It made his heart race with worry.

He loved you.

He didn’t want you to leave.

Suddenly, Marcus’s mind was filled with a much different fog—adrenaline. He had to figure out where you were and why you left.

He couldn’t have another heartbreak and not know why.

In a haze, he shot up and made a beeline for the door. He had to go, he had to find you, he had to tell you, he had to—

What was that?

As soon as he emerged from the bedroom, he heard faint music and the clanging of pots and pans in the kitchen. His heart rate settled, but only slightly. Slowly, he crept down the short hall and peeked around the corner.

And there you were, standing at the stove and nodding your head in tune with the voices of John Lennon and Paul McCartney coming from his record player. You were flipping pancakes, with a small stack already done on the countertop next to you.

His breath nearly left him at the sight.

And all he could do was walk over to you, coming up behind you. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your torso and buried his face in your neck.

You instantly relaxed into him, leaning into his chest. The two of you spent a moment like that before he kissed your shoulder and finally spoke, his voice low.

“G’morning, sweetheart.”

“Good morning, baby. I made pancakes.”

“I can see that. They look amazing.” He paused for a second, contemplating. “You called me baby. You did it last night, too.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you realized. “I guess it kind of just started coming out.” You turned a little in his arms so you could see his face. “Is that okay?”

“More than,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple with a smile.

You turned back to the stove and flipped the pancakes one more time before deciding they were done and added them to the stack. As you turned off the burner, you moved to bring the plate to the table, but Marcus wasn’t budging.

He only wrapped his arms tighter around you, letting out a small whine when you tried again to move.

“Marcus, the pancakes are done. Let’s go sit down.”

He just grumbled and murmured into your shoulder, “No, I wanna stay here. Stay like this with you.”

You hummed, leaning your head back onto him and indulging him for a moment until his stomach audibly roared with hunger.

“Okay, come on,” you insisted, patting his wrist gently. “We can’t eat pancakes like this.”

“We can try,” Marcus argued.

“I am not getting syrup all over us,” you giggled.

“That’s fair,” he seceded, finally pulling back enough for you to move. You turned around fully to face him and pressed your lips to his in a soft kiss. But when you pulled back, you saw anxiety and worry written all over his face.

“Marcus, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

He sighed deeply. “You weren’t there when I woke up.” He turned his gaze down to the floor. “I thought…I thought you’d left.”

“Baby, no,” you reassured him immediately, lifting your hand to cup his cheek and bring his eyes back up to meet yours. “I just wanted to surprise you with a nice breakfast, and I knew you needed the sleep. I’d never leave you. Especially not like that.” You moved to kiss him again, a quick peck on his lips. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up. I know how excited you were for that.”

He turned his head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand that was still cradling his cheek. “‘S okay,” he whispered. “I guess I’m just usually the one to wake up early and do stuff like this. I’m used to being the one to make a fuss, not the one being fussed over.”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, well, get used to it. Cuz I wanna make a fuss over you.” You moved your hand into his hair, working your fingers through his sleep-mussed curls. “You’re worth making a fuss over.”

Marcus leaned into your touch, humming contently. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

You frowned slightly at that, your hand stilling before falling away. “I do say so,” you reaffirmed, thinking for a moment before you spoke again, treading carefully. “Marcus, why do you seem so hesitant to accept that I could care for you the way you care for me? What happened?”

“I’m not—” he started, ready to rebuke you.

But as he thought about it, the more he realized that what you’d said was true. He sighed and turned his gaze back to the floor. “It’s a long story,” he finally relented, “and it’s probably about time you heard it.”

He gently took your hand and led you over to the couch, abandoning the pancakes on the table. Those could wait, they could be reheated. He had to face his fears with you now.

You sat there for a minute, letting him collect his thoughts. You didn’t push him, didn’t pry, just waited until he was ready.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long.

“I told you before that I was married once, right?” he started. When you nodded encouragingly, he continued. “I also had a fiancee that it didn’t work out with. And neither of them really helped my self-esteem when it comes to this.”

Marcus took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly to prepare himself for the dive back into a history he’d rather forget.

“I met my ex wife in college,” he explained finally. “It was a pretty textbook college sweethearts story.” He smiled briefly before it dropped in a frown. “But then when I got to Quantico, started working with the FBI, we grew distant from each other. I was working a lot, and she didn’t have any friends in Austin, my hometown, when we moved there. I could see all the problems between us, but I convinced myself it was fine because we loved each other and we’d get through it.”

He laughed bitterly. “Turns out she’d been seeing a man she met a few months after we moved. She brought him into our bed, paraded him around as if I wasn’t even there, as if we weren’t still—”

He cut himself short, shaking his head in frustration.

You longed to reach over, to comfort him, to do something, but he continued before you had the chance.

“Luckily, the divorce was quick and relatively painless, considering. I haven’t talked to her since, but I heard they are now happily married with kids. So things worked out for them, I guess.”

You immediately gave in and reached over to take his hand in yours, tracing circles with your thumb along his knuckles. He took your silent comfort, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he continued.

“I tried dating a little after that. Nothing really stuck. I tried being charming, kind, loving—all the things you’d think people would want in a partner. It didn’t really work.”

Your brows drew together in confusion. The things he tried being—the things he was—were all things you admired in him. It was both what drew you to him and what made you want to stay. How could it not work?

Your thoughts were interrupted when Marcus spoke up again, his voice harsh and foreboding.

“And then I met Teresa.”

Your breath caught in your chest. Though you’d never heard this name before, the pain in his voice and written all over his face told you this relationship didn’t end any better than the last. And while he’d seemingly made his peace with his divorce, this wound from Teresa seemed fresher, as if there were parts of it that still needed healing.

You didn’t even know what happened yet, and you wished you could take it all away from him.

“She worked at the FBI office in Austin, just like me,” he continued, his voice dejected. “I was in Art Crimes, and she was in Homicide. Our teams didn’t usually interact, but then we had a case where the victim’s husband was killed, and their art was stolen, and we couldn’t figure it out on our own. And as soon as I saw her, talked with her, I was captivated.”

His face brightened at the happy memories, a small smile coming onto his face, even as his eyes still held an indisputable grief.

“I waited until the case closed to ask her out. She came home with me on the first date. Everything was going great, then I realized her partner—an FBI consultant, by the way, not even a real agent—was popping up a lot more than would be considered strictly professional.” Marcus laughed sharply in frustration, his patience running thin for a situation that had long concluded. “And I get that you get really close to your partner, a lot of times they do become friends outside of work, but goddamn was this man everywhere.”

He took a moment to steady himself, taking a deep breath as he gave your hand a small squeeze. “I started pushing. I tried to get her more interested in the things I liked, tried to do nice things for her, help her out on her cases, take her to nice restaurants, the whole deal.” He huffed. “For someone who’d been cheated on, you’d think I’d have pulled away from her at any indication it could happen again, but instead I started pulling her in with an iron grip.”

Your hand instinctively tightened around his at that. It was in comfort, yes, but it was also a way to show him that you were here for him. Here with him. And he didn’t have to pull you in to keep you around.

Marcus smiled cautiously at that, the corners of his mouth quirking up only slightly.

“And then I got an offer for a promotion,” he continued, his voice low. “Head of the FBI’s art theft international task force. The only thing that kept me from taking it immediately was the fact that it meant transferring to D.C. from Austin.”

At this point, you became hopeful—you knew this would be what brought him to D.C., what brought him to you, and it’s possible the split had been amicable before he left.

But as much as you wanted to believe that, something deep within you knew that wasn’t the case before he told you as such himself.

“We’d been dating for a month at that point, and me, desperate to have the relationship work out, invited her to move here with me. I thought, Perfect, this will take her away from him and I won’t have to worry about anything happening between them. It’ll all be fine.” He laughed at himself, a degrading scoff that made you squeeze your hand around his.

“But then she couldn’t make up her mind. And I kept asking, and asking, and asking, and I talked with the D.C. office to secure a transfer for her too, and I looked for homes for us, and I told her about fun things we could do or places we could try, and I asked again and again and again…”

He paused, a look of shame and guilt falling over his face.

“And then when she finally agreed, I asked her to marry me with no ring in hand, without getting down on one knee, right in the middle of an empty hallway at the office.”

“Shit, Marcus,” you muttered, unable to stop yourself as you watched his face contort in anguish.

“I know,” he replied somberly. “She couldn’t make up her mind on that, either. By the time she agreed, I’d already moved here, gotten this apartment before we settled on a home, started to get settled myself. She was on a case in Miami, and she immediately went to the airport to come to me. Then when I was getting ready to go pick her up after her flight, I got a call from her saying she’s still in Miami and she’s actually not going to marry me or even come to D.C. because she loves her partner.”

You winced, feeling an ache for him growing deep in your belly. How could anyone treat this wonderful man like that? How could anyone love him with anything less than their whole heart? How could they see someone else and think that they were better than him?

What’s more, how could this be a visible pattern, happening to him over and over again?

It was all you could do to squeeze his hand and whisper, “I’m so sorry, Marcus. That sounds horrible.”

He just nodded, his gaze fixed on some random point on the floor while his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t try to placate you, to say it was okay, because it clearly wasn’t. 

God, your heart broke for him.

You didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him in a way besides sitting there with him in silence. You could tell he had more to say, and you didn’t want to rush him or scare him off from saying whatever he felt he needed to.

From the way he clutched your hand, holding tightly as if you’d disappear if he let go, you knew he just wanted you there. He needed you to listen.

Eventually, he spoke up again, his voice low.

“I want to have a wonderful relationship, to start a family. I know I’m meant to love with my whole heart. I try so, so hard. But… I don’t know why this keeps happening. And I don’t think I can go through it again.” He looks up, letting his eyes find yours for the first time since he started talking. “I can’t… I can’t be your second choice.”

At this, the spell over you finally broke. You leaned across the couch to take him in your arms, holding him tightly as he rested his head against your shoulder.

When you pulled back, he was looking at you warily. It was as if he was sitting there, ready for you to break his heart.

But you just returned his gaze with the most intense love and care you could muster.

“Marcus, ever since I met you, you have never been a second choice to me. You are my only choice.”

His breath caught in his throat, hope starting to creep onto his face.

“You are everything that you say you’ve been trying to be and more. You constantly surprise me with just how amazing you are. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for you, but at the same time, ever since we met, I’ve had the feeling that I’ve already known you my whole life.” You take a deep breath, making sure he was paying attention when you continued. “I love you, Marcus. So, so much.”

His face opened in surprise, his mouth forming the most adorable o-shape as his eyebrows raised. Slowly, a smile grew as happiness transformed him.

He suddenly said your name with such reverence. “I love you, too.” He laughed, though it came out more as a quick huff. “I love you so much that I’ve been ready to burst with it.”

You laughed along with him and closed the distance between you in a kiss. It was different than all the others you’d shared, filled with passion as he reached up to cup your head in his hands. You placed your hands on his chest, deepening it gradually.

Eventually, you broke apart, resting your forehead against his as his thumb stroked your cheek. You were both grinning like a pair of idiots in love, which, you reminded yourself with glee, you definitely were.

“It feels so good to have finally said that out loud,” Marcus confessed lowly.

“I know. And I don’t plan on stopping now that we have.”

“Oh, me either,” he chuckled. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too,” you returned with a grin.

He kissed you again, this one just a quick peck, before he pulled back and moved his arm to rest around your shoulders as he drew you into his side.

“I don’t—” he started, slowly collecting his thoughts. “I don’t want to rush things with you. I tend to love hard and love fast, and it’s led to more heartbreaks than I can count.” He turned to look you in the eyes. “I’m not doing that with you, too.”

You melted in his arms, placing your hand on his thigh to reassure him. “We can go as slow or as fast as you want. We have all the time in the world, as far as I’m concerned.” You paused for a second, thinking. “How long were you with Teresa?”

He winced. “Less than two months.”

Your breath caught slightly in surprise. Just two months? He’d asked her to move halfway across the country with him and proposed in just two months?

Hell, it had already been over two months now since you’d met him.

“Well, not to compare us to that, but it seems like you’re already slowing things down with me. And personally, it doesn’t feel as if you’re holding anything back. It feels natural. It feels right.”

He hummed, running his knuckles along your skin. When he didn’t say anything further, you continued.

“I know I don’t have all the details, and I don’t know the women from your past, but it sounds like you always felt like you were in a competition for their love, whether you knew that or not. You tried everything you could to get them to love you, to choose you.” You looked at him earnestly. “Marcus, I chose you the moment I first saw you, and I keep choosing you every single day. You don’t need to try to win me over. You already have me.”

A tear rolled down his cheek, and you quickly reached up to wipe it away. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet that it was almost as if he was just mouthing the words.

“I love you, too, you silly man.” You moved to kiss another tear that had fallen from his eyes off of his face. “And as mad as I am at these girls for hurting you, I’m grateful for them, too. Because they led you to me. And I’m not planning on hurting you the way they did.”

Marcus laughed, his throat thick with unshed tears. “Thank you. For all of this. For everything.”

You just smiled at him. “Anytime, baby.”

You thought back to your earliest dates, when you’d been worried that he wouldn’t like you for who you were. He’d calmed your fears immediately, showing you he was all in—just without quite saying as such yet out loud.

And you realized with a grin that you’d just given him the exact same thing.

As the morning went on, you and Marcus were never far from each other. You laughed together as you reheated the pancakes you made, playfully adding more and more toppings onto each others’ plates. You watched movies together and took a nap tangled up in each other’s arms. 

It was the best day you’d ever had.

Eventually, during a quiet moment alone, you noticed something tucked away in plain sight that you hadn’t prior. It was a small frame, black and unsuspecting, over in the corner by his laptop.

Inside was the drawing you’d done when you’d first met him.

You remembered that day fondly, how amazed he’d been by the museum’s architecture and how captivated you’d been by his amazement. Looking back, you knew that as soon as you decided to include him in that drawing, Marcus was going to be a constant in your life.

He found you standing by the frame, looking at the sketch with your phone number scrawled in the corner, given to him so sneakily. He smiled softly before he came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you.

“You framed it,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

“Of course I did,” he replied. “I was drawn to you from that very first day, just as much as you were drawn to me.” He chuckled a little. “And you literally drew me.”

You laughed heartily, the sound coming from deep within your belly. “God, that was so cheesy, Marcus.”

“It’s true!” he laughed along. He gazed at the framed drawing over your shoulder, his expression content. “You showed me from the start that you wanted me, too. I’m sorry I was too in my head to accept that until now.”

You turned around in his arms to face him. “It’s okay,” you said wholeheartedly. “It’s not your fault that the voices in your head have learned to prepare you for the worst.”

“I’m working on it,” he quickly interceded. “I’ve been talking to my therapist about it. About being better for you.”

“You have?” you asked, pleasantly surprised. When he nods in confirmation, you smile. “You keep surprising me, Marcus Pike.”

“In good ways, I hope.”

“Oh, in the best ways.” You kissed him softly. “You are the best surprise of my life.”

Marcus’s face turned red as he ducked his head down. He slowly raised his gaze again, meeting your eyes as he whispered your name.

“I never expected love to look like this, to feel like this,” you told him softly. “If you’d have asked me to draw up plans for my life even a few months ago, I wouldn’t have imagined someone as wonderful as you.” You shook your head reassuringly.  “But now that you’re here in my life, I can’t imagine it going any other way.”

Marcus leaned in to kiss you, his lips soft and gentle against your own. It was tender and loving, a culmination of all of the words spoken that day and all that was still in your hearts. It was a statement, a promise, and an invitation all in one.

You knew it well. For the most part, things never get built the way they were drawn. That was as true in life and love as it was in architecture and design.

And you couldn’t wait to see the wonderful life you and Marcus were going to build together.

Epilogue

Author's Note: I do have an epilogue planned for these two! So stay tuned for one more update sometime (hopefully) soon. For now, I don’t know about you, but I’m just going to take a moment to bask in their beautiful love.

Most Romantic (or sweetest): an oldie but a goodie, Ready When You Are - (husband!Marcus P x wife!Reader) ~ you and your husband Marcus Pike can't stop thinking about trying for a baby...

"Would you want to start trying for a baby?" Marcus stops, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Then he breaks into a grin, only resuming his poker face for only a moment to say: "I'm ready when you are." You nod, letting the pieces fall together in your brain. There are unknowable factors, of course, but you wouldn't be alone, and you'd be having a child with the absolute love of your life. "I'm ready. I want to have a baby with you." The smile on Marcus's face could light up the entire Eastern Seaboard. He takes your hands across the table, leaning in for a kiss. "I'm so glad, because honestly I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since the baby shower yesterday," he admits a little sheepishly. His enthusiasm is contagious, lifting your heart and erasing any doubts you had. "Do you think we're ready?" you have to ask. "Babe," he says. "You're too perfect of a person to not be making the world better by adding a few more of you to it." You sigh in mock exasperation. "How do you know exactly what to say?" He chuckles, but his expression softens when he looks at you. "I'm in if you're in. I mean that."

Your Angst-iest writing: I have a couple but one of my favorites is i swear i'll only make you cry - (Joel Miller x f!reader, Javier Pena x f!reader) ~ After facing an unimaginable loss, you start the healing process, only to uncover a darker secret.

The days go by in a blur. Javi's family plans his funeral, and when you offer to help in whatever way they need, you're met with blank stares and uncomfortable glances. It says all you need to know - they have no idea who you are. Javi never told them about you, not in all the months you dated. You lose yourself in a bottle of whiskey that night, only getting up to let in your best friend, Joel Miller. He was there for you the night Javi forgot your birthday. Joel didn't forget, and took you out for a fun night. He's here for you now, holding you as you sob, pressing gentle kisses to the top of your head, taking the alcohol away when you've had too much. He tucks you into bed, talling you he'll stay on the couch. But you don't want to be alone. You invite him in your bed and there's just a slight hesitation before he climbs in, holding you. He's a perfect gentleman despite your vulnerable state. His hands never drift above or below your waist as you sleep. In the morning he takes you to Javi's funeral. Your sunglasses cover your cried-out, puffy eyes. Tissues are bunched up in your hand. Joel's arm is through yours as he leads you to the casket containing Javi's body. Joel's your strength now. Without him, you wouldn't be able to stand.

Your most humorous: yet another oldie but a goodie, Chapter 8 of Law of Attraction. God, I miss writing this series. It's one of my faves - this entire series could also be considered one of my faves for Most Romantic/Sweetest 💜

The PI looks disgusted. "Is that how you usually talk about women? I should've let Dave beat the shit out of you. Maybe then you'd have some sense knocked into you." "Don't fucking talk about her that way," Dave agrees, casting Joel a repulsed glance. "Is it too late for me to beat the shit out of him?" he asks Tim. "As if you fuckin' could," Joel sneers. "Big talk from someone wearing a bedsheet around his waist," Tim rolls his eyes. "She's been in there a long time, hasn't she?" Both Dave and Joel hurry to the restroom, finding it unlocked, the shower running with no one in it. "She's gone. She left through the fucking window," Dave says, pushing past Joel and going around the side of the building. Tim follows as Joel quickly puts his jeans on before running out as well. There, in the alley behind the motel, is Carol, sprawled on her back, and you on top of her torso, pinning her down. "Got her!" you announce, trying to catch your breath as you straddle Carol, your dress riding up your thighs and breasts spilling over the front of your dress. For a full minute all three men stare in surprise and lust.

Your sexiest: nothing.. and I mean nothing.. can beat Halftime Show - (Joel Miller, Javier Pena, Dave York, Frankie Morales, Marcus Moreno x sex worker! f!Reader) ~ you're an escort hired for a private Super Bowl party hosted by a mysterious client and his four friends

You're practically dazed by the countless feelings of pleasure coming from every man inside you, the way they move, the way they taste, how their hands grope your ass or your breasts, your hips.. you're just a receptacle for them, a plaything. This allows your brain to soak everything in without having to think. Just feeling. None of them really care about your pleasure, not at this point. You're just a means to an end, and you like it. You've never felt more alive. "God!" you gasp as you feel yet another wave of absolute euphoria threaten to take you under. You don't even bother to hold back. As soon as you come you feel them all come with you, like tiny explosions set off in a chain. You gulp down Joel's spunk as Dave spills himself inside your ass, and Marcus and Frankie throb then release, one only seconds after the other. Javier takes control of himself from you and spurts his cum onto your face. For the first time ever in your life, you squirt, gasping at the relief and suddenness of it. The six of you try hard to catch your breath, all of you taking in the moments of this night.

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.

Panting, cock drunk and delirious, you still have the wherewithal to remember that Marcus and Tim have yet to come; with what remaining strength you have left, you press your palms flat against the glass and push back into Tim’s increasingly sloppy thrusts, arching your body and presenting a canvas to the men for when inspiration should strike.

“I’m close, baby,” rasps Tim, “Marcus is, too.”

Looking over your shoulder, you take in the younger man furiously pumping his cock and coo into the camera that he’s still holding in his free hand, “Come on me, Detective.  Paint me like something you’d admire in a gallery, Agent.”