around you. Though she still had her godly duties to attend to, she was always down for lunch or simple wandering with you whenever she could. And as you got closer to her, you realized just how deep your friendship with her truly went.
Psyche proved herself an excellent judge of character, able to complain with you about those who had done you wrong or kindly nudge that maybe someone had just had a bad day. She was an excellent listener, and you could understand why so many modern psychology words had gotten their roots from her name. She was the goddess of the soul, and every time you spoke with her, you knew she wouldn’t lead you on or lie to you—or at least, not anymore.
The only other person in your life whose relationship with you could compare was Marcus.
As your relationship morphed and grew further into romance, he never gave up on the things that made him your best friend for all those years in the first place.
His thoughtfulness, the deep care he held for those around him, the hard work he put into every aspect of his life—he was a lot more open about sharing these things with you, and you were more vocal about appreciating him for all he did.
And where that would lead, well—you certainly never complained when he chose to show you just how much he appreciated your praises of him.
“I need your help with something,” Marcus said lowly, looking around the street market anxiously to make sure you wouldn’t see who he was speaking with. “Something important.”
The woman behind the flower stand just smiled knowingly, the copper hair pushed back on her head blending in beautifully with the beginnings of autumn foliage.
“Anything, dearie,” Venus cooed. “Though I think I know what this is about.”
She stood there a moment, arranging a bouquet, clearly waiting to hear Marcus say why he had asked to meet with her out loud.
He sighed, visibly swallowing.“I want to propose.”
The goddess feigned shock, excitement dancing behind her eyes at his declaration. “What wonderful news! The gods will surely rejoice at your union.”
Marcus chuckled at her, ducking his head as his face turned warm. “Venus, I have to actually ask first.”
“And that is why you have come to me? You want my help?”
Marcus nodded, meeting her eyes again with a sheepish grin on his face.
“You do not need my help to propose, Marcus Pike,” she tutted. “You have asked others this same question twice before. I know you can do it.”
“I know, but…” he dropped his voice to whisper, as if he was sharing a secret, “this is different. This is it for me. Those relationships don’t even compare to the love I feel now. It’s gotta mean so much more. I want it to be…” He trailed off, his eyes wide and pleading.
“Perfect,” she finished for him.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Perfect.”
She eyed him thoughtfully, a smirk creeping onto her beautiful features. “Do you remember what I told you when we first met?”
He threw his head to the side, laughing curtly in disbelief. “Which part? That the Roman gods are real, or your meddling?”
The goddess’s smile dropped only slightly as her tone turned serious. “Even the gods can’t make it all perfect,” she echoed from that day months ago back in Paris. “The love is there. It will be a beautiful proposal because it is yours. And it will be perfect for the two of you.”
Marcus’s face morphed into a somber understanding, dejected at the goddess’s apparent rejection of help as he’d hoped for. Venus clearly knew what he was feeling, because she offered him some advice then.
“Do what feels right, dearie. Plan it all out, or wait for a spontaneous moment that fits. Do it with just the two of you or in front of the whole world. Nobody knows your love better than you do. It will all turn out better than you could have ever hoped, I promise.”
He knew deep in his heart that Venus was right. Even as his mind fought back, wanting a clear way forward, he knew he would have to figure out that path for himself.
Marcus sighed, eyeing the bouquet the goddess had been mindlessly arranging. It was beautiful, as anything made by the goddess of beauty was expected to be. A collection of pink roses sat nestled amidst golden sunflowers, their petals blending together to form a wordless declaration of love and adoration.
Venus smiled, seeing the look on Marcus’s face as she toyed with the petals. “Do you have the ring yet?” she asked him softly, pulling him from his thoughts with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.
He nodded, patting a pocket in his leather jacket where the small box rested.
“Good,” the goddess replied, beaming as she handed him the bouquet. “I will send for Juno and let her know it is time. She will take over a lot of duties from me that the two of you will be needing going forward.”
“Juno,” Marcus mumbled, wracking his brain to place the name. “As in Juno, the queen of the gods? That Juno?”
In lieu of a response, Venus just smirked as she ushered Marcus away from the stall. He tried in vain to pay her for the bouquet, but she refused as she sent him off into the bustling crowd.
Just then, Marcus saw you appear a few stalls down, bags filled with wonderful goodies and fresh food to take home. His heart quickened, anticipation rushing over him even as you were still a ways away.
He turned back to Venus’s stall, expecting to see her knowing face and copper hair watching him, but instead found that the goddess—and all of her flowers—had disappeared, as if they were never even there.
His grip tightened around the bouquet in his hand, and as he turned back around to you, he patted his jacket to ensure the ring hadn’t disappeared too, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt its now-familiar shape.
And when he looked up and met your gaze, his face broke out in a massive grin.
Venus had been right. Of course she was.
It wasn’t long after that Marcus proposed to you, and his conversation with the goddess did have the result he’d hoped for, even if he couldn’t quite see it.
She did the same thing she’d done all those months ago when she first appeared in your lives—she gave him a push.
And when he told you about that day at the market a few days after you’d enthusiastically said yes, all you could do was laugh.
You were cuddling on the couch, Marcus holding you tight in his arms while his fingers caressed the ring on your finger. Neither of you could look away from its shine, transfixed by its beauty and the beauty of what it symbolized.
He murmured the story to you after a comfortable silence, his lips moving against your shoulder as he recounted his most recent encounter with the goddess.
”She can’t keep getting away with this,” you exclaimed, leaning your head against his. “She’s gonna give me a push into an early grave.”
Marcus chuckled, his whole body shaking with it. “You know, I wouldn’t put it past her,” he smirked, “but she actually said she’d be stepping back a bit from us. Apparently she’s sending a different goddess our way.”
“Oh, are we too in love for Venus to handle?” you joked, settling back in on Marcus’s chest. “Who is this new goddess?”
“The goddess of marriage,” he smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your temple, “Juno.”
“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” you mumbled, a similar smile creeping onto your face. “We’re definitely gonna be needing her.”
Marcus hummed in agreement as he lightly ran his hand along your arm. You sank into the sensation, your eyes fluttering shut as you took a moment to simply enjoy the feeling of Marcus around you.
You’d become far more accustomed to his affections, the lingering touches and soft caresses. Though, sometimes you still had to remind yourself it was real, that every stroke of his skin against yours was not only intentional, but full of devotion.
And you thanked the gods for it every single day.
After a few minutes like that, you spoke up, asking a question that had broken through the haze of Marcus around you.
“So, when are we gonna meet Juno?”
You didn’t have to wonder long.
She came to you as all of the gods seemed to—as an unsuspecting part of your regular day.
You truly thought nothing of it. But then again, it really could not have been a coincidence that the business card for a wedding planner was anonymously left on your desk. And it definitely wasn’t a coincidence that when you called the number on the card, the wedding planner was none other than Juno herself.
There was no question to you and Marcus that you’d take whatever help she was willing to give. It would be rude to turn down a goddess, after all.
As you started setting aside time to sit down with Juno to plan your wedding, you learned a lot about her—and like the other gods you met, she soon became more than the initial role she’d assigned herself in your lives.
You wouldn’t quite call it friendship, exactly—maybe more like mentorship. She eagerly took on a motherly role for you and Marcus, so similar to the one Venus had created.
And as the autumn leaves fell and made way once again for soft snows, Juno made sure that everything would go smoothly when the time came.
And not just for the ceremony itself—for your whole lives together.
She walked you through everything you might need for the celebration of your love, from logistics to sentimentality to traditions and more. She was in her element, and nothing could stop her from making sure the two of you had the very best of what you wanted.
Juno didn’t try to force opinions or options on you and Marcus, either, and in fact, she easily agreed to some of your requests—even knowingly nodding her head as you explained that certain family members weren’t invited to attend.
The one thing she insisted on actually had nothing to do with the wedding.
You and Marcus were to do marriage counseling with her.
It was something the two of you had already discussed, with both of you agreeing that it would help with any lingering insecurities and uncertainties and prevent any major issues from building up without a chance to face it together.
Still, Juno sat you down and explained that as the goddess of marriage, she had spent an increasing amount of time in previous decades as a counselor for couples to work alongside them in their lives, guiding them on what was best.
She was very proud of the fact that none of the couples she had ever worked with so much as thought about divorce once she entered the picture.
You had to smother a laugh when she told you.
And so Juno led you through every step as you prepared for your big day—from the mundane things like table arrangements and what you would wear to the important planning of what would come when the party was over, she seamlessly blended Marcus’s life with yours.
And as the day of your wedding drew nearer and nearer, your excitement only grew.
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” you murmured, the lights in your bedroom dimmed as you settled in for the last night before you would be joined as one. “‘S a big day.”
Marcus chuckled, pulling you as close to him as he could. “It is. I think I’ve been ready for it since Paris.” He ran his hand lightly along your side. “Are you?”
You smiled, nodding as your eyes drooped in exhaustion. “Been ready since the day we met.”
His hand paused its movements for a moment, only resuming when he grinned giddily at you. “I can’t wait to marry you.”
His smile grew as you hummed, mumbling your agreement as you began to drift off.
“I’ll be gone already when you wake up,” he promised against your temple. “And the next time you see me, I’ll be waiting for you at the other end of the aisle.”
As your breathing evened out, Marcus kissed your forehead before settling in to fall asleep himself, whispering one last promise in the dark.
“We’ve both waited long enough. Just a little bit more, love.”
True to his word, Marcus had already left when you awoke. The sheets were still warm where he laid, and you sank into the feeling as if it was him embracing you as you slowly became more aware.
And all at once, the day ahead dawned on you with the warm summer sun, and you promptly jumped out of bed in anticipation.
You knew you wouldn’t find Marcus in the house, but you sought his presence nonetheless, rushing past the golden cupid on your mantle to the kitchen, following the sweet smell of homemade breakfast.
Of course he’d made pancakes for you. And just like his spot on the bed, the food was still warm, the butter and syrup melting around strawberries he’d cut to resemble hearts.
And underneath a fork, he’d left a note for you. Your heart swelled as you sat down to read it.
Happy wedding day!
I’m so lucky to be the one at your side. I can’t wait to see you today.
I love you. –M
You ducked your head, beaming so wide your cheeks began to hurt. But you didn’t much care, and you knew the day would bring much more happiness. This was only the first taste.
If anything, you were the lucky one. Ever since your time in Paris, Marcus had more than proven that what he felt for you was true—through the little things he remembered and the grand gestures he surprised you with, the loving words and the sweetest touches, Marcus was so much more than even you had anticipated he would be as a lover.
And you knew without a shadow of a doubt that finally, finally, Marcus was able to have all of that reciprocated right back to him because of you.
It seemed like the two of you had been repeating the sentiment a lot, but it was true—you couldn’t wait to start the rest of your lives together.
Before you knew it, you finished the pancakes and Juno was arriving to whisk you away into preparations. Everything was a blur, and as the hours flew by and the plans you’d made all fell into place, you just became more exhilarated for what lay ahead.
When the time came, the goddess returned to you one last time to let you know everyone was ready.
And as your heart thumped loudly in your chest, you knew you were ready, too.
Marcus had been in this spot before—the groom at the end of the aisle, waiting for his love to appear at the other end. He’d known the nerves, the anticipation, the excitement—knowing that the moment was finally here.
And yet, everything was different. He didn’t have the same knot of anxiety in his stomach (which, looking back, should have been a clear sign that that marriage wouldn’t last). His mind was set, age and experience showing him what love truly felt like—and knowing that this was it.
You were it.
The day could not have turned out more perfect for this. You’d chosen one of the parks in D.C., a national historic landmark as the venue, and it was a dream. The greenery, the fountains, the long paths—it all came together so perfectly, and despite the beating of the June sun, the weather could not have been better.
He figured his godly friends in the seats before him probably had a hand in that.
Marcus smiled at Venus, seated in the front row. The goddess of love was beaming, clearly pleased with herself for orchestrating another happy love story. He’d already seen her boasting about it to the other guests, telling his mother how she’d been there to “watch these two fall in love,” and fully bragging to the other gods in attendance how she’d actually done it.
Beside her sat Cupid and Psyche, holding hands with matching glints in their eyes. Despite his initial trepidations of the god after hearing all he’d done in the past, Marcus had grown quite fond of the divine couple, knowing that at last, everything had turned out the way it was supposed to be.
Marcus took one last look over the small crowd, seeing the faces of his loved ones mixed with yours, and the gods of Ancient Rome sprinkled throughout. He caught Minerva’s eye, giving her a nod, and noted several others he hadn’t had the chance to formally meet yet but was sure he would soon.
And next to him stood Juno, the steady hand in it all since he’d proposed to you, as the one who would make it official. It had seemed like a no-brainer when the question was raised of who would officiate, and as the goddess of wedding rituals, she was all too happy to accept the offer.
Soon enough, Marcus straightened up as the processional music started, a beautiful instrumental that brought tears to his eyes before he could even see you. It was as if it was just now sinking in, the dream he’d had for so long finally a reality.
He was going to marry you.
His heart raced as your cue approached, eyes glued to the spot between the trees where you would appear.
And all at once, the music swelled, and there you were.
He gave himself a moment to take you in, the beauty that surrounded you and exuded from you on full display. But he couldn’t keep his eyes from locking with yours for long, and when they did, he knew he’d made the right choice.
You smiled at him, and the entire world fell into place.
As you walked toward him, he found himself crying, but he knew by the way that his cheeks strained from smiling that for once, it wasn’t in pain.
It was in love.
You arrived, glowing, at his side, and immediately reached out to wipe the tears from his face.
“Hi,” you whispered with a grin.
“Hi,” he responded, chuckling as he reached out and took your hands. “You look incredible.”
“So do you, handsome,” you laughed quietly, winking at him.
Juno gave the two of you a brief moment before she began the ceremony, looking just as pleased with herself as Venus had as she spoke to the crowd, and then to the two of you.
She spoke of love and of lasting connections, of joy and endurance. It was everything you’d come to believe and more through the love the two of you had built over the last year.
And finally, after what seemed like an hour but was more like 15 minutes, it was time for the vows.
Marcus, ever the romantic, had insisted you write your own vows. It was something he wished he’d been able to do the first time he got married, and for you, he had so much to say.
But first, you had your own vows to him to read.
You squeezed Marcus’s hands lightly before reaching for a paper you’d hidden away in a pocket. Marcus took a deep breath with you as you unfolded the paper, and he swore he would never know anything as beautiful as your love.
“Marcus,” you started, looking up from your notes to address him. “I knew from the moment we met that you would change my life. I didn’t know then that you’d become my best friend in the entire world or that I would grow to love you as deeply and fully as I have. But I knew, even in your sorrow, that you were the brightest soul I had ever met, and that you would bring so much light to my life. And you did—you do.
“Getting to this point of being together may have taken forever and been led by divine intervention,” you continued, drawing some stray chuckles from the crowd, “but I promise to you that every second that I have loved you has been so, so real. Loving you is the easiest thing I have ever done, and will ever do. And I choose to love you every single day, through the good times and the bad, not because we were struck by Cupid’s arrows,” you laughed, “but because you are worth loving. You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re passionate, and you care so much about everyone around you—I could go on and on. And I’m so incredibly grateful that I’m the one that gets to reflect the light that you shine on everyone else right back on you. I have loved you since we met, and I will love you long after we have both died. There is something eternal about our love, and I promise nothing—and no one—can make me stop loving you.”
Marcus beamed at you as you finished, brushing tears from his cheeks as he whispered, “I love you.” Words couldn’t describe how happy he was in that moment, but as you tucked your notes away and focused on him, he knew he’d have to try.
The notes he’d written were tucked away at home, worn out and stained from where he’d spent hours writing, editing, and practicing them. He knew he’d want to look you in the eye as he spoke, so he worked tirelessly to perfect them as much as he could. And as he stood mentally preparing to deliver his vows to you, he knew he’d made the right decision in doing so.
Marcus softly said your name, all of his love poured into it as he began.
“I have spent my entire life trying to find a love like the one we’ve built. Some people might say I was looking in all the wrong places, but I found you, and I wasn’t even trying. You are everything that I have always dreamed of having in my life—someone who loves me, completely and entirely as I am, and who I can love just as completely and entirely in return.
“Since we met, you have been the one thing in my life that I can count on bringing me joy each and every day, and that increased tenfold when we finally came together. I’ve never known happiness like you bring me, never known a love like you give so, so freely. And I promise, I will make sure that you feel that same happiness and love in return, because I choose to love you for the rest of my life. And whether it was fate that brought us together, or love, or something well beyond this world—I still love you. I will still love you. And even if what started it all—started us—was a power we can’t even fathom, I promise you that I will do everything in my power to love you as you love me.”
You couldn’t help yourself, leaning in to give Marcus a quick kiss as he finished. When you pulled away, Marcus was playfully eyeing you, and Juno just smiled knowingly as she shook her head.
It would be only a few more moments before he’d be able to kiss you back properly, as your husband.
He lingered on the exchange of rings that followed, savoring the moment you slipped one onto his finger and he carefully slid the other onto yours.
You and Marcus stood for a second admiring the bands, holding each others’ hands tightly as you did so. They had been forged by Vulcan himself, made from the strongest golden metal on the planet in the forge of the gods and divinely enchanted to always fit perfectly.
A gift from the gods, just as your love had been.
Before you knew it, Juno was breaking your thoughts to lead you both in the traditional wedding vows, the I Dos soon exchanged with charged anticipation for what came immediately after.
The second she proclaimed you as a married couple, introducing you for the first time as the Pikes, Marcus rushed forward and crashed his lips to yours, cradling your face in his hands. He didn’t want to break away, so he didn’t—instead moving to spin you around in a dip that had the whole crowd whooping and hollering.
You steadied yourself back on your feet, with your hands on Marcus’s chest and eyes full of adoration as you gazed at him.
And without saying anything, the two of you broke out in joyous laughter, and Marcus pulled you in tight for an embrace, resting his forehead on yours.
After a moment, you turned to look out over the crowd of the people you loved as they cheered, still wrapped around each other.
Neither of you could have seen this day as anything more than a far-off fantasy when you first traveled to Paris for The Cupid Seller case over a year before. But life—and love—had a funny way of surprising the two of you in all the best ways.
The gods sitting in the front row were proof enough of that.
You and Marcus walked back down the aisle, this time hand in hand. The golden early evening sun bathed the two of you in a brilliant light, as if a spotlight had been cast on your love.
You stole away a moment alone before the party began, the two of you together for the first time as a married couple. It was everything you’d dreamed of and more, the blissful happiness of an unbreakable joy.
Soon enough, Juno returned to pull you back into the fray, and after one more kiss shared for just the two of you, you eagerly led Marcus out to your waiting guests.
After all, the night was only just getting started.
Chapter Summary: Marcus returns from his assignment in London, and he surprises you with lunch at your studio.
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, descriptions of food and eating
Author’s Note: Aaaaaaand that is the end of my design info dumps! From here on out, we’ve got a cohesive arc to finish out (or start 😉) their love story. I can’t begin to describe how excited I am to finally have gotten to this point, and how grateful I am for all of you who have been along for the long ride this fic has been on. Just a few more chapters left. They’re almost there.
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Marcus loved London.
He loved the sights, the food, the people. He slowly ticked off item after item from the list you’d compiled for him, finding new things to experience and relaying absolutely everything back to you.
He loved the challenge that came with learning the culture he temporarily found himself in. It was an adjustment to figure out the various language differences—even though it was the same language, it still felt so different—and the various other little things that he picked up on and was fascinated by.
He even loved the case he was working on—the whole reason he was there in the first place. The artwork they were after had its own allure, a historical piece that connected England and the U.S. as far back as the latter’s existence.
But what Marcus loved most was wrapping up the case so he could go back home. Back to you.
The last morning he was in London, there was a small ache in his chest at having to leave this wonderful city, but the excitement in his stomach at knowing you were finally going to be within reach again overtook any sadness that this journey was over.
He decided he wasn’t going to tell you he was coming home right away, though. As he waited through the security line and got his passport stamped for his return flight, he knew exactly how he wanted to give you the news of his return.
And he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face.
You’d settled into a solid routine during the weeks Marcus had been gone.
Life went on much as it had before you met him as you fell back into old habits and activities to keep yourself busy. You resumed your scheduled sketching time out in the city and sought out new things to study in ink.
But now, everything beat with the steady heartbeat of him.
You found yourself returning to places you’d gone with him on dates, picking spots a ways off from where you’d sat with him to make your art. Each location found its likeness in your sketchbook, and each one had a rough image of you and Marcus together within them.
That, coupled with regular calls with him all the way in London, made the longing for him to be back at your side hurt a little less.
He regaled you with tales of his adventures in London, of the Tate Modern and countless other stunning places he’d visited. He teased you with the promise of souvenirs when he returned and marveled with you at the pictures he’d taken of the wonders he couldn’t bring home.
His excitement was infectious, and although you found yourself wishing he was still here with you (sometimes you even dared to dream that one day he would take you with him), you became more and more ecstatic as the days went on that he was able to explore such a fascinating place.
Days turned into weeks, and Marcus made sure to check in with you every single day. His texts brought a smile to your face every afternoon, knowing he was thinking of you before he went to bed. They made your day a little easier to get through, knowing even an ocean couldn’t stop the feelings between you.
Even at work, your thoughts kept drifting to Marcus and what he was doing. How the case was going, if he’d seen anything new.
When he was coming home.
You found yourself stuck on this particular thought one day as you drew up some iterations of a new building your team was designing at work, your mind drifting to him and how much you missed him as you mindlessly created new ideas on the page.
Your friends were chatting away as they worked on their own visions of the new design, updating each other on what their own lives had in store.
Their voices faded into the background as all you could focus on was Marcus.
It was fitting, then, that your ears finally tuned in to what they were saying when one of them asked you about him.
“Hey, how’s it going with that guy you’ve been seeing?” Daisy, your best friend, asked you. “You haven’t talked about him in a while.”
You smiled softly. “It’s good. He’s been in London for work for a few weeks, so I haven’t seen him in a while. We still talk every day, though.”
“That’s good,” she agreed, setting her marker down and resting her head on her chin. “You really seem to like him.”
“I do,” you nodded, your cheeks heating up at just the idea of him. “He’s kind, he’s smart, he’s fun to talk to and spend time with.” You took a deep breath, letting it out in a long, dreamy sigh. “He’s… everything.”
Your friends grinned knowingly at your lovestruck expression. They’d seen firsthand how love had left you disappointed and heartbroken in the past, and they celebrated that you’d finally found someone as wonderful and doting as Marcus.
“That’s amazing, hun,” Daisy said. “You deserve to be happy.”
“I know,” you acknowledged, having heard this many times before from them under far different circumstances. “And I’m really happy with him.”
A chorus of excitement for you rang up from around the table, punctuated by radiant smiles and lighthearted laughter. You sat giggling in the middle of it all, basking in the joy as you forgot for a moment that Marcus was on the other side of the world.
Daisy piped up with a teasing glint in her eye. “If he’s this perfect and even half as handsome as you say, you’re going to be a very happy woman.”
“Shut up,” you replied playfully, though your voice held no indication that you wanted her to stop as your smile only grew.
She elbowed you as if to say I won’t as she continued. “How did you describe him again? Like a Roman statue with big brown eyes and soft brown hair? The softest man with the sharpest jaw?”
You laughed, ducking your head as you remembered what you had told your friends when you’d first met Marcus. Back then, you had only just run into him for the first time, and you were waiting rather impatiently for him to call the number you’d scrawled quickly on your drawing and tucked into his pocket. Though it had only been a few months since then, you already considered that spur-of-the-moment decision to be the best thing you’d ever done.
“Hey, it’s not not accurate,” you defended as you reached for your phone to pull up a picture of him. “Once you see him, you’ll see I’m right.”
She hummed, leaning over to look at the entrance to the office behind you. “Does he look anything like that?”
You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes. “What are you talking about?”
She indicated for you to turn around, and as you reluctantly spun in your chair, your heart leapt in your chest.
Because standing at the entrance to your studio—and absolutely not in London—was Marcus Pike.
You let out a shaky breath as you locked eyes with him, muttering his name as you watched a smile spread wide across his face.
As quickly as your body would allow, you got up and ran over to him. You barely registered him setting a bag on the floor as you reached him, too preoccupied with the way his lips crashed against yours and his hands reached up to cup your face. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer to you as you processed the fact that he was here.
Marcus was here.
The kiss quickly turned to an embrace as you pulled back enough to examine his face, a smirk playing at his features as his arms came down to rest around you. You stared at him in awe for a moment, unable to comprehend how he was here.
“You’re back,” you sighed, still in disbelief.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low, “I am.”
“How?”
He reached down and picked up the bag he had set on the floor. “Tell you over lunch? I brought pizza from that Italian place down the street.”
“I love that place,” you gasped.
“I know,” he smiled.
Your expression softened, eternally in awe of just how seen Marcus always made you feel. He never failed to show how deeply he wanted to know you, in both the big ways and the little.
I love you, you thought.
But as you looked around, remembering you were still in the studio and your friends were still very much watching you, you swallowed the words down. The time and place for those words would come, but this wasn’t it.
But oh how you longed to say them.
As you eyed your friends, the ever-present unsaid declaration to Marcus still bouncing around in your head, you noticed your friends motioning at you in a not-so-subtle way to go with him, sending you shooing motions and thumbs-ups and winks from your cluster of desks.
You smiled, shaking your head at them playfully, as you turned back to Marcus with the most love you could muster into your expression, took his hand, and urged, “Let’s go then,” with a giddy grin as you led him out of the studio.
You were grateful that your office had such a beautiful little terrace with seating that you could take Marcus to. You ate your lunch out here most days—when it was nice outside, at least—because although it was directly connected to the inside of the office through large folding glass doors, it was still a lovely intimate space with plants that helped muffle the sounds of the bustling city around you.
So it was an easy choice to lead him there to eat.
You watched his eyes light up as he saw where you were taking him, astonished at how gorgeous the seating area was. A few of your colleagues had tables claimed, laptops or papers out as they worked in the inspiring environment the terrace provided.
You led Marcus over to a small table in the corner, the sleek side of the planters rising up to form the edge of the terrace. You sat in one of the chairs, finally releasing Marcus’s hand as he sat the bag on the table and started pulling out food.
“I hope it’s okay, I just got us each some individual slices,” he explained as he set a triangular box in front of you, then in front of himself as he sat down. “I figured we wouldn’t have time to have a whole pizza.”
“This is wonderful, thank you Marcus,” you replied, inhaling deeply as you opened the box to the smell of freshly baked pizza. “You even got my favorite.”
He chuckled, ducking his head down a little. “I guess I just know what my girl wants.”
“Your girl,” you repeated, beaming. “I like the sound of that.”
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head toward you as you nodded. “Good.”
Marcus leaned in to kiss you over the table, his lips gentle and reverent. He pulled back when his stomach gave a loud growl, laughing at himself as he took his first bite.
“So when did you get back?” you asked, curious.
“Oh, like an hour and a half ago. I got through customs and baggage claim as fast as I could so I could pick this up and head right over here.”
Your jaw dropped. “You mean you came here first after getting back? Just to see me?”
“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, looking at you. “I wanted to see you. It feels like it’s been so long.” His face fell slightly, a worried expression crossing his features. “Is that… okay?”
You nodded, giggling a little. “More than okay, Marcus.” You reached over to take his hand reassuringly. “I just know when I have long international flights I usually just want to go home and crash in bed, is all.”
He let out a relieved sigh as he laced his fingers with yours. “Oh, that’s happening as soon as I leave, believe me. My internal clock thinks this is dinner.”
You laughed, giving his hand a little squeeze. “So how did the case go? Did you finish it up?”
He nodded as he swallowed another bite of pizza. “It went well. We found the painting and caught the thieves a few days ago, and I wrapped up what I had to in London so I could head out as soon as I could. Anything else I need to do, I can do from here.”
“That’s good,” you said as you took another bite yourself. “London is great, but I really wanted you to come home.”
Marcus gazed at you, quiet amazement shining in his eyes. “Me too.”
He took a breath then, as if to say something, but ultimately exhaled wordlessly as he looked toward the street. He had a far-off look in his eyes laced with an emotion you couldn’t place.
“Hey,” you called softly, squeezing his hand again. “You okay?”
Marcus turned back to you, seemingly snapping himself back to the current moment here with you. “Yeah, just,” he paused, turning his gaze down to your joined hands, “part of me can’t believe you waited for me while I was gone.”
“Of course I waited,” you reassured him. The fact that he was surprised you would wait made your heart ache for him, and it made you wonder what happened that would cause him to think you wouldn’t. “You mean a lot to me, Marcus. I really like you, and I like being with you. And I’d like to continue being with you, if that’s something you want, too.”
He lifted his head to meet your eyes, a small smile growing on his face. “Like, as my girlfriend?” His smile grew to match yours as you beamed at him, nodding. “It is. I do,” he affirmed. “Very much so.”
“So…” you trailed off, your smile radiant, “does that make it official? Make us official?”
Marcus leaned in, nodding confirmation with his own grin as he kissed you again. You didn’t think you would ever get over just how right kissing him felt. And as his thumb rubbed small circles on your knuckles, his lips gentle yet passionate, you were sure nothing had ever felt as right as this moment right here with him.
You were both grinning when you finally pulled back, a small giggle escaping you. You felt those three words from earlier on the tip of your tongue again, but this time, Marcus was the one to shoo them away as he leaned in for another quick peck, a devious look on his face.
“You should come over to my place this weekend,” he said, his voice so low it made you shiver. “Have the date we planned before I had to go.”
You nodded, your brain fuzzy from the lingering feeling of his lips on yours. You thought ahead to your schedule, eager anticipation clearing the fog of him away.
“Or,” you proposed, “I could come over Friday night and stay through Saturday. Have a little more time together now that we’re together together.”
Marcus smirked. “How can I say no to that?” He closed the distance between you once again as he stole another kiss. “Girlfriend.”
You laughed again, and this time it was you who initiated another kiss as you murmured, “Boyfriend.”
“I could get used to that,” he chuckled. You spent a moment just basking in your happiness together as he placed his forehead against yours, your noses brushing in a way that made your face scrunch.
All too soon, Marcus glanced down at his watch before pulling back. “I should probably let you get back to work,” he lamented as he stood up to clear the table. “And I should probably get home to start unpacking before you come over.”
“I’ll see you soon, though,” you reminded him as you stood up to help him clean up the boxes. “And I’m sure I’ll text you even sooner.”
“We always do,” he laughed.
Slowly, you led Marcus through the office to the main entrance on the street. He reluctantly looked at you with a pout on his face at the door, unwilling to leave you again even though it had been his suggestion to part in the first place.
“You silly dramatic man,” you muttered, teasing him as you kissed his cheek. “My silly dramatic man.”
He hummed contently, eyeing you with a soft fondness as he kissed you one last time. “See you later, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Marcus,” you said softly as his hand finally slipped from yours to open the door. You watched as he left, walking down the street to his car, before you turned around with a skip in your step as you headed back to your studio.
Yeah, your friends were never gonna believe this.
Next
Author’s Note: Details on the locations featured in this part:
Gensler - Although not explicitly stated, our girl works at the architecture and design firm Gensler in the Washington D.C. office. They aim to create human-centered spaces while striving toward sustainable designs. As one of the leading innovators and researchers in the design sector, they constantly work to make the world a better place through the power of design.
This is the terrace they have lunch on at the office :)
Chapter Summary: 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.
Warnings: nondescript gender neutral reader, songwriter!reader, musician!reader, reader is able-bodied, no use of Y/N, could be interpreted as original gender neutral character, the author heavily implies reader wrote lots of songs we know and love but hey it’s fanfiction, childhood best friends, childhood sweethearts, angst, yearning, forging your own path, the one that got away, reunited lovers, canon-compliant
Author’s Note: Do you ever have a long-standing fantasy that you keep going back to and it never entirely leaves your mind? This is mine. I have some loose plans for the story, and I don’t yet know where it will go. So this will be a fun ride as I figure it out along the way.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist
When you first set course for Nevarro with your band, you thought nothing of it.
Why would you? It’s a planet in the Outer Rim, once known as a hotspot for bounty hunters and other scum, now turning into a wonderfully beautiful refuge for anyone who just wanted a nice, quiet life.
That’s why you’re here, in a way.
Not that you’ve ever wanted a nice, quiet life—even when you were a child, you’d dreamed of being in the spotlight, on a stage with just you and your guitar and the crowd. You wanted to use your music to make people happy—yourself included.
For a while, that dream had seemed impossible. The strum of strings replaced with the click of a blaster, voice lessons replaced by combat training. You’d played the part diligently—using your skills to be the one who wrote the songs, enshrining Mandalorian history in oral tradition as they turned you from a performer to a fighter.
You’d always known you wanted more.
So when you left, leaving behind the one thing—the one person—that could have made you stay, in favor of finding your own way, you thought the quiet life was going with it.
It made sense, then, that what you thought you’d turned away from in a previous life would find you again when you came to a place that was growing to be known for it.
Greef Karga, the High Magistrate of Nevarro, had invited you personally to the planet as a sort of musical ambassador. They were building a theater, a concert hall, he’d told you, and he wanted you to be the first to play it.
The people needed something to enjoy, besides just work. They’d seen enough crime, they deserved something good. Something joyful.
That’s why you came.
The concert hall had been mostly completed already when you arrived. Some tune-ups here, a fresh coat of paint there. It was to be the first sound check of a new center for music.
You’re just having fun with your band now, really. Playing themes from various songs you’ve written, riffing off of each other seamlessly as you move around on stage to interact with all of them.
Karga had said he’d be stopping by.
You don’t think anything of it as he waltzes in, taking on the room’s joy as if it’s infectious—and you suppose, in a way, it is. That’s music for you.
Soon enough, your band is packing up, their set done as it becomes just you. Karga claps, applauding them as they depart, and as you move back towards center stage alone, he calls back to the doors.
“Come, Mando! Enjoy the fun! Our new friend has plenty of songs to share.”
You freeze in your tracks, your body feeling all at once as if you’d fallen through the ice again.
Mando?
It couldn’t be—
Slowly, your heart beating a hole through your chest and thumping in your ears, you set your eyes on Karga, then turn your head the smallest of turns to follow where he’s looking.
And sure enough, at the back of the theater, barely through the door, he’s there.
You’d recognize that face anywhere.
No, not face—helmet.
The rest of his armor is different, the beaten russet you once knew like the back of your hand replaced with a shiny, unpainted, unblemished set of pure beskar. You can’t make it out in the lights, but you’re sure you see a signet on his right pauldron.
But you’d know that helmet anywhere.
All these years later, you still see it in your dreams.
For a long moment, your gaze is locked with his, and you briefly wonder if he knows it’s you, if Karga had mentioned your name. They seem to be friends, or at least friendly, though you have no idea how.
You wonder if his heart is racing like yours, if his head is similarly reeling.
But then he’s breaking your gaze, sauntering down the aisle to meet Karga where he stands a few rows back from the stage.
The only sign that he might know it’s you is the tireless clenching and unclenching of his fists at his side.
You’re breathless, the sight of him alone enough to simultaneously quiet every noise in your head and also make new mental soundtracks start their cacophonous entrance.
You miraculously manage to register Karga’s request that you play something for them, your mind scrambling to think of something to play as everything in you is screaming for him.
For Din, Din, Din.
You take your guitar from its place around your shoulders and set it on its stand next to the piano, a beautiful thing you’ve painted with colorful flowers and leaves.
The galaxy fades away when you sit down at the bench. You adjust the microphone there, though you don’t need to, and take the first deep breath you’ve had in minutes as you look up.
All you see is him.
You start plucking away at the keys absentmindedly, an instrumental intro as you finally speak.
“I wrote this song for someone I once knew. A friend,” you trail off, focusing in on the music as you start singing.
To him. It’s always to him.
“I know it’s true
It’s all because of you
And if I make it through
It’s all because of you…”
Summary: 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.
Warnings: implied nondescript gender neutral reader, no use of Y/N, Roman mythology, the author pretends to know how the DEA works, mentions of food and eating, descriptions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of cigarettes and smoking, allusions to smut, divine interference, language, Proserpina is a black woman
Author’s Note: This is based on this ask that I got during The Cupid Seller Valentine’s Extravaganza last February for a mythology intro with the myth of Persephone and the Underworld. I was just so excited and inspired by the little plot bunny I came up with to go along with it that I’ve been working on a one-shot for it, and here we are!
While the original ask was for Persephone, I changed her and the other gods in her story to their Roman counterparts to keep with the world I’ve set in place already. And as a massive fan of Hadestown, I was of course inspired by the Persephone I saw on Broadway—played by the incredible Jewelle Blackman (who’s in the moodboard)!
This one-shot is set in the same world as The Cupid Seller, but it is completely separate, and you do not have to have read that fic to understand this one.
Suggested Songs: “Epic II” and “Our Lady of the Underground” from Hadestown, “Good News” by Shaboozey, “stuck” by mxmtoon, “‘tis the damn season” by Taylor Swift, “Fly” by Djo
Read on A03
Masterlist | Inspiration Tag
It was Proserpina who brought the spring.
The young goddess led a good life, quiet in the routines of agriculture brought on by her mother Ceres. She had a great many friends, her cousins and aunties providing her with a love so deep that she never felt alone.
She spent countless hours with them, gathering flowers in vast fields with the sun shining down bright. Though she never strayed far, her mother always kept a loving, watchful eye on her, ensuring she would always be safe.
Ceres had only looked away for a minute. The world would never be the same.
Pluto had been watching Proserpina, falling in love with the young goddess as she spent her days on the land up above. But he grew jealous of the sun, for it was the world of the living which she inhabited.
And Pluto was the King of the Underworld. He was not a part of that life.
So while Proserpina’s mother was distracted, her focus elsewhere, he snatched up the young goddess and took her to the Underworld for himself. To be his queen.
When Ceres saw her daughter was gone, she fell into a grief so deep that the world wept with her. As she searched the earth for Proserpina, her desperation distracted her from tending to the crops, and every single plant on the planet wilted and died.
It soon became clear to Ceres that her daughter was not in the world as she knew it. And in the absence of the land’s growth, the other gods became equally desperate for Proserpina’s return so that the earth could be restored.
Eventually, Proserpina was found in the Underworld with Pluto. And miraculously, the god of the dead agreed to let his love go back to her mother.
But not before he offered her a pomegranate.
The young goddess, hungry from going months in the Underworld without food, eagerly accepted the offering. She did not know there would be consequences. She couldn’t have known she’d just condemned herself as she swallowed the seeds.
For no one was allowed to eat the fruits of the Underworld and walk completely free.
In the wake of her seemingly innocent snack, a deal was struck between Pluto and Ceres that would seal Proserpina’s fate for the rest of time. The girl would spend half of the year on the earth with her mother, and the other half in the Underworld with her husband.
The world rejoiced at Proserpina’s return. Ceres resumed her godly duties, and the crops grew tall and plentiful again.
But when Proserpina was with one, the other mourned her loss.
And so when the young goddess was back in the arms of her husband, the land fell right back to where it had been the first time she was gone. The earth died again and again with the piece of Ceres that loved her daughter.
But now, when Proserpina left for the Underworld, she always came back.
And every year at her homecoming, the planet welcomed her back with new growth, new crops, new life.
The sun shone brighter, the water ran clearer.
All while Pluto sat in misery, waiting for the harvest that would signal her long-awaited return to him once again.
Javi couldn’t sleep.
In the unnerving silence of his childhood bedroom, he found himself perched on the edge of a bed he’d long since outgrown, his thoughts louder than the bugs outside the window.
As much as he loved being home, seeing his Pops, it didn’t feel right. It wasn’t whole.
The praise and awe he’d gotten at Danny’s wedding earlier that evening had only served to make him feel worse. All this applause for what—consorting with some of the very people he had been trying to take down all these years, only to get caught and sent home before he could see Escobar go down with his own eyes?
Javi didn’t feel like the hero they all made him out to be. He had blood on his hands that none of them could see.
None of them, except maybe his father.
And yet Chucho still wanted to help him. Keep him here on the ranch. Help him build a life for himself on peace rather than war.
Javi didn’t understand it.
He got up, his mind clouded in the Texas heat, and decided to seek out one of the few vices he’d built for himself in all this mess. As quietly as he could, he grabbed the keys to Chucho’s truck and slipped out the door, leaving behind only an empty hook where his leather jacket had been.
The drive into town was quiet, just as the ranch had been. It was almost nice, he thought as he pulled onto a street lit by flickering lamps. Something he would have enjoyed from a lifetime ago if the weight of his own choices weren’t raining down on him like bullets.
But instead of returning to his old spots, the bars where he could meet friends from high school or well-meaning cousins, he turned into a parking spot in front of a bar he’d never been to, a place he somehow knew he’d find nobody who knew him, where he could wallow in peace.
The Underground was the perfect place to hide from his problems.
It was quaint, a real hole-in-the-wall establishment, and warm in the way a fire burned on a cool night. The wood tones of the tables and floors mixed with steel accents in a way that was almost industrial, and the audible humming of lights did little to convince Javi that the place was up-to-date.
The few people that milled about didn’t acknowledge Javi as he walked in, each of them dead-set on whatever sadnesses blinded them to the world. Those who spoke with others did so in hushed tones, as if there was an unspoken deal that everyone kept their head low and stuck it out alone, not burdening anyone else with their troubles.
This felt like a crowd he could disappear in, much more so than under the doting hands of his family.
Javi sat down at a stool near the end of the bar, eying the woman tending it as she made drinks for the others beside him. She was beautiful, her dark hair falling in coils over her shoulders. Somehow, in the poor lighting of the bar, she was right at home—the rich brown of her skin glowing when anyone else would look sickly or dead.
The woman seemed familiar in a way that Javi couldn’t explain.
And when she finally came over to him, Javi was promptly cut off from any form of conversation—even giving his drink order—when she placed a glass of whiskey in front of him.
He cocked an eyebrow at her, skeptical as he watched her move to wipe down the bartop. Slowly, he lifted the glass to his lips, and his gaze at the woman shifted from curiosity to defensive confusion as the amber drink hit his tongue.
She’d gotten his order perfect, and he’d never even given it to her.
How?
Javi swirled the drink around for a moment, staring down into it as the bartender made her way back over to him. When she was across from him once again, he huffed out a curt laugh before addressing her.
“Let a guy say hello first before you know his go-to, eh?”
The woman laughed, tilting her head to the side as she took him in. ”Brother, I see your eyes. I can tell something’s troubling you. And I know this,” she gestured to the drink in his hand, lifted halfway to his mouth, “is a quick ticket to forgetting.”
He hummed, taking a sip of the drink as she tapped the bartop in a quick rhythm and sauntered away with a wink.
A quick ticket to forgetting, yeah—eventually. After enough of them, sure. But this was his first whiskey of the night, the beer he’d had at his cousin’s reception already losing its effect, and all Javi could do right now was remember.
Remember the war he’d been fighting for years—trying to take down the biggest cartels of the century in what, at times, felt like a losing battle. He’d done so much damage to both the people they’d been fighting and the people he cared about most. Javi was haunted by the people he’d lost and the people—some of them kids—he couldn’t save.
He still saw Helena’s beaten form sometimes when he closed his eyes, even after all this time. The barks of Carrillo giving orders rang in his ears now whenever they’d lined up for a raid, though the man himself was long gone.
And the civilians—god, the civilians—their faces flashed behind his eyes like a flip book anytime someone here called him a hero.
Javier Peña was no hero.
Javi had spent so long living a life marked by death that he’d forgotten what it was like to live a life marked by love.
He thinks that’s why coming home has felt so hard.
It’s not even that he didn’t enjoy it—he did. For as much as his Pops gave him shit, he loved the old man, and he wanted desperately for him to be okay. To be safe.
He wished he could be around more to help out around the ranch, taking some of the physical demands off of his aging father.
But as much as Javi liked it here, liked the peace and quiet everywhere but inside his own head, his soul felt a tug to somewhere else anytime he was left sitting here for too long.
And he knew that right now, that tug was back to Colombia.
Javi had such a sense of justice—he always has—and even though he knew Escobar was dead, it wasn’t enough to see Murphy finish the job on a crackling television.
He had wanted to be there.
He’d resigned himself to the fact that his time in this fight was over when he was called in to that hearing. Instead, they’d thrown him a Hail Mary—another chance to do something good in his life with the offer to lead the Cali cartel takedown.
He wasn’t gonna let this chance slip through his fingers.
He had a job to do, and that job wasn’t here in Texas. It was in Colombia.
But then, there was also you.
You, who he’d been seeing the last few months of his time in Colombia. It was casual, what he had with you, or at least that’s what it was supposed to be. But somewhere along the way, Javi went from taking quick, heated sex with you as a means of release, a way to forget, to craving you and your presence like a cigarette when you were apart.
Your hookups had grown more and more frequent despite the fact that he tried to push you away in an effort to keep you safe from him and all the shit he’d done. He kept you at arm’s length, even when he was buried deep inside of you and grunting your name against your shoulder.
He’d left without so much as a goodbye, thinking it was best to cut it off quick if he was going to be prosecuted for his involvement with Los Pepes. It’s not like you were dating anyways—there were no strings tying you to him.
When he’d been asked to return instead, the fight not yet done for him, he realized there was one string between you—and it had thoroughly wrapped itself around his heart, pulling him right to you.
Images of you swirled in Javi’s mind as the bartender placed another drink in front of him.
He nodded at her in appreciation as he watched her walk away to tend to other patrons. It was late enough in the night that some were starting to get up to leave, but Javi stayed right where he was, sipping his whiskey with a scowl.
He truly felt helpless in either place he lived. In Colombia, he wasn’t making enough of an impact, not doing the right things in the right ways to get what he wanted. And he’d let down so many people he tried to suppress his care for—Helena, Elisa, Gabriela. Steve and Connie. You.
He wondered selfishly if you’d missed him when he left. If you’d cried for him in his inability to be there.
He wasn’t doing what he’d hoped to in Colombia. But then again, he didn’t fit in here in Texas, either.
As much as he’d love to be here to help his Pops, ranch life was never his thing. He much preferred the thrill of his job with the DEA to the monotonous intrusion of small town life. There wasn’t a single place here outside of his father’s ranch where he felt he could truly help out, make an impact, and even then, Chucho still insisted Javi didn’t need to take over for him.
Maybe he knew Javi couldn’t do the work like he claimed he would. Or maybe he just knew Javi’s heart wasn’t in it.
Either way, Chucho was able to see a secret Javi himself was barely letting himself in on.
He finished his drink, swallowing down the last drops as the bartender returned to him. The Underground was fully empty now, all stools and chairs vacant except for his.
“You gonna kick me out?” he asked her lowly as he looked around, setting the glass on the bartop. “Get my sorry ass out of here so you can go back home?”
She smiled at him sadly as she pulled up a stool opposite him and sat down. “Ain’t got nowhere better to be tonight than right here with you,” she reassured him, resting her head on her hand.
Javi just huffed, looking down as they sat in silence for a moment. Eventually, she spoke up again, her voice quiet.
“Brother, what’s troubling you?”
He lifted his gaze to her, glaring from underneath his brows. “Trust me,” he rasped, half defensive and half pleading, “you don’t wanna know.”
She hummed thoughtfully, seeming to consider his response as she rapped her knuckles lightly on the wood. For a moment, she just watched him, as if deciding whether or not to press on.
She must have decided to keep going, because Javi watched her take a deep breath before she continued.
“It’s not easy, living torn between two vastly different versions of yourself.”
“So you’ve seen the papers,” he spat out, his guard immediately going up. “You know who I am.”
The bartender just tilted her head, unbothered by his defensiveness as her mouth quirked up into a slight smirk. “I know you, Javier Peña, because we are both stuck in the same loop.”
Javi’s body tensed up, his shoulders square and his jaw clenched. Who was this woman? What could she possibly know about him and his life? She said they were both stuck in the same loop—what loop? The only loop Javi knew was letting everyone—including himself—down, and then drowning his sorrows in cigarettes, liquor, and sex.
He curled his fingers into a loose fist, rubbing his thumb against his lips. He didn’t like this one bit. But at the same time, he was curious about what she had to say.
The woman just watched him, considering his silence and reading the question in his eyes before she continued.
“The peace, the calm, the safety of life at home—it’s all amazing. You enjoy the time with your father, you care deeply for him and you know all he wants is for his son to be happy. But you’re torn. Because you’re also drawn to a place that’s riddled with death and hurt. And nobody here can see just how much life and love is also there when you look further.”
Javi glared at her, his heart softening even as his gaze remained hardened. He didn’t know how she could possibly have worked all this out about him or if she really knew it for herself, but somehow, trusting her became easier and easier as she spoke.
The woman sighed suddenly, a faraway look in her eyes. “And it’s hard living a life in peace when someone you love is still in that place.”
Javi had to fight himself to keep his eyes from rolling at that. There was nobody that he loved back in Colombia anymore. Murphy had gone home, and love—brotherly or not—wasn’t really something he’d let himself fall into. Or at least, not that he would admit.
The only person he could think of was you, but that wasn’t love, was it? Sex, for sure. Javi had definitely grown to care about you during the stolen moments you’d spent together. But love?
The more he considered it, the more the idea filled him like cigarette smoke. Sure, it was painful at first, but after a minute, he craved more of it.
Maybe the bartender wasn’t as far off as he thought.
“How?” he asked her quietly, his voice rasping. “How do you know all this?”
The woman just smirked at him, her eyes gleaming. “It’s as I said before,” she replied, her voice low but firm, “you and I are stuck in the same loop, brother. We’re each torn between two entirely different worlds.” She paused, regarding him carefully. “The only difference is you get to decide when you’re done.”
Javi scoffed. “You saying I shouldn’t go back?” he grumbled. “Trying to convince me to stay home, just like my pops?”
She just shook her head. “I ain’t telling you to do anything. But one day your mind will tell you it’s time to settle on one. Your heart may still tug to the other, though how much depends on you.” She looked him in the eyes, her gaze vulnerable yet insistent. “One day, both your worlds will be together in one place. And your heart needs to be ready when that day comes.”
She knocked the bartop lightly before getting up slowly. Javi watched as she moved to start cleaning up, grabbing his empty glass to wipe it down as she left him to ruminate on her words.
All her talk of love, of living life in peace and in hurt, it all had him back in the same place he started—wondering where his place was. The more he thought about it, Javi knew the woman was right, that eventually this oscillation would stop. He couldn’t keep leaving parts of himself in two different countries—he would never be whole that way.
But he couldn’t stop now. Not when he’d just been given another chance.
Not when he was so close to finally doing something good.
Then he thought of his father and how much he loved the old man. Though he’d never admit it, he did miss him while he wasn’t at home in Texas.
But then, there was also an aching pit in his chest that grew deeper every minute he was away from you.
He wondered if you felt that ache for him, too.
He knew his Pops certainly felt it when he was in Colombia.
Javi shook his head as he rubbed his knuckles lightly against his lips. No matter what he did or where he was, someone was always let down.
Somewhere behind Javi, the bartender turned over the last chair, setting the seat on a tabletop before she came up to him and gestured for him to get up. “Come on, brother,” she insisted gently. “It’s time to go home.”
She led him to the door, silently locking it behind him with a sigh. Just before he moved toward the truck, she turned to him one last time, fixing her gaze on him as if emphasizing that if he took anything from what she said, it should be this.
“Your father loves you, Javier. Don’t waste the seasons you spend with the people who love you.” Her mouth turned up in a small smirk. “And that includes the lover you have back in Colombia.”
And with that, she turned from Javi and walked down the street, seeming to glow under the dusty lamplights. He watched her until she disappeared down a dark alley a few blocks away, curious but not surprised at how she knew about you.
He shrugged as he opened the door to the truck. He doubted he’d ever see the mysterious woman again, whoever she was. And for all she knew about him, he doubted even more that he’d ever know anything about her.
Maybe it was all for the best.
As he drove back to the ranch and shucked off his jacket, Javi couldn’t help but go over everything the woman had told him.
Maybe someday he’d figure out how to end this loop she spoke of, and maybe he really could have everyone he loved together in one world instead of two.
He just wanted—no, needed—to try to do some good in the world before he let himself embrace that good for himself.
The lights were low when Javi finally relaxed into bed a few weeks later, the heated humidity of Texas traded once again for the cool, rainy days of summer in Bogotá. Despite the late hour, honks, sirens, and streetlights seeped in through the window, but for once, he paid them no mind.
He couldn’t, not when you were in his arms once again.
You were both coming down from your respective highs, sweaty and satiated as your hearts raced in unity after your passionate reunion. He reveled in the overwhelming feeling of your bare body pressed up against his, running his knuckles along your spine as he held you close.
This thing with you had felt more and more like coming home to him, and tonight, for the first time, he wasn’t scared of that. He was trying to take it in stride, and after months of pushing you away, he was ready to start pulling you in.
The conversation he’d had with the bartender at The Underground had certainly helped to get him here.
Even if he didn’t know what this stint in Colombia would bring, he knew it would be hard, knew that sacrifices would need to be made.
But this time, he wanted to have you by his side. Or, at least wanted to have you safely behind him.
He kissed your forehead, letting his eyes flutter closed as he inhaled your scent. A small smile, real and happy, grew on his face as you nuzzled deeper into his arms, resting your head right over his heart.
Right where you belonged.
The silence was comfortable, and although Javi knew he didn’t need to say anything, didn’t need to voice his thoughts for you to understand him, he still did.
“I missed you while I was gone,” he rasped, his voice low in the dark room and slightly raw from his grunts and moans before. “Wanted you to be there with me.”
You stirred in his arms, shifting so you could look up at him. Javi’s heart skipped a beat when you smiled at him, bright and beautiful, knowing you’d see the confession he didn’t voice, but felt nonetheless, buried beneath the sentiment.
“I missed you, too,” you whispered, placing your hand where your head had just been on his bare chest. He swore you could feel how his heart raced when you hesitated, searching his eyes for any sign of discomfort at your next words. “Maybe next time you go home, you can bring me with you, yeah?”
Javi just beamed at the suggestion, his dimples appearing on his cheeks for the first time around you. You grinned as he nodded and muttered a quiet, “Yeah,” before he moved his head to kiss you.
For the first time in years, Javi finally felt his worlds fall into place. He knew the next time he went home with you by his side, the loop would finally end.
Chapter Summary: Marcus is forced to cancel your plans when he is called away on an assignment with the FBI.
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, one blink and you’ll miss it Taylor Swift reference
Author’s Note: It’s been a bit longer than I was planning on to get this chapter out—I was hoping for mid-January 😅 Depression has been hitting me hard these last few months, and I’m glad I was able to find pockets of motivation in all that to keep writing.
This chapter is both to create some more plot points than just “they pine over each other and go see cool stuff together” but also to talk about the architecture where Marcus goes because—guess what?—I can’t help myself. And an extra special shout out to @secretelephanttattoo for helping me out with the London locations and for just generally being a wonderful support as I muddled my way through this chapter!
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He hated that he had to do this.
He hated that it had to be like this.
It wasn’t even five o’clock in the morning, and sometimes this part of the job was awesome, but sometimes it also sucked.
This was one of those times it really sucked.
Marcus stood near a window overlooking the plane, the sounds of people shuffling around the terminal to their gates, too tired from getting up far earlier than they should just to be there. It was quieter than the airport usually was, the early hour leaving hushed voices and silent movement in place of stressed yells and frantic bustling.
As the call rang, attempting to connect to you when you were undoubtedly sleeping, Marcus ran a hand down his face, the coffee he’d already downed not nearly enough to imitate the initial adrenaline rush he’d gotten at learning he was to go on assignment to London. Immediately.
He felt horrible. Helpless.
You were supposed to spend time together today.
And not just like the dates you’d been on, no—he had invited you over to his place for the first time, a relaxing day of just being in each other’s presence at home, cooking dinner together, watching movies, playing games.
Talking and laughing until there was nothing left to talk about, then continuing to talk and laugh anyway.
But now none of that would happen, at least not until he returned home in god knows how long.
The ringing finally stopped, and his mouth quirked up in a smile when your voicemail message started. He was thankful that at least he could hear your voice before he got on a plane for the next 7 hours, even if it was just a recording.
The first calls for boarding on his flight came as he began speaking quietly into his phone, and he could only hope that the explanations and heartfelt apologies that poured from his mouth would suffice for cancelling on you until you could see each other again.
You woke up with all of the excitement and anticipation of a kid on Christmas morning. Like someone who knew that something they’d been waiting for would happen, that the day had finally come.
You lay in bed for a few moments more, smiling until your cheeks hurt and giggling like a lovelorn schoolgirl.
After your last date with Marcus at the diner, the two of you had agreed you were ready to take things to the next level, another step on the path finally being trod. While there had still been no labels applied beyond dating (though you knew you wanted to be his girlfriend) and no declarations of love (though with every day that passed, you could feel it pushing further onto the tip of your tongue), you were going over to his apartment for the first time ever.
And you absolutely couldn’t wait.
As a few stray rays of sun started peeking their way into your bedroom, you stretched and reached over to your nightstand for your phone, eager to text Marcus good morning and confirm when you could come over.
When you saw a missed call and a voicemail from him pop up instead, your heart dropped. The timestamp on them was early in the morning.
Your brain immediately assumed the worst—a family or health emergency, or an accident of some sort. The fact that he had only attempted to call you once and then left a voicemail calmed your worries marginally, knowing he’d have likely tried harder to reach you if it had been any of the things your mind jumped to. Nonetheless, your hands shook with anticipation as you sat up straight, navigating quickly to listen.
“Hey sweetheart, good morning. I hope you slept well. Um… so there’s been a development with a new case—I think I told you sometimes my job sends me on cases internationally, too—and I got called in this morning. I’m at the airport now…” he paused for a moment as you heard faint boarding announcements in the background. “By the time you hear this, I’ll probably be halfway to London. I promise to call you when I have time. I’m gonna have to reschedule today, I’m so sorry. You can still come over to my place,” he huffed out a laugh, “just when I’m actually back in the country to welcome you in.” He sighed deeply, clearly remorseful over cancelling due to circumstances out of his control. “I’ll text you when I land. And I’ll call you later. I promise.”
There was a pause then, a space that you knew would have been filled with those three little words if you’d already exchanged them with him. Instead, he let out another, smaller sigh and muttered out a bye before the voicemail ended.
You let out your own sigh then, closing your eyes in both relief and resignation as his words set in.
So you wouldn’t be seeing him today. That wasn’t that big of a deal, right? He’d told you about his job, how working with the FBI means he’s at the whim of his cases more often than not, and how heading a team means he has to be on call more than other agents.
He’d mentioned having to take cases internationally, too—travelling to other countries being something he just had to do sometimes.
You’d brushed it off as something interesting, always loving to see other places, other countries, other cultures yourself. You hadn’t considered that if this thing with him blossomed into an actual relationship, that his taking international cases would mean time spent apart, an ocean between you.
It ached more when you realized he hadn’t given you a timeline of when he’d be back. You doubted he even knew himself.
After wallowing in your bed for a few minutes, your excitement for the day thoroughly dashed, you decided that you wouldn’t let his absence get you down.
Hell, if your relationship with him became anything like what you were already starting to picture in your head, this would only be the first of many times he’d be sent on an international case, leaving you at home in the States.
You’d have to get used to this. And you weren’t about to set a precedent of sulking around until he returned.
So you sent him a quick text, knowing he wouldn’t see it until he landed, letting him know it was okay and not to worry about anything besides the case.
As you got ready for the day, an idea formed in your head—a way to connect with him over three and a half thousand miles and a 5 hour time difference.
And by the time you sat in front of your laptop to do some research, a list of places for him was already starting to take shape.
“God, I’m so tired.”
You laughed at Marcus’s face on the screen, his hair mussed as he lay on his hotel bed on the other end of the FaceTime call.
“Why don’t you go to bed, then? What time is it there, anyway?”
“‘s like midnight,” he muttered, watching as you prepared dinner for yourself. “But I’ve been up since like 1am D.C. time. And I wanted to talk to you first.”
You ducked your head, smiling. Even when he wasn’t trying, he could still make your heart flutter.
“I’m all yours,” you cooed at him. “My day was blocked off for you long before you called.”
Marcus huffed, his face falling slightly at the reminder of what was supposed to happen. “I am sorry I had to cancel today. If I had a choice, I wouldn’t have come on this case.”
You turned your full attention to him on the screen, waiting until he met your eye to respond. “Marcus Pike, you have nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes, things just happen that are out of our control, and nothing we planned for can stop them.” You continued on as you resumed preparing your meal. “And besides, there’s no harm done. We’re still able to talk while you’re in London, and the plans we made can wait until you’re home.”
As you spoke, Marcus’s face turned from regret to awe. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“You may have mentioned that once or twice,” you teased, beaming at him through the screen. “But everything I said is true. I’m sure anybody would say the same.”
Marcus just hummed noncommittally, his jaw ticking slightly to the side.
After a moment, you broke the brief silence. “So how was your day? Did you get to see anything in the city?”
He chuckled. “I wish. I got in and Scotland Yard immediately whisked me away into meetings and case briefings. I’ve barely had a minute to rest until now.”
“That sounds exhausting,” you winced.
“Tell me about it. Jet lag’s gonna be a bitch tomorrow.”
You hummed lightly before continuing on. “Will you be working most of the time, or are you gonna be able to get out and sightsee?”
“I’ll be able to get away from work. It’s a similar schedule to what I have back home.” He looked at you, a suspicious glint in his eye. “Why do I have a feeling you’re asking with an ulterior motive?”
You feigned offense, placing your hand at your heart as you gasped at him. “Me? An ulterior motive? I would never,” you exaggerated, sarcasm dripping from your tone.
Marcus said your name softly, calling your attention to him. “Tell me,” he said with a small smirk.
“Okay,” you sighed. “I may have spent my day putting together a list of places for you to check out while you’re there. Museums, significant architecture, parks, day trips. That kind of thing.”
For one long moment, Marcus just stared at you through the phone, his jaw dropped slightly and his eyebrows raised. His silence worried you, making you wonder if the move had been too much, but just as you started to backtrack, he interrupted you.
“Can you send it to me?”
You nodded as you wiped your hands off and moved out of view of the screen to grab your laptop. In no time at all, you returned, opening the device and moving your phone so you could still see Marcus.
“It’s not comprehensive by any means,” you warned him as you pulled up the file to send to him. “But it should be enough to give you some fun things to see and do while you’re there, if you want.”
“That’s fine,” Marcus replied, a hint of astonishment still in his voice. “It’s not like I’ll have infinite time here, anyways. I couldn’t nearly see everything.”
“No, I suppose not,” you chuckled as you hit send. “Okay, check your email. I just sent it to you.”
You watched through the screen as Marcus picked up his phone to navigate off your call and find your message. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, his lips open in a slight pout that made your heart skip a beat at how adorable he looked. If he was right next to you and not halfway across the world, you’d have surged forward to kiss the pout away and smooth the crease in his brow.
As it was, you could only ogle him as he muttered, “Okay, there it is,” and sat back to see what you’d sent him.
You knew what he was seeing—the document was nearly seven pages long, separated into categories based on what the place was or how you knew about it. Some had paragraphs of commentary, your excitement and knowledge of them immense, while others only had a single sentence to describe them. It could easily be perceived as overwhelming—as anything other than a simple bullet point list might be—but you knew Marcus would read every word you’d written with rapt attention.
Just as he did when he listened to you any time you spoke.
For now, though, he was just skimming, evident from the way his eyes quickly scanned his phone top to bottom over and over again. Eventually, he let out a long whistle, his focus turning into an impressed smirk as he looked back at you.
“This is great, I’ll definitely check some of these places out.” He called your name softly, making sure your attention was on him. “Thank you… for putting this together. For thinking of me and taking the time to do this. You really didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to,” you insisted quietly. “If it’s even a small way we can connect from across the pond, then it’s worth it.” You paused, putting more emphasis on your next words. “You’re worth it.”
You watched as Marcus’s breath caught for a second, his eyes searching yours as much as yours were searching his. He opened his mouth to say something, only to break into a massive yawn that took up his whole face.
“Get some sleep, Agent Pike,” you giggled lightly as it became evident his exhaustion was finally catching up to him. “You’ve got a big case ahead of you tomorrow.”
Marcus nodded, clearly wanting to say more even as his eyes drooped. “G’night, sweetheart. Miss you.”
Oh, you could just about melt. “I miss you, too. Goodnight Marcus.”
You smiled at him as you ended the call, and as you finished preparing your dinner and went about your evening, that smile never once left your face.
Marcus didn’t have time to sit down and fully go through the list you’d sent over to him until two nights later. The next day was another marathon of meetings and case briefings, and by the time he returned to his hotel room, he barely had the energy to get himself out of his work clothes before he crashed on the bed.
Luckily, his body was acclimating more to the time change, and by the time he was sitting down with your list and some shepherd’s pie, it was no longer exhaustion weighing on his mind, but how much he missed you.
You’d been texting intermittently since he arrived in London, and as much as he desperately wanted to call you again, he knew you were at work yourself and wouldn’t be home until he’d nearly gone to bed himself.
Oh, the curse of a difference in time zones.
So he settled for hearing your voice in the form of your words, eager to see how your enthusiasm for the world around you would translate to the city he now found himself in. It was a part of you he’d fallen in love with—your fascination with the things people built and why—and he knew if he fell much further, he’d be in way too deep.
At least, that’s what he told himself to distract from the fact that he’d already passed that point weeks ago.
As he pulled up your list, he found himself wishing more and more that you could be here with him at his side as you explored the city hand in hand.
He’d settle for a personalized guidebook and sending back heaps of photos until the day came that he could bring you along, too.
The list you’d compiled was long, but it was concise—you listed various places to visit alongside their address and their key attractions, big draws or interesting hidden gems. Some had commentary that seemed to speak from experience, others he could tell were from quick research and budding interest.
Of course, you’d listed the classic London tourist locations—Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and the Tower of London among them. You gave the reasons why everyone wanted to see them, and then you added your own comments, too—calling out their history and architecture and various fun facts about each place.
There were a number of places you’d labeled as “From School”—buildings you’d learned about or visited years ago. He recognized some names and caught his eye on others—Sir John Soane’s Museum at the top of the list of the ones that he was intrigued by. And at the bottom of the section was some bar called The Black Dog, under which you’d only written “Old habits die screaming.”
What really caught his attention, though, was the section you’d labeled “Museums,” each entry another place filled with all manner of wondrous things to explore. He wasn’t surprised that he was drawn to the art museums you’d listed, given how much he loved art, and he was ecstatic to find you’d evidently felt the same, if the long paragraphs you’d written were any indication.
Marcus slowly made his way through each one, taking note of museums that piqued his interest or buildings whose design you raved on about. Some caught his attention more than others, of course, but this was London. It was almost hard for him to wrap his head around the nearly two thousand years of history that lay in this one city, but he knew because of it that there would be plenty for him to explore while he was there.
Eventually, Marcus formed a plan of what all he would make sure to see before the case closed and he’d finally return home to you. He couldn’t wait to get started—not only for all of the incredible things London had in store for him, but also so he could share his experiences with you.
The next weekend, Marcus found himself waking bright and early and blissfully acclimated to the time change after nearly a full week in London. Though the sky was overcast and promising of rain, he was nearly buzzing in anticipation of starting to check some places off the list you sent him.
He spent his brief trip through the Tube going over the entry you’d written for the Tate Modern for what must be the fiftieth time. Between clipped announcements marking each stop, Marcus heard your voice in his head guiding the way—and he felt a surge of affection for you in his abdomen at your imagined tone.
Even in his head, he could clearly make out how excited you’d be to see this iconic museum with him. He could picture your face, the way your eyes would light up, and he could see your brain start to analyze your surroundings.
He was so enraptured with the mental image of you there beside him that he nearly missed his stop.
After working himself through the platform and up onto the street, Marcus navigated the few blocks to the museum, and when he emerged in front of it, his breath quickly caught in his chest. Behind the museum’s sign stood a towering structure that seemed to twist and turn at an odd angle as it rose to the sky. Windows ran periodically across the building horizontally, breaking up the heavy brick with much lighter openings.
Immediately next to the twisted tower stood a much more traditional-looking building, something that just screamed industrial. Knowing what you’d mentioned in the list, it had been a power station for nearly 30 years before it became the modern art museum that it was now.
Marcus took a moment to appreciate the architecture of the museum, and he found himself seeing things that you hadn’t mentioned in your notes at all. It was something he’d only started to notice, but that he welcomed with open arms—he was starting to see the world the way you did. The wider approach, the little details, the way people were moving through the space—he was learning to pick those things out himself.
That doesn’t mean he didn’t wish it was you pointing them out to him.
He let the feeling of missing you wash over him, the ache in his chest briefly amplified like it was any time he wished you were there with him. But he quickly recovered, excitement for what lay before him replacing the longing with a certainty that hadn’t been there last time, whenever he’d been away from Teresa.
This pain he was feeling was only temporary.
You’d be there when he came home, just as you had been before he left.
The relief that came with that small reminder was immediate, a deep breath filling more than just his lungs.
And as the first sprinkles of rain started to fall around him, Marcus moved to the entrance, eager to experience this new place and everything it had to offer.
Just as you’d promised in your notes, the Tate Modern was stunning.
From famous artists that were household names to emerging artists just starting out on the scene, from cubism to abstract expressionism, the galleries were full of incredible artworks that all made Marcus’s head spin. As he walked slowly through the exhibits, he stopped at more than a few paintings along the way—pieces that caught his eye or really made him stop and ponder.
He almost immediately jumped on the opportunity to take an architecture tour of the museum, knowing you would have insisted on going to learn more about the iconic landmark that the museum had become.
He took notes in a small sketchbook he’d taken to carrying around since he met you so that he wouldn’t forget a single thing when he relayed everything he was learning back to you later.
He particularly enjoyed seeing the current commission at Turbine Hall, a vast space once used to store massive electric generators and now periodically filled with various artists’ interpretations of contemporary art. The hall was filled with the installation, and he was struck by being actually inside of the art—not viewing it from the outside or walking around the edges, but within the midst of it all. More so than anything else, he felt the journey through the work as he moved from one phase of the installation to the next.
He once again remembered something you had said when the two of you had first met about how art and design are very closely intertwined—and standing there in Turbine Hall, he finally understood what you meant.
Marcus took his time moving up through the galleries, each floor he climbed leading the way to new ways of thinking and approaching art.
By the time he got to the viewing platform at the top, he was nearly buzzing with all the wonderful things he’d seen and experienced. But nothing could have prepared him for the view.
It was truly breathtaking, seeing London sprawled out before his eyes. St. Paul’s Cathedral, an icon in its own right, rose up through the skyline, and in the distance a number of much more modern skyscrapers reached up, some in shapes just as odd and angular as the one Marcus stood in right now. If he looked down, he could see the literary treasure that was Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, and the River Thames cut a path through the city that had marked the river’s flow for countless centuries before.
Everywhere he looked, history was being told through the places that called this city home. And everywhere he looked, history was being made by people—artists—who saw the world as their canvas.
It made his heart ache for D.C. in a way he’d never felt before. He could finally see that his city, so similar yet so different from this one, wasn’t meant as just a poster for his heartbreak or even a space for new beginnings—it was the new canvas of his life, the place he’d grow his home, his family, his future.
And he knew, standing above the skyline of London longing for home, that he wanted that future to be with you.
Next
Author’s Note: Details on the locations featured in this part:
Tate Modern – First opened in 1962 as a power station, the Tate Modern was reopened as an art museum in 2000 with renovations throughout the 1990s and a new addition in 2016. Designed by Herzog & de Meuron, the museum features extensive art collections and exhibits in addition to Turbine Hall, which hosts contemporary artists in temporary residencies.
