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thosewickedlovelies · 3 years ago

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Anything That Shined: part 1

The Thief x Heroic!F!Reader x Marcus Moreno

Rating: T for Teen

Summary: What happens when Marcus and Sunbeam wake up in the thief’s mansion?

Tags: friends to lovers, eventual threesome/throuple/something

Word count: 3,082

A/N: Helloooo!!!! We’re back with more of our new favorite ship. This chapter is mostly dialogue and plot (plot!!) setup, but I was too eager to share which is why it isn’t longer lol. Hope you enjoy!!

Credit for this incredible art goes to the wonderful @patternedlantern!! 😍😍💗💗

Prologue | Masterlist

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In the end, it wasn’t nearly as tricky as he thought it would be. Barely two hours later and he’s safely back home, encloistered in a small room some distance from yours. The thief watches the two of you pace on the monitor in front of him, listens to you try to mask your confusion and fear with righteous anger and sensible escape plans. A small, unexpected smile blooms as he witnesses your boldness, the light in your skin flickering with your agitation. You’re cute. His head tips to the side, his gaze sliding over to Marcus, who’s more reserved but no less tense. Both of you.

He’d sent one of his...colleagues, call them, to greet you, and hopefully calm you down before his introduction. He should have told them to hurry- he isn’t certain of the strength of your powers, and he’s fond of the curtains in that room…

When you wake, you don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here: a room that resembles a half-forgotten storage space in some historic house museum, furnished and yet bare of personality. Paintwork speckled with gilding spills from the high ceiling and down the walls, leading the eye to polished wood furniture with ornate handles and clawed feet. Opposite the only door, one wall is interrupted by a floor to ceiling window that appears to lead out to a narrow balcony; the view is framed by a set of pale drapes that remind you of an overwrought ballgown, crawling with whorls of stitches and beading. They’re almost hypnotically unappealing. For several minutes you lie watching them sway faintly in the breeze from an open panel high up in the glass.

The bright sunlight streaming in is at odds with your sluggish thoughts. You’re unable to reconcile your last clear memory with your current environment. Had a villain with time travel powers whisked you back to Versailles??

You push yourself to a sitting position, taking inventory of your body. Supersuit still in place, no more aches than before the park incident.

Marcus.

Are you sitting on a...chaise lounge?? An authentic-looking one, with dark wood supporting silky, floral-patterned upholstery, the back and single arm arcing elegantly upward as if to catch a swooning aristocrat from a period film.

Your mind whirls in too many directions at once, struggling to decide what to prioritize. You turn your head to look around, and nearly collapse again in relief when you see Marcus pulling himself upright on a normally-shaped, but still old-fashioned looking, couch perpendicular to your own.

You lock eyes across the space between you. Neither of you speak; you can see he immediately understands the urgency of the situation, recognizes and returns the burning determination in your face that promises we’ll figure this out.

“Are you okay?” The first thing he says. His voice is rough, but the words give you something to focus on besides your burgeoning panic.

“Yeah,” you affirm. “No injuries. You?”

“No.” He shakes his head. One hands slowly lifts to his shoulder- to his back, bereft of the swords he’d had previously. Hours earlier? Days? You don’t even know how long you’ve been here, another unknown to add to the pile.

Marcus’s eyes close as if he knew what he’d find but didn’t want to acknowledge it. “They took my swords,” he says, and his expression is pained in a way you don’t understand.

He opens his eyes again. “You have anything left in your pockets?”

You didn’t carry any weapons besides your own two hands, but Heroics Headquarters engineers came up with other gadgets that were useful to keep onhand. You stall while patting around the secret compartments on your suit, hesitant as to if you should ask about why he seemed so upset about his swords. No one would want to be unarmed in this situation, but he seemed personally grieved at their loss, rather than merely annoyed at the theft of his weapons.

You chicken out of mentioning it yet. “Nothing. Suit’s intact, but the pockets are empty.”

Heaving himself to standing, Marcus looks around, his face wrinkling in bewilderment. “Where the hell are we?”

For all its antique appearance, the room doesn’t seem to have any secret passageways. The view from the balcony betrays nothing about your location beyond that you're in some kind of mansion, but the balcony is too high up to jump from; you curse again at your barren pockets. The miniaturized grappling hook would have been perfect for this.

You’re getting twitchy- your skin is uncomfortably warm beneath your suit. It’s insulated to dissipate heat in a way that won’t harm you or anyone nearby, but your emotions don’t usually run this high for this long while wearing it. Marcus’s rationale be damned, you’re about to superheat your hands and blast the locked door off its hinges- when it opens.

Marcus is beside you almost immediately, both of you rigid and on full alert. The woman who enters isn’t anyone you recognize. A new villain?

But to your astonishment, she tells you with a pleasant smile and what sounds like a Spanish accent that you’re not in any danger. That her employer will be here shortly- “he simply wishes to meet you, and then you’ll be free to go,” apparently.

There’s a resounding silence after she retreats. “What do you think?” you finally ask.

“I think...that it sounds too good to be true.” Marcus is still facing the door, but he’s not really seeing it. His brows are drawn together in a distant expression that’s all too familiar; you can practically see the worry and responsibility settle around his shoulders like a heavy cape. The kind he always refused from misguided supersuit designers, but which he inflicted upon himself, metaphorically, with so much ease.

“Hey.” You’re not about to let him bear the weight of this alone. Marcus looks at you, a bit too bleakly for your liking.

“We’re gonna get out of this,” you inform him. “Worst case scenario, I go all solar flare on this place and just melt it to the ground.” You shrug with a dismissive confidence that may or may not be justified. HQ has been pestering you for years to test the full limits of your abilities, but they’ve always sufficed; you’ve never felt the need.

Your ploy works, however. Dry amusement quirks a brow on Marcus’s face. “And melt me down with it?”

You grant him a crooked grin. “Nah, you’d be fine. You can just carry me on your shoulders, we’ll be like a human lighthouse.”

Marcus laughs out loud at that, and your heart lightens.

It really hasn’t been much time at all- maybe twenty minutes since the woman left- but you’re pacing, light cresting and fading beneath the seams of your suit as if someone had left a child in control of the dimmer switch. Marcus stands with his arms folded, wrestling with himself.

At last he says, “My swords.”

You slow to a stop, looking at him with the same willingness you always offer when he needs a listening ear. Even after knowing you for so long, the gravity of your attention never fails to steady him- your presence has a grounding effect, whether he wants advice or just to vent.

“I have to get them back.” It’s almost hard to look at you, difficult to hold your gaze when neither of you can predict the magnitude of the effect this might have on your situation.

You process this. “Okay.” There’s no condemnation in your tone, only the desire to understand. “Is there...something special about them?”

“They’re engraved. They were a gift...from Marina.”

You inhale softly as understanding hits you like a wave. His wife.

Marcus is still talking, guilt pushing his words out faster, stumbling over them in a way you rarely hear. “I don’t use them in real situations, but today was just supposed to be a training thing when we passed the park… I wasn’t expecting to be kidnapped.”

Anger flickers among the fear and shame on his face- at your abductor, at himself. It’s an emotion he rarely indulges, but which you privately you think he deserves to more often. It couldn’t be healthy, to keep himself so under control all the time.

“Okay, well. We’ll get them back,” you say matter of factly. You don’t know how yet, obviously. A plan would come together once you had more information. “Maybe he just disarmed us temporarily and really does plan to let us go. He might give our stuff back then.”

Marcus nods, but more as if he’s steeling himself, not because he’s convinced by your suggestion. His helpless expression is one you’ve seen only once before. He was expecting to pick up Missy from class with the Heroic children, only to end up watching her skip away from him after asking to hang out with a few of the older kids- the thoughtless eagerness of the young and soon-to-be “independent” catching up to him with all the suddenness of a car crash. You suspect it’s not a look he likes to let others see, which is why you pretended you hadn’t when you bounced over with an attempt to cheer him up.

His lost expression haunts you just as much now as it had then. Your thoughts churn in an effort to find a better comfort, but those, too, grind to a halt when Marcus catches your eye again.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. His piercing gaze pins you in place. Your heartbeat quickens at all the unsaid things within it- could he be recalling a similar memory?

You soften at him. As if you did it for thanks.

The scuff of shoes in the hallway stops outside the door.

In another instantaneous move, you and Marcus are beside each other, so close you can hear him breathing in this silence before the storm. It’s more of an awareness than anything, borne from years of fighting together. His level-headed calm in situations like this has never faltered, and it helps you focus. You allow your power to shimmer just beneath the surface- if your approaching adversary looks at you from the right angle, they’ll see it.

The man who enters...isn’t what you were expecting. He’s wearing a suit, but it’s contemporary, not historic; he seems perfectly at ease in the face of your icy expectancy, yet his eyes gleam with calculation, not madness.

“My apologies for making you wait. I’m always forgetting how long it takes to cross this house; it’s new, you understand.” He waves a hand, a casually commanding dismissal. His voice has a rasp, as if the coarse weave of it had caught and unraveled over the great distance he’d apparently crossed. Its low timbre is distractingly pleasant; but the longer he speaks the easier it is to ignore, as you listen with growing astoundment.

He doesn’t introduce himself- does he expect you to know who he is? Is he someone you should know of? “Please excuse the dramatics, leaving you to wake up here alone. I wasn’t sure how you’d react...only that I couldn’t resist the challenge.”

The challenge of kidnapping you?

A look of satisfaction crosses his face, and the sun inside you seethes. You don’t usually consider your powers separate from yourself- they are of you, and thus rise in tandem with your emotions, at your command- but something about that trace of smugness makes an incongruous heat lick at your bones.

He’s still speaking. “But, as Nerea promised, I have no intention of keeping you here. I’ve got to ask, however, while I do have you...” He adjusts his suit lapels, tugging and curling his hands around them before continuing. “...if I could tempt either of you to dinner with me?”

Stunned at his audacity- at the hopeful sincerity in his invitation?- you glance sideways at Marcus. But your fellow still wears his stoic mask, giving zero indication of response, so you follow suit, keeping a wary eye on the door behind your captor for any sign of an incoming ambush.

“Ah, well.” It’s jarring to see the twist of disappointment to the man’s lips despite his wry expression. “I’ll show you out.” He starts to turn, clearly expecting nothing more from this interaction.

Marcus twitches beside you, the first show of emotion he’s made since the the other man entered the room.

“Wait!” you blurt out. Your captor turns, one eyebrow rising high. “Our weapons.” You affect as a calm a tone as you can summon. “Will you be returning them to us?”

He purses his lips in a show of regret. “Unfortunately, I planned on keeping those. As souvenirs, of course.” He seems to be enjoying this a little too much; you see it roll through the press of his mouth for a fleeting instant. “You didn’t need those shiny H’s of yours, did you?”

Thrown, you glance down. With all the other yellow on your suit, you hadn’t even noticed your Heroic belt buckle was missing. None of you needed them, in truth- most bad guys assumed they did something important, but the technology they contained was useless, designed solely to distract.

You hadn’t noticed Marcus’s H was missing, either. Which was embarrassing, really, given its contrast with his all-black uniform.

“We did, actually.” Marcus answers coolly. “But we’re willing to let you have them in exchange for my swords.”

The fact that he can negotiate so mildly for something you know to be so important to him is why he was Heroic leader for so long. Your surprise, meanwhile, makes it an effort to keep your aloof expression in place. Shit, that was smart- let Mr. Souvenir here think the buckles do hold some worth, so he’ll release the comparatively commonplace swords for them.

Your captor tilts his head as if listening to something. His eyes narrow in amusement- rather like a parent catching their child in an obvious lie, and having too much fun making them squirm for it. Possibly that explains the trace of pity as well- tsk tsk, dear. You’ll have to try harder than that.

“Surely you can’t think I’d value the swords of Marcus Moreno less than a few belt buckles? I know the worth of what I steal.”

“Steal a lot of things, do you? Do you also know that those shiny H’s stand for Heroics?” you shoot back. Underlining your point, golden light brightens threateningly from your balled fists, and ripples of heat reach across the room toward him.

You didn’t notice Marcus had gone still.

“You’re the Thief,” he breathes. His eyes dart around the room as if seeing it for the first time, wondering at the authenticity of its contents and decor. Assessing the skill in the fine details of the paintings on the walls; the intricacy of the inlays in the furniture, miniature scenes with almost as much life as the murals.

Your brow furrows in confusion, but a grin breaks out over the face of the other man.

“Why, Marcus,” he purrs. “I didn’t know you were a fan.”

Hearing Marcus’s name unfurl from his mouth with such exultation makes your skin prickle with a sense of danger. For the first time, you feel like you’re in the presence of a villain. The man- a thief?- stands with his hands in his pockets, an infuriatingly coy nonchalance in the face of your growing discontent.

There’s nearly a dare in his almost-smirk. He must have something to protect him from you, you realize. Some power at his disposal, either his own or that of his ‘employees’. You think of the earlier woman’s swishing pink gown and wonder what abilities her harmless façade might disguise.

Marcus’s arms vibrate with tension at his sides, his hands and fingers flexed in a shape you recognize. Damn.

“So you’re a thief?” you interject loudly, deliberately. “And a famous one, from the sound of it.” You glance around obviously, feigning a newly impressed gaze at the antiquities surrounding you. The glare from your skin softens to a warm, alluring glimmer. Everyone loves flattery.

“What if we did you a favor? Helped you with a heist, or something. In exchange for the swords’ return.”

Marcus whips his head to look at you with such vivid alarm on his face that you almost second-guess yourself. Quickly he wrestles his expression under control, restraining it to an eloquent stare which you’re pretty sure translates to ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing?’

You ignore it. You can come up with a plan after buying you both some time. As long as this guy lets you stay here, you’ll have access to the swords. And judging by the room he dropped you in today, with its giant window and minimal security, he’s not likely to lock you in a dungeon.

It would be a neat bonus if you could figure out a way to lock him up on your way to escape.

The thief has been regarding you for so long that your nerve begins to falter. Is he about to laugh you right out of his mansion?

“Can these swords truly be so valuable to you that you’d compromise your heroic morals?” A jab meant to wound, no doubt.

He looks skeptical, which is fair. What you don’t understand is why he should care- he would get to profit off your‘compromised’ morals, after all (or so you’d let him believe).

“A sentimental value, nothing more,” you reply, keeping your tone measured. It’s now an effort to maintain your skin’s smooth shimmer, so thinly stretched are your emotions as you and your captor counter each other.

His eyes burn with interest, flicking intently back and forth between you and Marcus, who has kept silent since his head turn. There’s a curiosity of worrying potency brewing there, something which makes you extremely nervous, though you couldn’t say why.

Just when you think you’ll have to break the silence, his face suddenly suddenly brightens back into the pleased smile he wore when he arrived.

“Well then, I guess you’re staying for dinner after all!” The thief seems positively delighted by this turn of events. “We can discuss the details then. One of my attendants will be by shortly to take you to your rooms.”

He whisks away, and then the only sound is a hiss like a punctured balloon as Marcus’s clenched jaw releases a slow, controlled exhale.

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Thanks for reading!! 💗 I think I might have read another fic where the author named Marcus’s wife Marina, but I can’t remember 😬 if so I’m sorry I promise I didn’t mean to steal the name from u <3

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @pinkninja200, @superwolflock29 (ur tag didnt work :( )

#the thief x reader #marcus moreno x reader #wcbh fic #wine commercial fic #casillero del diablo commerical #we can be heroes fic #marcus moreno x you #the thief x you #the thief #marcus moreno #wcbh #we can be heroes

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thosewickedlovelies · 3 years ago

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Anything That Shined: prologue | The Thief x Heroic!F!Reader x Marcus Moreno

Rating: T for Teen

Summary: The thief debates on adding a few Heroics to his collection

Tags: friends to lovers; eventual throuple? threesome? I haven’t decided yet

Word count: 967

A/N: So I know I labeled my last MM thing as a prologue, but this is a story I have actual ideas and more content for, so it's forreal this time. Please enjoy this lil preview for a story I'm excited to write more of! 😍

This will NOT be any kind of dark fic- the thief "stealing" them will not be described, and will not be a permanent state- the situation will be explained in the next chapter

Masterlist

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It’s an idea he’s toyed with before, of course. Stealing a Heroic. What an addition to his collection one of them would make! The things he would have access to with some of their abilities on his side...

Something about it never sat quite right, however. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it- he’d used his abilities to steal people before, although he wasn’t sure it counted as stealing to take them back from miscreants who’d abducted them in the first place (“Rescue” wasn’t his preferred term. He didn’t advertise his morals, after all- only that they had a price tag).

But whenever he considered acquiring a Heroic- nothing. His gift didn’t whisper to him the way it normally did when he was pondering a heist, didn’t illuminate potential interception points or escape routes. Perhaps because that truly would be kidnapping, not theft, the thief muses as he waits for his order. Vague as they were, he reasonably certain it went against his morals to steal people. He preferred to recruit them, voluntarily.

But if it was only temporary? he probed. If I only meant to steal them for a day, and not keep or harm them?

His gift seems to titter in response. The thief grumbles internally at its coy answer, having long since stopped questioning the oddity of talking to what was essentially a vague quasi-consciousness in his head.

Perhaps his gift’s unhelpfulness was due to his own apprehension. Stealing the entirety of a living person was a lot trickier than just plucking the voice from them. And really, none of their abilities couldn’t be acquired by him otherwise. Miracle Guy? The thief had someone who could fly. Tech-No? Superpowers weren’t necessary to be tech-savvy enough for his needs.

The speedy one would be useful, the thief reflects as he adds just a touch of sugar to his coffee. In and out with the goods, no fuss no muss. But that took all the fun out of a heist. He could do that part himself half the time, anyway. The rich scent of the café’s new single-origin brew lures him from his thoughts, and the thief allows himself to be distracted, sighing into the steam kissing his face and luxuriating in the rich flavor. He simply must ask the owner for their supplier.

The kicker is that he knows who the real jewel would be- the Heroic whose powers could provide the greatest benefit, even to a man as substantially gifted as himself. Marcus Moreno. He hid behind his swords and his teammates more so now than he had in his early days, but the thief had seen the footage. His telekinetic abilities weren’t to be underestimated.

Nestled in his favorite spot- a cushy nook, half-hidden behind a large plant with leaves like graceful emerald fans- the thief regards the park across the street as people flock to it. He couldn’t have predicted that the same he day he comes into town would be the same day the hero is involved in a minor incident across the street from a café he frequented. But it seems just a little too serendipitous of an opportunity to ignore.

A razor-edged halo of gleaming silver arcs around Moreno’s head when he whirls his swords up and into their sheaths. The thief’s gaze lingers on the blades, on the wide shoulders to which they’re strapped. The hero is so close he can make out the good-natured smile on his face where he kneels before a clamor of children. Yet still his gift murmurs too faintly to make out, as if from across a windblown distance. The thief frowns in thought. But when another, brighter glint catches his eye, his gift bursts into such cacophony the thief almost flinches, expensive coffee sloshing in his cup.

It’s you. The Heroic they called Sunbeam.

What skin is exposed by your suit ripples with the the light of the sun. Radiant and shimmering with a white-gold aura, you look every inch a star walking the earth- the thief is baffled as to how he’s missed you, even as fixated on Moreno as he was. Your brightness dims bit by bit every time you refasten a patch of your modifiable uniform, although the effect is rendered somewhat moot by the fact that your suit is also white and yellow, with glittery gold patches that draw the eye. As he watches, you pause, closing your eyes for a deep breath, and the remaining glow in your hands and face lessens to an almost human level.

Your fellow Heroic stands as you stride back toward him, asking something, his brow furrowed in concern. You shake your head in reassurance. The man’s relief is obvious, even from this distance; he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder, his stance relaxing. You seem surprised, but pleased- a bashful smile appears on your lips, and- just for a second- your skin seems to flicker again with a bright warmth.

Interesting. His gift hisses excitedly. The cup clinks faintly against its saucer as the thief lowers it, all of his attention laser-focused on the super-powered duo across the street, on the rapidly clarifying plan in his head. Both of you turn as someone else runs up to you. The angle causes natural sunlight to glance off your cheek, and the thief blinks at the shine; it’s not unlike the reflections which speared off of Marcus’s swords. Your gold to his silver.

The thief smirks to himself as he remembers his own words. Anything that shined. His eyes track your glittering silhouette, Moreno resembling your shadow in his black uniform, in the thoughtless synchronicity of your body language. His gift croons in an alluring song. Ah, what the hell, he decides. A two-for-one deal. His smirk transforms into an expression of relish.

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I apologize for nothing. Luv u guys <3

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss

#the thief x reader #the thief x you #marcus moreno x reader #we can be heroes fic #marcus moreno x you #wcbh fic #the thief fic #wine commercial fic #casillero del diablo commerical #we can be heroes #wcbh #i hope this doesnt get lost in all the kinktober stuff about to come out haha

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