#marcus moreno x original female character

[sirowsky-stories]

The Regulars

Summary: Marcus and Missy befriend a waitress at their favorite diner.

Requested by @yourstrulylightstar283

Rating: General/Everyone Warnings: Marcus Moreno x OFC named Evey, father/daughter banter, mention of stressful working environment, otherwise just fluff and cuteness. Word Count: 1175

   ”Again, dad?” Missy asks when he puts the menu down, already knowing what he’s picked, even though he hasn’t said anything.

   “What?” he lovingly gripes in return, smiling as he knows where this is going.

   “There’s so much delicious food in this diner, and yet, every time we come here you order the same thing: the cheeseburger with fries. Are you scared of stepping out of your food comfort zone, or something?”

   “I’m not scared,” he huffs, “this is just the best burger in town.”

   “Alright, I didn’t wanna do this, but you’ve left me no choice,” she counters, and her tone clearly suggests she’s about to change his mind, whether he likes it or not.

   He loves when she gets all smart like this, so he leans back and feels a smile grow behind his cheeks as he watches her close her menu deliberately slowly before clasping her hands together and leaning her forearms on the table.

   “Dad, you’re a public figure,” she begins, very seriously, “which means that people pay attention to you. And what they’re seeing every time we come here, is that not only does Marcus Moreno support the meat-industry, which we all know is fubar, but that he’s also entirely unconcerned with his own health.”

   Suddenly, he doesn’t feel the smile in his cheeks anymore. Instead, he feels mildly nauseous, especially after he hears the next part of her reasoning.

   “Now, if you were a member of the public, which the Heroics are tasked with protecting, would you feel safe knowing that your supposed guardian doesn’t even take good care of himself?”

   He knows that she’s being deliberately manipulating, testing herself in how good she is at persuading others, but she’s also not wrong about anything she’s saying, and it’s surprisingly jarring to hear.    Before he’s had a chance to recover, however, the waitress comes to take their orders, and he feels a creeping panic at the back of his neck, realizing he doesn’t know what to do.

   “Hello, my name is Evey, I’ll be taking your orders today,” she says with a prize-winning smile which isn’t fake or overdone or disingenuous at all, and he’s momentarily distracted by the fact that he hasn’t seen this woman before.

   “Hi, I’m Missy, and this is my dad, Marcus,” his daughter responds, saving him from having to speak through the befuddled mess that is his brain right now.

   “Nice to meet you both,” Evey nods politely at them in turn, “what will it be today?”

   His daughter confidently asks for an omelet with a side of salad instead of potato fries, and then immediately turns the attention back to him, fully aware he hasn’t made up his mind yet.

   “Uh…” is all he says, before ripping the folded two-page menu open once again and scanning the options way too fast to actually make out what they are.

   He glances at Missy over the top of the pages, hoping she’ll start talking and give him a moment to think, but she just smiles knowingly at him while she calmly waits for him to make a fool of himself.

   “I can give you some options, if you prefer, sir,” the waitress suddenly offers him a lifeline, and he dives at it like he’s drowning.

   “Please, do. I’m sorry, I’m a bit distracted today,” he tries to explain, hoping not to look like a complete moron, although that ship has probably already sailed.

   “No problem, that’s why I’m here,” she smiles again, and then proceeds to list the entire dinner menu from memory, highlighting the nutritional benefits of each dish, as well as giving him a general idea of the flavor sensation associated with the various options.

   Marcus has been at five-star restaurants with lesser service than this, leaving him staring dumbly at Evey once she’s finished, trying to comprehend what such a talented server is doing in such a simple establishment.

   “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Missy pipes up after a moment of stunned silence.

   “Yes, it’s my first week,” the waitress confirms, and the Moreno’s exchange a look of impressed bewilderment before both turn back to stare at her.

   “I’m guessing you’ve been somewhere a bit more… demanding than this place before,” Marcus suggests, finally freed of the confusion his daughter had inflicted on him.

   “Demanding is the right word for it, indeed, sir,” she replies, and while the smile is still warm and genuine, there’s a hint of something heavy in her eyes for a moment as she says it.

   He knows that many prestigious restaurants can be hell to work at, no matter how skilled or experienced a person might be, so if she’s been at a place like that, he could understand if she needed to seek out a less stressful environment.    A small corner diner might not seem like a desired workplace for someone used to the glamour of the top tier in her field, but there are benefits to be found in the simplicity and quaintness of smaller businesses.

   “Well, I hope you’ll like it here,” he smiles back at her. “It’s not too crowded most of the time, and the regulars are pretty decent.”

   Missy rolls her eyes at him in embarrassment over the last part, which Evey notices, and an adorable giggle crosses her lips.

   “I take it you’re the regulars in question, then?”

   “Oh, he’s a regular alright. A regular cheeseburger abuser,” his daughter shoots, paying him back for her embarrassment by making him look like an idiot in front of this lovely woman.

   “Am not!” he desperately fires back, succeeding only in sounding childish on top of stupid.

   “Am too! And apparently also dishonest, since you won’t even own up to it,” she counters, and he doesn’t have a good comeback for that, so he ends up just sitting there scowling for a beat, before finally closing the menu and setting it down on the table.

   “Fine. I’ll have the damned burger.”

   He expects the waitress to politely excuse herself then, as this little tiff has probably left her feeling uncomfortable.    But when she’s still by the table after a few seconds, he looks up to find out what she’s doing, only to discover her grinning at him with her head cocked to the side, looking as sweet as a labrador waiting for ear-scritches.

   “Good choice,” she says with a wink. “It’s the best burger in town.”

   Missy’s head hits the tabletop with an audible bonk, followed by her exacerbated groan of disapproval, now directed at both the adults, as her masterful plan to manipulate her father has been ruined.    Marcus, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh, and when Evey joins in even though she has both their orders and doesn’t need to stay there any longer, he feels like a friendship has just begun, and it sends a nice warmth through his abdomen.

   “I’ll be right back with your dinners,” she giggles, and then right before she turns away, she adds: “I think I’m gonna like the regulars here.”

THE END

[sirowsky]

@sabbs118 Thank you for all the reblogs of my Birthday stories 😊

--Judgement--

--Part 2--

Description: Marcus' declaration doesn't take him where he might've expected. So, he now has to try again. Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character named Lucy.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Angst, longing, just very strong emotions, Marcus POV. Word Count: 3100 Author's Masterlist

Link to Part 1

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   For a long moment, she merely stares at him. Making him wait, although not deliberately.    She carries so much pain, which makes her cautious, needing to shield her heart as much as she can. Plus, she has every reason not to believe his words, after so much time spent being friends, with not one hint ever given to suggest that he might want more.    But he does, which is why he waits so patiently.

   He doesn’t move, despite how much he wants to pull her into his arms and hold her close where she’ll be safe, and he’ll be able to feel how alive and warm she is.    The memories of her too cold skin and unresponsive, heavy limbs will never leave his mind for as long as he lives, but that’s also why he now appreciates her warmth and restored strength so very much.

   She meets his eyes without faltering, and he tries to show her only how much he cares for her, how important she is and how deep his affection really goes.    But her gaze is still pained. Still so disbelieving. And he doesn’t know what he could possibly say that would help her hear the truth of his words.    He can’t make her believe it. She must come to that realization herself, even if it means that he has to step back for now.

   However, it doesn’t mean that he can’t continue trying.

   “Why don’t we have dinner on Friday,” he suggests, unwilling to let her slip away without committing to seeing him again.

   It’s a bit manipulative, perhaps, but he feels like she might need some help to remember that she can always trust Marcus.    They used to always have dinner together on Fridays, before the attack. It was their time to hang out, the three of them, and he knows that Missy’s been longing to pick it up again. That she misses her terribly.

   “Pizza-night?” she finally asks, confirming that she’s onboard, which makes him smile.

   “Absolutely. Why don’t you come to our house this time?” he offers, because he knows that she’s trying to sell her house and that she hasn’t been staying there for the past year.

   “Sure, that sounds good,” she tries to smile, but it comes out a little wonky.

   “Great. Then I’ll let you get back to work.”

   He smiles as he begins to back away, and seeing that seems to put her at ease somehow, because suddenly her smile turns into a real one, although he feels certain that there’s a smidgeon of relief in it as well.    As if she really needs him to leave right now. A thought which isn’t all that strange, considering what just happened between them, but it still tugs at his heart to see it.

   She needs space. He keeps telling himself that as he heads back to Ops, trying not to let himself consider this a rejection, because it technically wasn’t.    Just give her some space, let her come to it on her terms.    Don’t panic.

   “Hey man, that took forever,” Miracle complains as soon as he steps into the control room again. “So, what’d she say?”

   Marcus just stares dumbly at him, because he’s completely forgotten that he actually did have a reason for bothering Lucy in the first place that morning.    Seeing the confusion on his face, the other Heroic rolls his eyes in annoyance, and for once, it’s a justified gesture.

   “Seriously? You forgot to ask about it?    Damned it, Moreno, you were the one who delayed the briefing to go talk to her!”

   “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry… We’ll make do without it.”

   “Dude-…”

   “Miracle, shut the fuck up!” he cuts him off, a lot more forcibly than he’d intended.

   He rarely cusses, and almost never at people, which everyone at HQ knows, and which is why the entire room is suddenly staring at him with nervously darting eyes.    Marcus is the leader of the team for a number of reasons, but one of them is that his electromagnetic abilities are sensitive enough that he can vibrate molecules apart for short bursts at a time, making him one of the most powerful supers to ever have lived.

   He tries to avoid that level of destruction as much as possible, but when he loses his temper, it can happen against his will.    And everyone at HQ knows that too.

   “I’m sorry…” he says while trying to calm himself, abruptly wondering if maybe he shouldn’t be working right now at all.

   He didn’t think that Lucy’s reaction to his declaration had upset him this much, but clearly, he’s not as serene at heart as he should be for an operation.    Closing his eyes, he puts his hands down on the desk before him, leaning heavily on it while he tries to come to his senses and focus on his job.    Friday is two days away. He has to be able to work until then.

   “Would you please go and ask for the missing data?” he asks Miracle, who can’t help but scoff with irritation.

   “You mean, the same data that you just wasted thirty minutes not getting?”

   “Yes. Please,” Marcus answers between gritted teeth.

   Without another word, his colleague stomps out of the room, and the leader sighs deeply at himself.    It’s gonna be a long two days.

-=¤=-

   He hasn’t seen Missy this excited about anything in quite a while, and it makes him happy to know that she’s looking forward to spending time with one of her oldest friends again. But the man himself is mostly just nervous.    The conversation that Wednesday seems like it happened weeks ago, at this point, and he can’t help but wonder if tonight is simply going to confirm what he’s begun to fear.

   That she might just try to pretend that that conversation never happened.

   She certainly has every time that he’s run into her at work for these two days. And yeah, it’s probably just because she’s being professional, but he can’t keep from worrying that it might be because she’s trying to turn him down easy.    It makes him terribly uneasy, and his daughter can tell. She knows that it’s more than just about having someone over, which doesn’t happen often.

   “Did something happen between you two?” she asks while he’s setting the table, and her tone is more concerned than nosy.

   “Honestly… I don’t know,” he replies, feeling strangely disoriented about the entire subject.

   “How do you mean?” she presses, undoubtedly trying to help him get his thoughts in order before she gets here, but he really doesn’t know how to explain it.

   “Uh… I may have… confessed something to her, but I-…” he starts, but then Missy’s sharp intake of breath cuts him off.

   “You told her, didn’t you?!” she almost squeals. “You told her that you love her.”

   Oddly enough, he’s not at all surprised that she’s picked up on his affection for the woman, what shocks him is hearing how happy it makes her.    He can’t think of anything to say, but he also doesn’t get the chance before she’s suddenly running to the kitchen counter, grabbing a plate and throwing three slices of pizza on it before darting off towards the stairs.

   “Have fun, dad! I’ll be in my room all night with a movie on!” she calls out while she disappears around the corner, leaving him stunned into silence as he dumbly stares at her now redundant cutlery on the table.

   And of course, before he’s even begun to recover, the doorbell rings.

   “God damned it, Missy. You were supposed to be my wing woman…” he mutters under his breath while nervously wiping his hands on the seams that run down the sides of his jeans.

   On the way to get the door, he needlessly fiddles with his hair and tugs on his dark green shirt, even though it’s already smooth.    Get a grip, man. You’ve met her a thousand times before.

   “Hey, come on in,” he greets with a smile once the door falls open.

   And it’s a good thing he started talking before he’d had a chance to really look at her, because once he does, his tongue goes dry.    Not because she’s dressed all fancy, but because she’s wearing a summer dress, something he’s never seen her in before. Not once in over ten years of friendship has he ever seen her in anything but trousers, shorts, or the occasional skirt for a party.

   Her preferences at home are soft leggings and big hoodies, or if it’s too warm for that, shorts and well-worn t-shirts or tank tops.    For a moment, he wonders how he can remember those kinds of details about her, but then she’s inside and he has to remind himself to close the door behind her before he invites her to the kitchen.

   “Uh, have a seat anywhere. Missy ducked out at the last minute, so it’s just the two of us,” he admits, feeling extremely exposed suddenly, so he busies himself with the pizzas that are still sitting on the kitchen counter, allowing him to keep his back to her for a few moments longer.

   “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to seeing her, it’s been a while,” she says, and her voice is soft and steady, not at all as nervous as his own probably is.

   “I’m sure she won’t mind you poking your head in later,” he suggests, hoping to keep the conversation flowing because that’s likely the only thing that’s gonna keep his nerves in check tonight.

   He brings the plates to the table, having loaded two slices onto each for starters, and before he takes his seat, he goes to the fridge to take out the pitcher of water he put in there earlier.    She doesn’t like soda, or any kind of fizzy drink, preferring water or juice to her meals. If he’d had the time after work, he would’ve made her some lemonade. She loves that.

   “Thank you,” she smiles at his thoughtfulness, before picking up a slice.

   But Marcus is gonna need help to calm his nerves tonight, so he grabs a beer from the fridge too, and then he finally sits down at the rounded little table.

   “How’d it go with the whales today?” she asks, knowing that the team had been sent on an emergency call, to rescue an entire pod of beached north Atlantic right whales, while Marcus had stayed behind, monitoring the mission from Ops.

   “It went well. They were able to save all of them,” he answers, and then tries to think of something to add to keep the conversation flowing, but his head is filled with nothing but the question that she has yet to answer, and he can’t just barrel right in with that one.

   “Oh, good. I’m glad to hear that,” she says between bites, and then seemingly effortlessly jumps to another subject. “Hey, if it’s not too much trouble, I could use your help with something.”

   “Helping you is never trouble, Luce,” he warmly admonishes, knowing that he doesn’t need to remind her of how much she’s helped him over the years.

   “No, I know, it’s just that I also know you’re a busy guy and I don’t w-…”

   “Stop that right now,” he cuts her off, but not harshly. “Just tell me what you need.”

   She cocks her head to the side in an expression which means that she’s amused but annoyed. A look that he’s well familiar with.

   “I need a new car. And I’m too trusting to trust myself not to let a car salesman talk me into buying something that isn’t right for me.”

   “Oh, I can definitely help you with that. Most salesmen get really flustered around Heroics,” he smiles and winks at her, and she huffs a laugh.

   “Don’t we all?”

   She says it softly, but he can hear nervousness in there, and it makes him wonder if perhaps she’s not at all as relaxed about this evening as she’s making it appear.    He could let it pass without remarking on it, but pretending that everything’s fine between them isn’t going to work much longer.    So, he decides to let the fake ease fall away, and let her see how nervous he is at just having her there beside him.

   “Do I make you flustered?” he asks quietly, knowing how loaded that question is, given what he’s already told her about his feelings.

   He just hopes that whatever happens, she’ll leave this house feeling happy.

   “Yes…” she admits, just as quietly, but doesn’t offer anything more, and he can’t leave it like that.

   He has to know.

   “Please, Lucy… Just tell me how you feel. Tell me what you’re thinking. It’s driving me crazy not knowing if I should just let it go, or try harder.    I’ll do whatever you want me to, just tell me what that is?” he pleads, unable to hold back any longer, because he really is losing it.

   She puts her slice back down on the plate then, and like before, in her office, she suddenly won’t look at him. As though she’s ashamed of something, and he can’t fathom what that could possibly be.

   “You’ve been such a good friend to me, Marcus. All these years. I’ve always been able to count on you.    But… that’s not why I called you that night,” she starts, and hearing that surprises him.

   He doesn’t interrupt, though. No matter how much he wants to beg for the answers, for her to just let him know if he should give up and let his heart break into a million pieces and go hide away for the rest of eternity… he simply waits.    Because even now, she needs space. She needs to find the answers on her own and if he pushes, she’ll recoil, and then he might never know.

   “Anyone from HQ would’ve reacted to help me, had I called them. But the only number I could see was yours. And that wasn’t because of the trauma or anything that had happened that night.    You’re always the one I want to call.”

   Trying so hard not to run away with those words, Marcus forcibly reminds himself that she could mean any number of things, that her mind might not at all go in the same direction as his, hearing that.    He freezes in his seat, staring at her bowed head, unknowingly holding his breath through the purgatory that is the waiting game.

   “Every time I’m sad, or angry, or happy… it’s always you I think of. Your company I wish for. And it always has been, from the very first day I met you… when Maribel was still here.”

   The trapped breath falls over his lips in a silent and sort of de-energized huff.    All the nervous energy in his body is suddenly just not there anymore, because in those last five words, she’s changed everything, and he’s now struggling to rethink their entire relationship.

   The first day they’d met had been over three years before his wife had died. Back when Missy was just a baby.    If she’s had romantic feelings towards him from the start, then chances are, she feels undeserving of his affection now, which would explain her shame.    But she’s wrong. So utterly wrong…

   Because she never did anything. She never once did anything inappropriate, before or after Mirabel. Never made him feel uncomfortable, never even hinted that she might like him as more than a friend.    In her infinite kindness, she’s kept every grain of her passion hidden, even when she was broken and had lost hope, trapped in a hospital bed with little chance of making a full recovery.

   She’s locked that part of her heart away so completely that even now, when he is the one asking for it, she can’t bring herself to give him her love.

   “Lucy…” he beckons, reaching for her hand on the table, and she lets him take it, but she doesn’t raise her head. “Look at me, please.”

   When she does, her expression is exactly the same as it was in her office. So filled with pain that it stabs at his chest to see it. Because that pain is her absolute belief in her own inadequacy.    The conviction that she can never be good enough.    And finally, he sees that it was never about the scars. That it’s her entire being that she feels is ugly, all for a forbidden love that she never had any control over.

   “I want your heart. All of it. Set it free and let me have it, and I promise that you will stop feeling like this,” he says, while gently tugging her hand closer.

   He feels her fingers tighten around his, and a moment later, her eyes fill with tears.    It quickly becomes a torrent of them, but he doesn’t ask her to stop. Instead, he rises to his feet and pulls her up into his arms, holding her firmly against his chest while the pain flees through the ducts in her eyes.    And as soon as she begins to still, he pulls back and captures her lips.

   In her surprise, she tries to break away, but he doesn’t allow that, because he can’t let her be ruled by her fears this time.    The only way that she’s going to accept his love, is if he makes her feel it in a way that her mind can’t rationalize or explain away.    So, into that one long kiss, he floods her senses with himself, making her not only feel, but hear, smell and taste only him.

   And it works.

   It takes only seconds before she succumbs, too desperate to feel something good after all these years of longing, yearning for the impossible, to have any hope of keeping those walls up against this torrent of adoration.

   He keeps her mouth too preoccupied with the need to breathe in between kisses throughout that night, for her to have any chance to say it, but she does the next morning.

   “I love you.”

   Three little words. Simple, yet infinitely complicated. And so beautiful.    They’re the first thing he hears as he wakes up with her warm body against his, and it makes him so happy that he wants to dance on the ceiling.    But instead, he asks her if she’ll say those words to him every day from now on. If she’ll promise to let her heart stay free and open for him and Missy, forever.

   And without hesitation, she agrees.

THE END

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Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

Tags: @startrekkingaroundasgard @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @suttonspuds @tanzthompson @shsoba05 @f0rever15elf @justnat15 @lowlights @spishsstuff @harriedandharassed @i-love-movies @tiffanypooh @chaoticfestninja @insomniamamma @pedrostories @littlemisspascal @bilibiche @hnt-escape

[bluestar22x]

BlueStar's Fanfic Masterlist

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All my explicit fics are labeled with the appropriate ratings and warnings but please don't interact with any of my fics if you aren't 18+.

Warning: I write a lot of female reader insert fanfics, and I usually try to not describe their physical features but sometimes for the sake of the story or due to error there are details. They also fairly commonly have detailed histories for the sake of the storytelling. I write what I want to read.

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Pedro Pascal Characters

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Marcus Pike

A Lifetime Of Flowers - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Baby Fever Series - Marcus Pike x F!Reader (Ongoing Series)

The Shot Not Taken - Marcus Pike x F!Reader

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[littleoddwriter]

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[Used to be: ronaldrx]

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Jackson Neill

Jonas Nightingale

Rafael Barba

Characters from 9-1-1 (Lone Star):

Carlos Reyes*

Eddie Diaz

Evan “Buck” Buckley

Howard “Chimney” Han

Josh Russo*

Mateo Chavez

Paul Strickland

Bobby Nash

Tim Rosewater

TK Strand*

Characters from Law and Order(: Special Victims Unit):

Detective/ADA Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, Jr.

Sergeant Mike Dodds

Detective Nick Amaro

Executive ADA Nolan Price

ADA Peter Stone

ADA Rafael Barba

Deputy Chief William Dodds

Little Miss Sunshine:

Dwayne Hoover [Platonic only!]

Frank*

Our Flag Means Death:

Edward Teach/Blackbeard*

Frenchie

Izzy Hands

Stede Bonnet*

Prisoners (2013):

Alex Jones/Barry Milland [Platonic only!]

Bob Taylor

Detective David Loki

Renfield (2023):

Count Dracula

Robert Montague Renfield

Tedward “Teddy” Lobo

SLASHERS/Horror Film Characters:

Asa Emory/The Collector

Ash J. Williams [I will usually default to Ash from the TV show, unless requested otherwise!]

Billy Lenz (1974)

Billy Loomis

Bo Sinclair

Brahms Heelshire

Bubba Sawyer/Leatherface (TCM 1974 and TCM 2)

Charles Lee Ray/Chucky

Chop Top Sawyer

Corey Cunningham

Dewey Riley

Drayton Sawyer

Herbert West*

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

Lawrence Gordon

Lester Sinclair

Luigi Largo

Mark Hoffman  

Nubbins Sawyer

Pavi Largo

Stu Macher  

Vincent Sinclair

William Easton

Star Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Qui-Gon Jinn

The Girl Next Door:

Klitz

Eli

Characters from The Simpsons:

Cecil Terwilliger*

Fat Tony

Frankie the Squealer

Grady*

Jack Lassen

Johnny Tightlips

Julio*

Legs

Louie

Moe Szyslak

Ned Flanders

Otto Mann

Seymour Skinner

Sideshow Bob

Sideshow Mel

Snake Jailbird

Timothy Lovejoy

Waylon Smithers*

What We Do in the Shadows:

Anton (Movie)

Deacon

Guillermo de la Cruz*

Laszlo Cravensworth

Nandor the Relentless

Viago

Vladislav

* Please note that an asterisk (*) means that these characters are Male/Masc/GenderNeutral!Reader only (including non-binary, of course). Platonic relationships with Female!Reader are possible, but no romantic ones.

If it’s a character that is open to all Readers, and you do not specify in your request what you want, I’ll usually opt for a Gender Neutral Reader by default.

SHIPS, such as:

BlackBonnet (OFMD)

SteddyHands (OFMD)

Black Pete x Lucius Spriggs (OFMD)

Buck x Josh Russo (9-1-1)

Dracfield (Renfield 2023)

Buddie (9-1-1)

Eli x Klitz (The Girl Next Door)

Nandermo (WWDITS)

Herbert West x Dan Cain (Re-Animator)

McKirk (Star Trek: AOS)

Oluwande x Jim Jimenez (OFMD)

Barisi (Law & Order SVU) 

Renfield x Teddy Lobo (Renfield 2023)

Sickrent (Trainspotting/T2)

Stobotnik (Sonic Movie)

Tarlos (9-1-1: Lone Star)

AnderPerry (Dead Poets Society)

ZsaszMask (Birds of Prey)

Lastly, I would like to add things I will NOT write (about):

Sexual NSFW fics/headcanons (I used to write those as you can see in my Masterlists, but I have my reasons for not writing them anymore. Any hints at sexual topics are fine).

Anything related to death as the main subject (this includes deadly diseases, anything fatal, really, etc.).

Anything that romanticizes Mental Illness (my Vent Fics about my own disorders obviously do not romanticize any of it and I do not stand for that).

(Recreational) Drug Use

Extreme Possessive Behaviour and/or Jealousy

Yandere

If you have something you would like me to write for, but you do not see it listed anywhere, please ask me before requesting it, so we can talk about it. I hope you enjoy yourself on my blog and have a good time!

My Asks and DMs are always open for any questions or simply to talk!

- Jesse

[radiowallet]

5 Steps Forward

Summary: Lou and the supposedly good man standing in her saloon reach a small accord. Pairing: Eventual Marcus Moreno x OFC (named, no physical descriptors) Warnings: 18+ Death, gun violence, drinking, cursing, yearning. WC: 2.2K A/N: I have been sitting on this for 2 weeks now and even though I don't really love it, I just need to set it free. I want to send a big huge thanks to @jazzelsaur for beta-reading for me and always being my cheerleader.

Previous > Next

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist

The saloon sits at the center of the town, unnamed but well-loved. A meeting place for some, a dinner table for others, a sanctuary for all. Wood and nails and cheers and laughter held the door open for any and all who ached to belong, and for a time not a soul was turned away. Louise’s father built it by hand, raising the walls with her two brothers flanking his sides, a hot sun waging a blistering war on the backs of their necks. She was just a tot back then, barely able to see past the sway of her mother’s skirt, her small hands the perfect size to cradle a pile of nails, boots curling dust as she chased after the last three good men she knew. 

The bar feels just the same beneath the palm of her hand as it did back then, wood sanded down and polished by her father with a patience most don’t possess. His eyes were quiet, his mind always seemingly lost in thought as his hands moved back and forth and back again, Louise watching from a stool on the other side. She would mimic the movements as best she could before her arms grew tired, sitting back on her heels, dirt staining her bare legs, stockings shucked behind her mother’s back. 

His chuckle still rings in her ears, his appraising look and gentle tongue reminding her why he worked so hard. 

We take care of the things we love.

It wouldn’t be until years later, the tangle of her teenage limbs shoved roughly beneath that very bar, her father’s stern warning to stay put, that she learned what he really meant. 

The sounds still sting at the edges of her memory, the angry crow of furious men riding through town, the hoofbeats of their horses drowning out the screams of her mother, the shouts of her brothers, the cries of her father. When the dust had settled and the blood was rusted dry, she emerged, alone, all the things she cared for taken before the sun had even dared to set. 

The saloon was hers. For better. For worse. The echo of ghosts whispering after each step she took, only the passing of the sun and the shifting shape of her body consistent enough to mark time. Her small hands grew, wrapped around worn wood, curved up the bottles of amber, twisted over empty pint glasses. Her tongue sharpened around brazen words, short and none too sweet and spat at those who came with ill-intent. 

And when words weren’t enough to keep danger at bay, Lou learned another way.

Her father’s shotgun was hers now, just the same as the saloon, and she cared for it twice over, memorizing its cracks and creases with a reverence she could never muster for the pew of a church. Always heavy in her hands, the heel of her hand warm along the grip, her fingers hooked into the trigger, her cheek finding comfort on the powder-smoked barrel. It fits now, the same as it had back then, into the turn of her shoulder, the muzzle marking the place between the swing of her doors, waiting for the familiar step of boots along the dust.   

She counts them – one, two – the crush of rocks, the cock of her gun – three, four – the creak of wood, her deep breath in – five – the doors swing open. 

His gun presses into the puckered silk of her bodice, the fabric warped from too much sun and even longer time. The deep brown of the stranger’s eyes find hers beneath the brim of his black hat. The gleam of the sun is lost behind the broad sweep of his shoulders, the width of him taking up the entire doorway, but somehow there’s still light enough for her to see. Her breath sticks in her throat, a grunt breaking past her lips, so startled by the sight of him, though she loathes the thought as swiftly as it comes. 

Still. 

She can’t deny him his rugged features, the beauty in them apparent the longer she stands in front of him, and so instead, she makes a joke.

“Fast hands. Not so sure I like that in a man.” 

The words are sticky between them and the man doesn’t respond, his lips curled beneath the bristles of a mustache, its length the perfect tell for how long he’s been riding. Dirt caked beneath his fingernails, dust creased into the wrinkles of his shirt, bags lining the corners of somer eyes, all whispering of the stories he has to tell. Lou catches those same eyes, sad and sweet, wandering down her figure, only the tip of his brow giving him away. She steps in closer, her gun and his digging in deeper just the same, but it’s the cock of a gun and a much lighter boot that drags the temperature past scorching.

Just behind the man is a slip of a girl, brown eyes and wild curls, his perfect match. She has a pistol aimed at Lou, small fingers barely able to reach the trigger, a tremor, so slight, in the way she holds her aim, her spine set, eyes like steel.

His daughter, Lou assumes. 

Or something close to. 

He’s taught her well. 

It’s a glass image pointed back at her, a ghost of a past with the young girl’s future staring her down. A whisper she can’t unhear. We take care of the things we love.

For the first time the man looks truly afraid, eyes wide, his own twin tremble in the too tight grip of his pistol. 

And just like that, the time for violence had passed. A stalemate is reached and drinks are shared. The stranger, this supposed good man, makes his case for his presence in the only home she’s ever known. 

“We’re here to help.” 

She mulls his words over, letting the taste of them mingle with the burn of whiskey on her tongue. He’s said it three times, three different ways, since entering her saloon, as if the repetition would make the words magically hold water. Didn’t this stranger know? Nothing held water in Sol. 

His daughter still sits at the bar beside him, the bottle of pop between her hands looking much more at home than the pistol. Lou feels an immediate affection for the girl, and if it weren’t for every tasteless memory of the good men gone astray that paint the walls of this very room, she would already be offering them a place to rest for the night. As it stood, she still needed more.

“What makes you think this town needs help?”

He hums beneath his breath, taking his time in pulling off his hat and placing it on the bar beside his drink, still untouched next to her own empty glass. He turns his head one way and then the other, taking in the empty stools, the broken floorboards, the dust settled along the windowsills, before he finally turns back to her, brown eyes catching the last of the afternoon sun. His smile grows slowly, a slight tilt to the corner of his lips, almost wry in the way it twists in front of her. 

“Just a hunch.”

“Look here–”

“Marcus,” he supplies, as if anticipating the slur sitting on the tip of her tongue. “Moreno.”

“Marcus,” Lou repeats, refusing to let herself enjoy his name between her lips. “This town and this bar are doing just fine.”

She is doing fine.

“Huh, that so?” He hums again, pushing away from the bar top and turning slowly to walk a small circle around the room. His boots hit a steady beat along the floor, wood creaking gently beneath his weight, loud enough that Lou makes a mental note to replace them before winter comes. “Not many customers in today.”

The observation is laced with an insistence that splinters beneath her fingernails, the sting of sand biting at the sensitive skin. She aches to shake the feeling away but ignores it, instead curling her hands tight around the curve of the wood in front of her.

“Most wait for nightfall.”

“You mean the bandits?”

“And the vagrants,” she adds, her own smile creeping up her lips. 

“Ah yes, of course.” He turns back around, smile gone, a discouraged sort of grimace set in its place. “You got any sort of plan?”

“Plan?” Lou wants to laugh. In fact, she does, one hand braced on the bar, the other clutching at her side, weathered silk smooth beneath her fingertips. Her head tilts back, eyes closed as she lets her laughter ring out through the empty saloon, rough and dry and loud. It’s equal parts insulting and infuriating that this Marcus thinks a few words from a passing bounty hunter is enough for him to understand this town and this life, no matter how many hardships he’s had to carry through his own life. When she looks back at him, she doesn’t blink, refusing to let Marcus look away as she speaks her peace plainly.

“The plan is to survive.”

He seems unimpressed, coming back to the bar and reaching for his drink, letting the tip of his thumb sit heavy on the rim of the glass before kicking it back in one swift swallow. His throat bobs in time with his movements, the long strip of tan skin stretched taut beneath the burn of the spirit. 

She has to look away.

“The people of this town–” 

“Are good people,” Lou finishes for him, and for the first time it seems they agree. 

She keeps her eyes on the bar, her palm flat, moving back and forth and back again, the wood her father sanded down and polished just so, warm with the memory of his touch.

It’s the tip of a finger, thick and calloused, beneath her chin that draws her eyeline back to the present, his gentle touch kissing sweetly against the tremble of her skin. He keeps it there, a phantom pressure she must be imagining, his deep voice washing away the dust caught deep inside her throat.

“I want to help you do more than survive.”

“Well then,” she starts, voice catching round a heavy swallow, his finger still beneath the cut of her jaw. “I guess you’ll need a place to tuck in for the night.”

She leads the family of two towards the back of the saloon, around a dark corner and up a narrow flight of stairs. Lou does her best to ignore the way the sound of two more sets of footsteps following her own churns heavy in her stomach, a loneliness long ignored bursting to life and dying all at once atop those squeaky stair steps. 

“There’s plenty of room, so you and the kid are welcome to bunk together or separate. Outhouse is out back. Don’t have a tub. Thing would be pretty much useless in this desert anyway. But each room has a basin if you’re looking to clean up.”

His daughter, Missy he finally provides, is quick to lay claim to the room at the far end of the hall. It had belonged to Lou’s younger brother, his spare boots still under the bed, primers still shoved beneath the mattress (but still not hidden well enough from their mother’s piercing gaze). Marcus follows her in, taking note of the boarded over window and the empty closet, careful eyes sweeping from top to bottom twice over before he nods, leaving her to settle in, her smile wide at the prospect of a night on a soft (if just a tad dusty) mattress.

He takes the next room over for himself, giving it the same scrutiny as the last, before turning back to Lou, taking one step closer to her before stopping suddenly in his tracks. For the first time she notices the blush sitting sweetly on his cheeks, his smile small and soft, the brim of his hat clutched between his fingers and pressed tightly to his chest. His eyes are fixed firmly on her own. 

If she didn’t know better, she’d guess this supposedly good man was nervous to be alone with her. 

“My room is just across the hall, only five steps forward. If you should need anything.

He nods, but otherwise doesn’t move, his brows bunching in, his quiet eyes lost in thought.

“I thank you, Miss, for the hospitality. I promise we won’t be a bother.”

She hates the formality that has sprouted between them, and wishes for a way to go back to their childish squabbles, if only to rouse that wry smile of his free one more time. She lets her own gaze linger; on the constellation of freckles along his neck, the width of his shoulders, the size of his hands, taking one step and then another into his space.

“Somehow,” she teases, “I don’t believe that, cowboy.”

“Is that right?” He jokes back, his smile marching up his cheeks, a whisker’s breath wider than before.

The tip of her tongue peaks out to wet her lips, wishing for the courage to let her voice break past in a hush meant only for him. Because she knows, same as she knows how good a man he really is, that Marcus Moreno is about to wreck all of her plans.

[littleferal]

Lissie! I love you so much for spreading this end of year love! You are truly one of the gems of this hellsite (affectionate)!

A few shout outs for some of my favorite fics over the year:

@honestly-shite Notes on Tutoring is a masterclass in tension and illicit affairs. I yearn constantly for their Dave York and it’s just plain rude the state they’ve put me in.

@asta-lily Prince of Dorne and Absence of Judgement are two of my favorites from this year. Lils is brilliant and has been responsible for me staring into the void for hours on end.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch Read You Like a Book! Better than a majority of the crime novels I’ve read! Ren is a true talent and I know one day I will own her books and place them proudly on my bookshelf.

@yespolkadotkitty Fighting Blind! Made me fall in love with that grumpy Spaniard! Seriously! I think about this story once a week! It’s so beautiful!

@mandocrasis Bonded! Birdie made me fall in love with Max Phillips and now I don’t know what to do with myself! Now all I do is think about that snarky vampire and I’m just flabbergasted!

@blueeyesatnight Amazing story Strongest Member of the Team (and her whole master list)! Blue is constantly giving out quality content that always has me laughing and smiling!

@wyn-n-tonic Frizzy verse! Seriously amazing storytelling for Frankie and her ofc Lizzy Miller! No one can take on emotionally honest source material like O.

@disgruntledspacedad Better Love series was my first Javier Peña fic and one of the first authors who encouraged me to post my writing! Jay’s talent is awe-inspiring and earth shattering.

And finally-

@jazzelsaur Between the Raindrops. A story I was woefully late to but now am completely obsessed with. Catch me outside with my banner and my bullhorn screaming about Jess’s brilliant writing and her amazing way to communicate emotions. Everything about this story is evocative and gut-wrenching and I will never stop shrieking about it.

wow! lots of love from Cat!! Thank you dear 🥰🥰🥰

@honestly-shite for Notes on Tutoring (Dave York x f!reader)

Mr York becomes your new classical guitar tutor in your final year at music college. A dark, mysterious man, you struggle to get a read on him but that doesn’t stop you from finding many ways to push his buttons. You manage to infuriate him with your stubbornness and forced complacency but there is definitely something else too. There’s a pull that you feel whenever he is near. You wonder if he feels it too.

@asta-lily for The Prince of Dorne (Modern!Casino owner Oberyn x reader)

Dorne was his kingdom, one he ruled over with reverence to those who played, and drank, and laughed; and mysterious accidents met those who dared disturb his peace - ruling his playground with the wisdom of a king yet the temper of a boy. Thus, they dubbed him - ‘The Prince’.

AND for Absence of Judgement (Marcus Moreno x f!reader)

You travel in search of inspiration; fate seems to hand it to you in the most backhanded of ways as you lock eyes with a mysterious stranger from across the bar.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch for Read You Like a Book (Marcus Pike x f!reader)

When Marcus Pike is called to Chicago for a short-term assignment, he never expects to meet someone who makes him want to stay forever. Is this Marcus’s chance at home?

@yespolkadotkitty for Fighting Blind (Pero Tovar x original female character)

Curator Jade is hurtled back in time by a mysterious axe.

@mandocrasis for Bonded (Max Phillips x original female character)

Prudence travels the country investigating paranormal claims and reports. When you get a call about a possible vampire you don’t hesitate to check it out. What you don’t anticipate are things going sideways and getting yourself bound to the vampire for the foreseeable future. If you’re lucky, you’ll make it out of this ordeal alive.

@blueeyesatnight for Strongest Member of the Team (Marcus Moreno x reader (eventual wife))

@wyn-n-tonic for The Fizzy Universe (Frankie Morales x original female character)

A snapshot series in to the lives and relationship of Francisco Morales and Elizabeth Miller, Benny’s and Will’s sister.

@disgruntledspacedad for the Better Love series (Javier Peña x original female character/named reader)

He’s a DEA Agent. You work for the CIA. You’re an unstoppable force. He’s an immovable object. A collision between you is inevitable. The fallout will be monumental. Slices of life from your adventures with Peña in Colombia.

@jazzelsaur for Between the Raindrops (Frankie Morales x original female character/named reader)

Frankie’s life is coming apart at the seams, when Ellie, a widow facing her own share of struggles, moves in next door. Together they find friendship, healing, and something more.

send some love to your favourite fic writers for new year ✨

[littlemisspascal]

By Your Side

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character

Word Count: 1,241

Summary: Maribel rushes to Marcus’ side after an ominous phone call from the Heroics’ medical ward.

Warnings: Written in 1st person, mix of mainly fluff and little angst, hospital setting, pregnancy, brief description of non-fatal injuries, hurt/comfort, no beta all mistakes are my own

Author Note: A request from the lovely @bat25wonder32super who asked me to write a one-shot for this prompt and was kind enough to let me write it as a time stamp/sequel for my other Marcus fic And I Knew Even Then. I hope you like this story honey 💖💖💖

The walls of the hospital’s waiting room are painted a soft and soothing teal blue, but the color does little to calm my fluttering heartbeat as I pace around the small space. My hands won’t stop trembling—haven’t since the ominous phone call an hour earlier that turned my whole world over on its axis.

“Is this Mrs. Maribel Moreno?”

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?”

“I’m Dr. Byrd at the medical ward for the Heroics Division. Ma’am, your husband was brought in unconscious after a fight and you’re listed as his emergency contact. How soon can you arrive?”

The frantic drive from home to the Heroics base had been a complete blur which in hindsight was dangerous and reckless, especially considering the snowflakes raining down from the wintery gray sky, but the only thought occupying my mind was Marcus Marcus Marcus.

I couldn’t remember the last words I’d said to him that morning. If they had been a sweet I love you pecked against his lips or a distracted Check out the laundry machine when you get home please, it’s making that funny noise again as I cleaned up the breakfast dishes. I then spent the ride on the shuttle into headquarters mentally berating myself for thinking such morbid thoughts. Marcus was going to be fine.

He had to be.

The nurse at the reception desk had done a double take when I arrived, looking from my unbrushed hair to my mismatched shoes and then back up to meet my gaze with sympathy, pointing me towards the waiting room. A needless gesture since this wasn’t the first time I’d found myself at the medical ward—being married to the leader of the Heroics isn’t all rainbows and sunshine, unfortunately. The polite smile I’d offered in thanks probably resembled more of a grimace, but I honestly couldn’t find the spare energy to care.

An hour has passed since then. An hour spent pacing and praying, listening to the rhythmic beeps of machinery and the occasional squeak of the nurses’ shoes upon the tile floor as they pop in and out of patient rooms. I’m alone in the waiting room without any witnesses as each minute without any news pushes me closer and closer to the edge of a complete emotional breakdown.

My breath shudders when I murmur a plea to any listening deity. “Please, I need him.” Then, with a hand pressed lightly against my stomach, I whisper, “We need him.”

“Mrs. Moreno?” A voice from behind calls out, pulling me from the storm of troubling thoughts raging inside my head. I turn, laying eyes on a gray-haired man in a doctor’s coat. Once I nod my head in confirmation, he continues, “I’m Dr. Byrd, I—”

I close the gap of distance between us in a rush. “How is he? Can I see him? What happened?”

His lips twitch with a barely restrained smile. “Marcus is doing fine,” he says reassuringly, and it takes all my self-control to continue standing there listening and not to sink to the floor with relief. “During the fight he was thrown against a wall and hit his head which is why he arrived unconscious. We’ll keep him overnight for observation, but fortunately he doesn’t seem to be experiencing pain beyond some bruised ribs. He’s in room 207 if you’d like to see him.”

I linger the few seconds necessary to thank him before shooting off down the hallway, as close to jogging as I can manage given the setting, and toss apologies over my shoulder to each staff member I nearly collide into in my haste to find the right room.

204...205...206…

Marcus’ head snaps towards the door when I burst into the room, wide-eyed and panting, looking like I’ve just been through hell and back. He’s propped up with pillows, shirtless with a pack of ice taped against the side of his ribs. Bruises mottle his torso, black and blue patches sharply contrasting his tanned skin, and a jagged cut peeks out from his hairline, recently stitched shut.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marcus says quietly, noticing the quivering of my lower lip. He holds out a hand. “Come here, Mari.”

Tears drip down my cheeks, the pathetic excuse of a wall holding back my emotions crumbling into dust. I all but throw myself at him, careful of his injuries but needing to hold him, to anchor myself in the reality he’s okay. He’s here with me to love and care for.

The irony doesn’t escape me as I bury my tearstained face into his neck, sniffling while his fingers comb through my hair, that I came to the hospital to comfort him and instead am the one being soothed by his soft voice murmuring reassurances in my ear.

“I’m fine, darling,” he says, pressing a kiss against my head. “You and the little missy didn’t need to come up here and worry about me.”

Pulling back, I wipe at my face, glaring at him through watery vision. “Of course we needed to be here, you stupid idiot.” My voice hitches as I swallow the sob rising in my throat. “You think just because you have powers you’re invincible, but you’re not. You’re human. I love you, Marcus, don’t you understand what that means? Whatever hurts you, hurts me. And if I lost you…” I shake my head, biting my lip so hard I swear I taste blood.

A frown pulls at Marcus’ lips, and he stares back like he doesn’t recognize me, eyes sweeping across my face. It isn’t often I snap at him, but exceptions have to be made sometimes.

Still, I can’t help shifting defensively when the chain around my neck jingles, his powers tugging at the engagement ring dangling at its end between my breasts.

“Marcus,” I warn, holding up a finger. “If you break my necklace, so help me—”

“Maribel,” he interrupts, and there’s urgency in his voice now, matching the expression on his face. He tugs insistently at the necklace again, beckoning me closer. “Let me kiss you, sweetheart. Please.”

I surrender to him as if my soul were made of silver, helplessly pulled into his orbit. His hands cup my face, drawing me in closer to press our lips against each other. He kisses fervently, so much love and affection felt in every trace of his tongue, and as much as I’d love to crawl on top of him, our roles have flipped again. I need to be the responsible one comforting him, and I respond to his urgency with soft, patient touches, eventually putting the make out session to a gentle end by drawing back a few inches and pressing my index finger against his lips before he can sneak another peck.

He chuckles, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Then he whispers, words meant for my ears and my ears alone, “You’re not ever going to lose me, Mari. Wherever you go, I’m going to be there right by your side.”

“But Marcus—”

“Today was my last field mission,” he finishes, grin widening as my jaw drops with silent surprise. He lays a gentle hand on my stomach, the bump barely noticeable beneath my sweater. “From now on, the only dangerous missions I’m looking forward to are changing diapers and midnight feedings.”

I blink back another wave of oncoming tears, cursing my unstable hormones. “You love fighting bad guys though.”

“Yeah, I do,” he agrees, pushing a strand of hair back behind my ear with a look of total adoration. “But I love being your husband more.”

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @a-skov @stevie75 @quica-quica-quica @iamskyereads @dincrypt

Permanent Taglist: @promiscuoussatan @vintagesaph @sylphene @over300books @softly-sad @chibi-yuki @theocatkov @oh-no-a-whovian @freeshavocadoooo @you-and-i-deserve-the-world @lin-djarin @happiestsparkleofall @randomness501 @gallowsjoker @absurdthirst @captain-jebi @leilei-draws @coaaster @stilllivindue2spite @pointy-sharp @melobee @artsymaddie @disgruntledspacedad @waywardmando @thisshipwillsail316 @mylifeofcalculatedchaos @grogusmum @asta-lily @sherala007 @mejswho @uncle-kenobi @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @tacticalsparkles @cannedsoupsucks @mandocrasis @you-got-me-starry-eyed @kiss-evans @littlebopper96 @writeforfandoms @pbeatriz​

[madslorian]

April Fanfic Recommendations

I'm back! I have unfortunately written 3 papers in the last 2 weeks and honestly even though I had time to read at night and come reblog stuff during the day, I could not compile this list for you in my spare time.

This is a collection of I believe 3 weeks, so I left out some stories that I will include in another post instead! This week we're trying something different where I include the author's tags or warnings. That makes me feel hella vulnerable fully exposing what I read, but it's okay! I want to be more open in what is intended for those 18+.

** means NSFW and not intended for those under 18, and please pay attention to warnings!

Authors mentioned this week:

@frannyzooey

@mylifeisactuallyamess

@starryeyedstories

@tintinwrites

@dameronology

@autumnleaves1991-blog

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

@absurdthirst

@bison-writes

@221bshrlocked

@heatherbel

@slater-baby

⊱{Frankie Morales}⊰

**RUNTIME BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, cockwarming, PIV, and filthy dirty talk.

**TITLE MENU BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, oral sex (female receiving), mutual masturbation, and another round of dirty talk making me blush.

**POST CREDITS SCENE BY FRANNYZOOEY

↳ Smut!!, PIV, and you guessed it, dirty talk.

⊱{Poe Dameron}⊰

**YAVIN HIGH REUNION BY MYLIFEISACTUALLYAMESS

↳ Smut!!, mentions of divorce, mention of a child, angst, fluff, alcohol, swearing.

IT'S TIME BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Childbirth, swearing, emotions, but overall just a happy little Dameron family.

SOFT (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Naughty words, sexual references, enjoy part 2...

THE LIGHT SIDE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Implications of sex, pregnant reader, fainting, naughty words, angry Poe, this one made my heart go soft.

**PROVOCATIVE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 BY TINTINWRITES

↳ Smut!!, College Professor!Poe x Student!Reader, kinky, spanking, and then freaking out when emotions are mentioned.

INSOMNIA (MINI-SERIES) BY DAMERONOLOGY

↳ 5 chapters, swearing, fluff, angst, mentions of injury.

POE DAMERON'S WIFE (MINI-SERIES) (AO3) BY ZIVABALLERINA

↳ 5 chapters, Poe Dameron x OFC, implied death, fluff, mentions of injury, swearing, fluff again, Poe being fricken adorable with a baby for a second on chapter 3, loss of friends. (There's also a part 2 to this story listed on AO3, however, it hasn't been updated in almost a year.)

⊱{Cassian Andor}⊰

**THE SUN ON BOTH SIDES BY NO-DROIDS

↳ Smut!!, PIV, sex pollen, dub-con, drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (male and female receiving).

⊱{King Arthur}⊰

**LITTLE ONE (MINI-SERIES?) PART 1 / PART 2 BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991-BLOG

↳ Smut!!, PIV, really rough sex, restraint, sir/majesty kink (daddy equivalent), language, torture, spanking, nipple clamps, blindfolds, choking, unprotected sex, squirting, gagging, and a bit of fluff, so basically any filthy thing I've ever thought of was in these pieces.

⊱{Max Phillips}⊰

**WITH CHERRIES ON TOP (SERIES) BY ITHINKHESGAYBUTWESAVEDMUFASA

↳ Smut!!, language, adult themes, sexual innuendos, workplace harassment, family issues, angst, hurt/comfort, manipulation. I've already recommended this (when I was on chapter 1) but I have since finished this story and loved it!

**UNHOLY SACRIFICE BY ABSURDTHIRST

↳ Smut!!, PIV, religion kink, virginity kink, religious guilt, severe blasphemy, lewd acts in a church, desecration of holy grounds, oral sex (female receiving), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, blood, blood-drinking, creampie, death, so much filthy shit I don't even think I could explain how hot it was.

yeah I had to use that gif, he looks like a wooly mammoth and I laughed when I saw this scene

⊱{Pero Tovar}⊰

SWEEP ME OFF MY FEET BY BISON-WRITES

↳ Modern!Pero, mentions a car accident, mentions of injury, fluff.

**EL BAŃO BY ABSURDTHIRST

↳ Smut!!, PIV, handjob, derogatory language, loss of virginity, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

**AS SWEET AS HONEY, AS TEMPTING AS DEATH BY 221BSHRLOCKED

↳ Smut!!, PIV, angst, blasphemy once again, dub-con, sex pollen, mutual pining, voyeurism to some degree, unprotected sex, hot dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, oral sex (female and male receiving), creampie, slight choking, fluid exchange, overstimulation, squirting, I come back to this one often.

⊱{Javier Peña}⊰

USED TEA BAGS BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991-BLOG

↳ 18+, language, implied sexual situations.

⊱{Dave York}⊰

BLANK PAGE BY HEATHERBEL

↳ Smut!!, murder, violence, blood, death, reader in danger, slight dub-con, oral sex (both male and female receiving), unprotected sex.

GRAY AREA BY SLATER-BABY

↳ Canon-divergence, sharing clothes, age gap, the realization of feelings, falling in love, getting asked out, fluff, character exploration, mentioned divorce, mentioned former Dave York x Carol York, non-explicit murder/violence/injury.

⊱{Marcus Moreno}⊰

WE ARE FAMILY BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Themes of pregnancy, babies, and childbirth (no birth scene).

THE PAST, PRESENT, & FUTURE (MINI-SERIES) PART 1 / PART 2 / **PART 3 BY BISON-WRITES

↳ **for smut!! (I'm doing all these tags on my own so bear with me) Original character, mention of injury, running away from home, friends/coworkers to lovers, mentions of Marcus losing his wife, slight steam in part 1, making out like teenagers hehe, meddling kids, kids forcing the adults into a date, drinking, and more making out in part 2, Miracle Guy interrupting stuff, kids using their powers to manipulate Marcus and OC, angry and yelling at the kids, injury.

Smut tags - oral sex (female receiving), PIV, protected sex

⊱{Marcus Pike}⊰

FAMILY MAN BY STARRYEYEDSTORIES

↳ Headcanon, parenthood, and children.

[yourstrulylightstar283]

I’m Sorry I Couldn’t Keep You Safe

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Mrs. Michelle Moreno (My OFC (Original female character), Marcus’ second wife, Missy’s stepmom and Anita’s second daughter-in-law)

This fic contains:

· Marcus Moreno whump (Both physical and emotional one)

· Violence

· Blood

· Injuries

· Threats

· Deaths

· Hospital

· Angst

· Sadness

· Grief

· Loss

· Guilt

· Sad ending with some hurt/comfort

Author’s Note 1: mishasminion360, thank you very much for your help, I really appreciate it. ^^

Author’s Note 2: This fic has Marcus Moreno’s point-of-view.

Author’s Note 3: This fic is also setting in an alternate universe where Marcus has no superpowers but is still a master swordsman, martial artist and hand-to-hand combatant.

Author’s Note 4: The song recommendation for this fic – Hurts Likes Hell by Fleurie

Taglist: @mishasminion360 @pascalpanic @fentimochi @moralesispunk @bison-writes @honestly-shite @javi-djarins @waywardimpalawriter @tobealostwanderer @radiowallet @metalarmsandmanbuns @novemberrain221 @mudhorn-djarin19 @honey-dewey @littlemisspascal @poenariuniverse @nobodys-baby-now

Disclaimer:

I don’t own Marcus, Missy, Anita (Marcus’ mom) and We Can Be Heroes.

The fic, the concept of the fic and Mrs. Michelle Moreno (My OFC) (c) bat25wonder32super (Me)

Hurts Like Hell © Fleurie

I’m having a difficult battle against my enemy (My enemy doesn’t have any superpowers but she is a deadly martial artist, hand-to-hand combatant and knife fighter). I fight the best I can but my enemy manages to overpower me and kick me viciously in left side of my ribs, bruising and breaking two ribs in left side of my ribs. I cough up red blood and try to push myself up shakily as I groan in pain but I don’t have enough strength to.

I have bruises and cuts all over my face and body with one of my cheeks being swollen with a cut on it and one of my eyes being bruised and swollen half closed with my lips split and bleeding. Luckily, my nose and teeth are not broken. She prepares to finish me off with her knife, but my beloved, precious second wife and the second love of my life Michelle (Who witnessed my fight with worry, shock and horror) comes to save me and manages to beat her with a few punches and kicks. Michelle rushes to my side out of concern for me. Unfazed by her injuries, my enemy is ready to kill me with her knife again but Michelle bravely stands in front of her.

My enemy sadistically threatens Michelle. “Stay out of my way, if you don’t want to die painfully.” “I won’t let you hurt my precious, beloved husband anymore!” Michelle courageously stands up to her. Then Michelle turns to me and says with a sad smile, “Marcus, I love you so much. You, Missy and your mom were the best presents I had. Take care of Missy and your mom for me.” Then Michelle closes her eyes and my enemy stabs Michelle in the heart with her knife, killing her instantly, much to my shock, horror and grief.

“Michelle, no!” I scream Michelle’s name in grief. With the little strength I can muster, I get up and stab my enemy in the heart with one of my dual katanas, killing her. Then I collapse and crawl to Michelle and hold her hand. “M-Michelle, please don’t leave me… I love you… Please wake up, please come back…” I say tearfully to her with tears falling down my cheeks but she’s already dead. “A-After we married each other, we spent a wonderful time. You were kind, sweet, loving, cheerful and caring. You were also protective of me and you were always worried and afraid of losing me. Whenever I get hurt, you always took care of me and you were the best nurse to me. We made pizza with Missy and had it for dinner together. After that, we had our homemade brownies with ice cream on the top. We shared our love for flowers and you loved both healthy and unhealthy foods and were a sweet tooth who also loved cooking and baking. You liked your coffee sweet consisting a regular coffee with extra cream and extra sugar. My first wife and Missy’s first mom holds a special place in my heart and she always does. But she would’ve wanted me, Missy and my mom to move on. You came into our lives and made it the best one. But now you’re gone. You’re not coming back. Now I can’t see your kind and pretty eyes again, I can’t see your warm and beautiful smile again, I can’t hear your loving and sweet voice again and I-I even can’t fall asleep next to you ever again, it hurts so much and it’s all my fault, I’m sorry… I-I’m going to miss you so much… I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe… I’m sorry I couldn’t you keep you safe just like I couldn’t keep my first wife safe… I-I love you… I’m so sorry…” I continue to say tearfully as I cry softly. After saying these, I sob softly until I fall unconscious as help finally arrive and I’m rushed to the regular hospital where Michelle worked that is closed to the Heroics HQ while the coroners mournfully cover Michelle’s dead body with a white sheet and take her to the same hospital.

It’s been four days since I’m hospitalized. Even though the wounds are still here and there on my face and body, they’re mended and healing and even my bruised and broken two ribs are healing. I’m wearing nasal cannula under my nose to make myself to breathe easier, an IV on one of my forearms and the wires on my body.

I’m still grieving Michelle and I’m still feeling guilty for her death. My daughter Missy, despite her eyes being filled with tears, gently hug me with my mom hugging me gently too with both of them being careful not to hug him too tightly, knowing that I would still be hurt.

“Dad, I miss my moms both too and I’ll always miss them. But it’s not your fault and both of my moms wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Missy reassures me with a kind voice.

“Missy’s right, dear. I miss them and I’ll always miss them too. But you shouldn’t blame yourself because it’s not your fault. It’s okay to miss them, it’s okay to cry. It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.” My mom gently comforts me.

“But it hurts, it hurts so much.” I tearfully confess with full of the emotional pain in my voice.

“We know, Marcus, dear. It’s okay to let it out.” My mom warmly says with patting my head gently.

I finally allow myself to shed silent tears as they fall down my cheeks and I let my feelings come out as I hug them back softly.

“You still have both of us, dad. You don’t have to face anything alone. We love you.” Missy whispers to me quietly but warmly.

All I can do is to say a quiet but tearful whisper, “Thank you, Missy, mom, I love you both too.”

I miss you, Michelle. I’m gonna take care of Missy and my mom for you, I promise. I love you.

The End.

[sirowsky-stories]

Recovery

Sirowsky's 600 & 700 Followers Celebration

Submitted by @yourstrulylightstar283 No prompts for this one, it's based on This Ask. Character: Marcus Moreno

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character Sarah, plus daughters Missy and Bianca. AU. Allusions to severe injuries. Flashbacks. Comfort and fluff. Word Count: 680 Masterlist of the Celebration Sirowsky's Main Masterlist

   It’s been over a month when he’s finally discharged from the hospital, and it feels so good to be back home.    Of course, his last mission with the Heroics had to have gone bad, sending him into retirement with a bang. He’s not sure why he ever expected that it would just go smoothly, because that’s almost never been the case in the past.

   Thankfully though, he is alive and well on his way back to normal, surrounded by family and friends, all of whom have been there for him every step of the way.    He still has a long way to go with months of physical therapy to get through before he’ll be considered fully recovered, but there’s no rush. He’s got everything he needs right here at home, because that’s where his girls are.

   They’re in the kitchen today, preparing a small feast to celebrate his survival and homecoming, and he happily sits in a reclining armchair in the living room, watching the three of them bustle about, helping each other with the various dishes while joking around and having fun.    God, he loves the sounds of their happiness.

   Once all the dishes are finished, they help him get to the table since he still gets winded if he exerts himself too much. The long-term effects of a busted lung.    Then Missy calls for everyone’s attention.

   “So, I know that it’s Halloween this weekend, but I thought that maybe we could look at this like a mini Thanksgiving dinner. Because I feel like we all have so much to be thankful for right now and I, for one, don’t feel like focusing on anything scary for a good long while.”

   “I think that’s a great idea, sweetheart,” Sarah agrees, and Missy smiles at her adoptive mother before turning to her adoptive sister.

   “Is that alright with you, Bianca?”

   “Of course,” her little sister agrees. “You know I don’t like spooky stuff anyway.”

   Marcus hears them agree and start to chatter happily about all the things they’re grateful for right now, but his mind is drifting.    A light sting of pain from his damaged side has brought him back to that night. To the fight and the loss. The terrible pain that he suffered as his body was broken long before he lost consciousness.    How he’d tried to keep fighting to protect his teammates.

   He remembers every punch and every cut, followed by the unyielding pavement that had broken his fall, after he’d been hurled ten feet into the air, finally leaving him unable to rise back up anymore.    And he remembers waking up but being unable to ask about his team. Not knowing if he’d failed to protect them had scared him more than his own condition had.

   “Dad?” Missy’s voice reaches him, breaking through the haze of pain and fear, and he refocuses to find all three of them staring at him with concerned expressions now.

   Clearly, they’ve been trying to get his attention more than once.

   “I’m okay,” he assures them. “I just… needed to remember.”

   They know what he means by that. How he sometimes can’t stop the images, but has to let them live and be real, because if he tries to bury or ignore them, they come back in the form of crippling nightmares or unbearable headaches.

   “Did it pass?” Bianca asks quietly, and he smiles softly at her.

   “It always does when I’m around my girls.”

   That makes them all smile, relieving all tension from the room as they dig into the delicious food that they’ve spent all afternoon making.    And Marcus thinks to himself that it doesn’t matter what he’s been through, because the network of support that surrounds him will forever protect him from any real harm. Their love shields his heart and keeps the deepest and most precious parts of his mind safe.

   Through the care that they give to his soul, he has in some ways already fully recovered. And that’s what he’s gonna tell them that he’s thankful for, every Thanksgiving for as long as he lives.

THE END

I'm sorry for the delay @yourstrulylightstar283 but all the little stories I've been writing for this celebration really helped to inspire me to write this, so I hope you like it.

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed

[sirowsky]

--Judgement--

Description: Marcus finds a friend in dire need and struggles with himself over what he feels and how to say it, while he tries to help her recover. Marcus Moreno x Original Female Character named Lucy.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Mentions of violent attack, severe injuries, blood, angst, longing, Marcus POV, Lucy has issues with her scars. Word Count: 2212 Author's Masterlist

Link to Part 2

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   He doesn’t stop as he reaches her door, he runs straight through it, because even though the call he’d received just minutes earlier had been quiet on her end, he just knows that something terrible has happened.    The door breaks into large chunks, some of whom are thrown inside the hallway, which is dark and empty.

   “Lucy?!” he calls out as soon as the noise dies down, but she doesn’t answer.

   He knows her house almost as well as his own and quickly searches through the bottom floor, finding nothing.    Unbiddenly, he sees all the little things along the way. The details that remind him of how kind she’s always been to him. How she babysat Missy almost every day when he was dealing with the loss of his wife, and always had a firm hug and a compassionate ear ready for him if he needed them.

   He sees his daughter’s drawings, framed and hanging on the wall following the stairs up to the second floor. Bright and colorful, they remind him of how happy she’s always made his little girl, even when she was struggling.    And as he reaches the top, there’s a small flower bench where a photo of the three of them, laughing at a silly game together, stands among the white and yellow summer blossoms, and his stomach pinches at the memory.

   He repeats her name several times while he hurries from room to room, checking her home office first, just because that’s the first door he reaches, followed by the guest bedroom before he comes to her bedroom.    The door is closed, and he rips it open, hoping with his entire being that she’ll just be in bed, fast asleep, and that everything will just be a big misunderstanding.

   But of course… it isn’t.

   For a moment, he’s frozen on the threshold, brought to a halt because his mind can’t absorb the sight at first.    The pool of blood underneath her, the way her body looks wrong because of how it’s been broken. The damage to her hands, which speaks volumes of how desperately she’s fought.    The cellphone laying by her left hand, smeared with blood from how she probably had to try several times to make a call, only reaching him eventually because of the preprogrammed sequence that all Heroics employees have in their mobile devices.

   There’s a thick red trail leading from the foot of the bed where she was left to die, to the nightstand on the left of it, where her phone would’ve been sitting in its charger, so she’d had to find the strength to crawl there.    His thoughts turn desperate and hateful as he considers how much pain she must’ve had to endure, over however long it would’ve taken her to cross even just those few feet of distance. How she would’ve cried and pleaded for someone to help her. Anyone.

   Finally, his body unlocks, and he hurries to her, but his hands betray the depths of his fear with how gingerly he touches her, terrified both of causing her more pain, but even more scared of finding her cold.    She’s not as warm as she should be, so he checks her pulse, involuntarily holding his breath while he waits to feel it. But it’s there.    And suddenly, he can’t move fast enough.

-=¤=-

   Missy stays with him at the medical center of Heroics HQ at first. She loves her every bit as much as he does, but her recovery is going to take time, so eventually, she’s forced to return to school.    And it isn’t until she’s no longer there that he allows himself to fall apart. To let all the hurt that he’s been harboring, come out into the darkness of the night.

   It makes him scream and cry at first, and then it just sits there, in the deepest parts of him, aching so painfully that he wishes he could rip his own heart out.    Because he’s been here before.    He’d sat right here, at this ward, slowly watching his wife die while he was helpless to do anything for her, just like he’s unable to help this wonderful woman now.

   Like the true fool that he is, he hasn’t told Lucy anything of what she means to him. Not even how much he appreciates her, let alone that he loves her. Even though he’s secretly known it for years by now.    He’s told himself that it was for his daughter’s sake. That he couldn’t bring another mother figure into her life until she was ready, but that’s a bullshit excuse, because she’s been ready for a long time.

   It’s Marcus himself that isn’t. That doesn’t allow himself to go there, because it hurt too much the last time and he can’t risk that again.    But here he is. Suffering with the same exact pain that he always feared.

   He leaves the room whenever his sorrow overtakes him, so that she won’t hear how he hurts, just in case she can still hear. The doctors can’t tell him whether she can.    They tell him that she’s fighting, that the blood transfusions are helping, that her heart is strong. But they can’t say how her brain is doing.    They don’t know if she is actually there anymore.

   They’ve had to operate on her spine, because it was broken. Most likely by a boot. A thought that angers him beyond all reason every time that it pops into his head.    Her ribs and arms were broken too, but for whatever reason, that doesn’t incur his wrath in the same way as the spine.    Perhaps because it indicates that she was kicked when she was already down.

   The only thing that he can derive some manner of comfort from, is the knowledge that she wasn’t violated sexually. Because other injuries she can overcome with time, training and help, whereas that kind of violation would likely never have healed in her mind.    It gives him hope, however fragile, that he might have a chance to correct his mistake. To tell her how he feels and perhaps get to have her closer.

   But for now, he just hopes that she’ll live. If he can have that, it’ll be enough.

-=¤=-

   It had been so easy to imagine it while he’d been sitting by her bedside. He’d come up with a dozen different scenarios and ways to go about telling her, if she would just wake up.    But then, when she eventually did, the fear returned, and he suddenly couldn’t say it.

   I love you.

   Three little words, as simple as they are infinitely complicated. As small as they are enormously powerful.    He wants her to know that he feels that way about her, but he feels greedy every time that he tries to tell her.    It’s been a year now. She’s fully recovered, so there are no excuses for him anymore.

   He passes her all the time in the halls of HQ, smiles and greets her like the friend that she is, never letting her see how dearly he wishes for more.    She looks sad, though, whenever she thinks that no one can see her. It breaks his heart every time that he catches a glimpse of that sadness, and he is overcome with the urge to purge such terrible feelings from her soul.

   And still, he doesn’t dare to try. He doesn’t know if it’s because of fear of rejection, or something more complicated, but it damn near cripples him every time that he sees her and tells himself that this is the moment when he’ll say it.    His legs turn wobbly and he very nearly panics, every damned time. Coming up with some crappy excuse that lets him run and hide, instead of just doing what he should do.

   Then one day, he has to go see her about a file that she’s put together for an upcoming mission, and when he gets to her office, the door is open, so he stops on the threshold and prepares to knock on the frame.    But his hand stills when he sees her standing in front of a mirror. She has her shirt lifted to reveal the scars along her side where they had to cut her open to fix her broken ribs.

   The scars are uncomfortable to see, because of the terrible fear that he associates with them, and the images of her broken body on the floor unbiddenly fill the insides of his eyes, but he isn’t in any way repulsed by the imperfections.    Lucy, however, is looking at them with what appears to be bitter resentment, and he can’t stand to see that.

   “Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” he says as he steps into the room, completely forgetting to knock, which startles her.

   “Fuck, Marcus… Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she growls, and he instantly feels terrible.

   Because the people that hurt her had done just that. Sneaking in and jumping her, three to one, before she could even attempt to defend herself.

   “I’m sorry. I meant to knock but I forgot about it when I saw you looking at yourself like that.”

   “Like what?” she questions, and he can hear how she closes all the walls down around her, feebly trying to protect herself against any criticism, even though that isn’t what he’s doing.

   “Like you think that your scars have made you ugly,” he clarifies, and sees her recoil, as if he’d just slapped her.

   She won’t meet his eyes then, pretending to suddenly need to sort through the papers on her desk, despite them already being in perfect order.    She does it because she disagrees with him. Because she’s somehow come to believe that what’s been done to her is a stain, not just on her skin but on her soul as well, and he needs to make her see that she’s wrong.    But to do that, he needs to know where those thoughts are coming from.

   “Why would you ever think that?” he asks softly, and she stops uselessly shuffling papers around, but she still won’t look at him.

   “Because that’s what people tell me now,” she says, barely over a whisper, and he’s stunned into silence for a few seconds.

   “Who the hell told you that?” he finally demands, but not harshly.

   She’s had enough harshness in her life already, he refuses to add to it.

   “Guys…” she starts, and then hesitates before continuing. “I’ve been trying to get back to dating, but both the guys I’ve thus far gone out with… they basically said that I look like Frankenstein.”

   Marcus has to restrain himself from stepping forwards and ordering her to give him their names so that he can go and beat the shit out of those guys.    Who the fuck would say something like that to a survivor of violent trauma? Even if she hadn’t shared the causes behind the scars, there is no reason for anyone to make fun of her for them, and certainly not also tell her that they make her ugly.

   “They couldn’t be more wrong, Luce… You have to know that,” he tries, but his voice is trembling with the heat of his anger, and she can hear it, which is probably why she still won’t meet his eyes.

   Knowing that this moment is potentially the most important that he might ever share with her, he forces the fury to die down and then steps around her desk.    He does it slowly, so that she’ll have time to see him coming and back away if his presence is unwanted.    But to his intense relief, she doesn’t seem bothered by his closeness.

   “Maybe I’m biased, because I knew you before all this and have always liked you, but to me… you only look more beautiful every day,” he says, and there’s a warmth in his voice that he hasn’t heard himself use for anyone other than Missy in a very long time.

   She turns her head then, and finally looks at him, and he wants to cry at the sorrow that he sees within her, even after hearing something like that.

   “I love you.”

   The words spill seemingly of their own. No panic accompanies them, and no wobble bothers his legs.    Because he finally understands now. That his fears were never about whether she would accept his affection, but simply about allowing it to be known. Allowing the truth of his being to exist in full view of the world, where it can be judged and trampled on.    Where other people can decide that it’s ugly, just like they have her.

   She doesn’t seem to believe him, so he steps closer still, and puts his palm against her cheek, his entire body being only inches from hers now.

   “I love you,” he says, more confidently this time, so that she’ll know that it wasn’t a mere slip of the tongue. “And if you let me, I’ll show you how beautiful you are to me.    I promise, you will never doubt it, ever again.”

   He waits, watching her face anxiously, because her expression doesn’t change at all.

   He waits as the seconds tick by, for her judgement.

   Because hers is the only one that matters.

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Link to Part 2

Thank you for reading and helping me celebrate! I wish you a wonderful day <3

Tagging a few people who I think might wanna read these stories: @startrekkingaroundasgard @deadhumourist @tintinn16 @suttonspuds @tanzthompson @shsoba05 @f0rever15elf @justnat15 @lowlights @dornish-queen @radiowallet @spishsstuff @harriedandharassed @i-love-movies @tiffanypooh @chaoticfestninja @insomniamamma @pedrostories

[sirowsky]

I paused reading this at ch 19 because I was too distracted by real life problems to be able to immerse myself in it.

But then I saw that you were planning on taking it down, and preceeded to cram the final third of the story, over a weekend, in between work and sleep.

And I just need to say this:

I have never read anything with such perfectly "normal" people as lead characters... Their thoughts, reactions, flaws, actions, traumas, all feel so real that I could swear these were actual people you just copied into the story.

The fight between them was so realistic that I wanted to close tumblr to not have to go through it with them... I can't really describe how it affected me, but it really did.

You are a tremendously talented writer and I applaud you and thank you for sharing what seems to be a story very close to your heart ❤️

Poorly Wired Circuit Epilogue or Long Story Short

Parings: Marcus Moreno x OFC (Techie/Sarah Bailey) WC: 745 Warnings: Time Jump, Fluff, FLUFF, more fluff. A/N: I am definitely crying.

Chapter 29 < Acknowledgements and notes at the end.

Keep reading

[radiowallet]

4 Days West

Summary: Sheriff Marcus Moreno, lost since the passing of his wife, hears word of a town in need.

Pairing: None in this installment. Eventual Marcus Moreno x OFC (named, no physical descriptors)

Warnings: 18+ Death, gun violence, mentions of a death during labor and stillborn baby, drinking, cursing.

WC: 2K

Author's notes at the end.

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Main Masterlist II Series Masterlist

The town of Sol is small. Too small a town for a name so big. The sun looms large above it, blazing down onto the desert strip, a stray patch of cloud not even enough to protect it from the burn. There were days that very sun took up every inch of sky, unforgiving heat carving out its stake in the land and leaving the ground parched in unrelenting thirst. 

It was a trading outpost, one single street off the main trail, meant for those passing through to rest their feet and fill their bellies. A sign broken and forgotten amongst mounds of dirty rocks and the palest patch of grass, left to guide any foolish visitors in its direction. There was a school that doubled as the church on Sundays, the single room filled with chairs that could easily be mistaken as pews. A saloon, the only one for miles, broken windows and crooked floorboards adding to its messy charm. A row of dusty homes, half-filled with folks either too stubborn or too poor to move on, shutters pulled closed, doors locked as tight as they could manage. 

The little town should be thriving, its borders growing wider with each merchant that passed through, but circumstance was cruel and life was unforgiving, and Sol was left to pay these taxes just like so many towns that had come before it.

Blood coated the streets, dried rust staining the tumble weeds that floated through, the ghosts of what was and still is. Desolate. Overrun and overturned time and time again – bandits and thieves ravaging the streets, taking what wasn’t theirs and leaving nothing but anger and caution behind. 

Sheriff Marcus Moreno was no stranger to the pain of living.

He had heard tales of the bloodshed three full moons after the passing of his wife. She had been taken from him much too soon, the ugly realities of bringing a second child into the world bleeding her dry in his arms, the babe gone before he could even take his first breath. It left Marcus with a heavy heart and a daughter to raise, his bed empty and eyes tired. He and Missy had hit the trails shortly after, his badge handed off to his deputy, leaving only his gun on his hip and his kid at his side. 

It was hard at first. Years in a well-kept home with a good woman to help raise his daughter and warm his bed had made the lawman softer than he cared to admit. He had grown used to fires stoked on cold nights, hot meals on the kitchen table, and her quiet strength to help guide his conscience. Marcus had learned long ago that even a good man needed help finding his way from time to time.

Long days in the saddle and nights beneath a cold sky were buried in his past, his body crumbling beneath the rock bed of a life lost and a broken heart. Odd jobs were traded for money, food, and sometimes board, when the hand offering seemed a trustworthy kind. Missy had shouldered it all with him, her hat snug on her head and her skirt pinned to her waist. Never once did she complain, and Marcus loved her all the more for it.

He could feel the realities of this life creeping closer with each turn of the sun and he couldn’t help but wonder how long they could keep pace with time so scattered? Was this the life he wanted for his daughter, her gaze already caught between shades of dark and light. There had been close calls, glimpses of the ugly truth catching them both unaware, his fast hands never quite fast enough to cover her eyes. 

It was an old acquaintance, a bounty hunter with steady hands and mournful eyes, that brought him word of the town beneath the sun, murmured over the rim of his pint, something like longing coloring his words.

Marcus listened to the man, the rasp of his voice from months on the trail, his own son, much younger than Missy, sitting at the bar beside his dad, kicking his boots and reading from a primer. It was a strange sort of painted glass, looking at the two of them, a version of his family twisted by circumstance and making the best of a cruel world. Marcus had wanted to ask what the man’s plan was– for himself, for his son– but it felt too much of prying. 

So instead he asked, “How far west?”

“Four days' ride. Ask for Lou.”

The road into town was empty, but Marcus could feel eyes on them, pearly white shadows peeking out from behind creaking shutters and swinging doors. Each hoof beat felt heavier than the next, until finally his horse stalled, the dig of his boot not even enough to encourage the animal forward. One hand glued to the handle of his six shooter, the other flung out to stop Missy in her tracks. A glance to his left, and another to his right, brown eyes landing on a saloon, the sunlight catching along the open door, the golden glint offsetting the shadows creeping along the weathered steps. 

“Pa?”

Missy’s voice is gentle, softness bleeding out of her hesitancy, and without even looking Marcus can see the way her eyes shift across the same path as his own. 

“Let’s head in.” 

He makes it one step in before the muzzle of a shotgun meets him right between the eyes. It’s instinct that keeps him standing, the cool metal of his own gun in his hand before the door squeaks shut, the barrel pressed into his assailant’s ribs, a breathy grunt pulled from their lips. 

“Fast hands. Not so sure I like that in a man.”

Marcus takes in the person standing in front of him, a different sight than any other hidden behind the threat of death he’s happened upon before. Bright eyes and dark lashes, a curve of a painted lip and the smooth slope of a shoulder, a silk bodice tied tight and a skirt pulled back, just enough to tease his eye line away from her steady aim and strong stance. 

She takes advantage of her devilish distraction, stepping into him, biting back another grunt of pain when his pistol digs that much deeper, slipping gently along the silk boning holding her ribs in and her chest up. The barrel of her shotgun is warm, a breath of heat catching his forehead, trapped beneath the brim of his hat. Behind him a floorboard creaks and for the first time panic swells, the sound of Missy’s own gun cocking in her small hands reaching his ears. 

Time stops short, only their breathing, matched in angry, humid puffs, tracks the passing of the seconds until finally the woman in front of him steps back, eyes dropping briefly to his daughter then back to Marcus, her cheek still resting on the grip of the shotgun, delicate fingers wrapped sweet and snug around the trigger. 

"Well I guess an outlaw with a kid wouldn't be the strangest thing I've ever seen, but I reckon that's not the case here."

“A fair assessment,” Marcus agrees, voice steady, aim true. 

She takes another step back with a jerk of her chin towards the bar. 

“Saddle up.”

She doesn’t wait to see if he plans on accepting her invitation, instead making herself busy behind the counter. 

“I was told to ask for Lou.”

His mention of the man falls flat on the ground beneath his boots, drowned out by the click of the barmaid’s heels. His reluctant hostess sets her gun down on the bar, a final tap to its chamber before she leaves it behind. She turns gracelessly and starts digging through crates, caring little at how the dust flying through the air sticks to her skirt and the peak of leg hidden just beneath, not a stitch of stocking to protect the bare skin. Marcus does his best to not care much for it either. 

“—know I ordered some…been so long…a kid’s been around…ah ha!” 

There’s a pop and a hiss just before a bottle is slid across the bar, not in his direction, but Missy’s.

“They call it pop. I ordered it back when the town was a bit more lively. Something for the young bucks to drink while their parents talked and tied an extra one or two one. Thought it would be good for business. Now these crates just make a nice spot to rest my legs.”  

Missy accepts the bottle with a hesitant glance of her fingers, but doesn’t raise it to her lips, instead looking in Marcus’s direction. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes tracing the glass bottle, lukewarm and pale in color, before slipping back to the woman across from him. Her gaze is soft, a smile cheating at her lips as she watches his daughter. 

It almost feels of fondness. 

Finally he nods at Missy, and she wastes zero time in taking her first sip, a smile chasing a bubble of laughter. 

The woman doesn’t turn back towards him after, instead busying herself again, this time with an unmarked bottle, amber liquid sloshing as she tips it into an empty glass. Careful eyes gauge her deliberate movements, stray beams of sunlight filtering through the dirty windows and catching along the cream color of her bodice, yellowed from age and what must be years spent behind this very bar. She doesn’t speak, but the air is heavy with all that she won’t say aloud, her lips tight around the rim of the glass as she kicks back the whiskey in one swift swallow. 

She pours one more, eyes shifting to Marcus and back, those same steady fingertips pulling out a second glass, this one filled to the brim and slid towards him. 

“You look like a good man.”

The words are dry, desert sand coating her tongue as she looks at him just the same as she had over the barrel of her shotgun, and Marcus feels at her mercy the worse for it all. 

“I–” “Hey!”

He grins, Missy’s stubborn shout ringing up into the rafters, disturbing the cobwebs clinging to the darkened corners.

“We came to help this town, my daughter and me.”

Silence sits thick between them again, the tick of an eyebrow and the tight grip around the neck of a bottle the only sign she heard him. A peek of pink slips between her teeth, licking away any stray taste of the spirit, her lips slipping down in time with her next statement.

“This town is haunted by good men, each one claiming louder than the next of their intentions to save us. What makes you any different than those who came before?”

Marcus tips his head, the brim of his hat hiding the sharp cut of her eyes framed by the soft pin of her curls, her shotgun still resting on the weathered bar top separating them. The pad of his thumb is heavy and gracious on the rim of his glass, the whiskey poured earlier still untouched. His tongue flicks up over the clean cut of his mustache, the wiry hairs catching the salty tang of his sweat.

“The difference, ma’am,” he starts, letting his voice dip slow, a burn of molasses dripping off each one, “is that I don’t believe in ghost stories. Now why don’t we start again. I’m looking for Lou.”

This time she does smile, a flash of teeth and tongue like a cat with a canary in its sights. Her elbows fold in as she leans towards him, the tight lace of her bodice somehow holding her curves in, only the smallest swell of her breast left to steal his attention away. She’s close, just enough for him to taste the whiskey she huffs out with the cut of her laugh, and Marcus suddenly wishes he had taken a sip of his own before now. 

“Well cowboy, you found her.” 

Dedications

I want to give the biggest, most heartfelt thank you to @frannyzooey for graciously reading snippets of this when it was just a silly little daydream and for immediately encouraging me to write this story. She also allowed me to reference her own cowboy and I am eternally grateful I am able to pay homage to TMTC in this small way. Thank you, Kelli for being wonderfully kind and supportive and a light in this fandom. It means more than I am able to say.

A huge thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch who is a true friend and encouraged me immediately to jump on the cowboy train. Thank you for double checking the vibes of this silly story and thank you for your support.

Big shout out to @astroboots and @write-and-buried for listening patiently as I screeched incoherent gibberish at them about cowboys and sheriffs and yeehaw honky tonk.

And to my dearest @jazzelsaur for beta reading, for encouraging me always, and for supporting my writing no matter how big or small. Your continued support and friendship continues to be one of the best things that has come out of this hellsite, and I count every day that I know you as better and better. Thank you! For all of it. Whore.

[radiowallet]

A Good Man: A Marcus Moreno Sheriff x OFC AU

Summary: After the passing of his wife, with a heavy heart and a daughter to raise, Marcus Moreno gives up his badge and his post as Sheriff, and hits the trails, Missy at his side. But what happens when word of a town in need finds him? And what happens when he steps foot in the old saloon at the center of that town? Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Named OFC (no physical descriptors) Warnings: 18+ All explicit installments will be denoted with *

4 Days West

5 Steps Forward

2 Stolen Moments - TBD

3 Months Time - TBD

1 Early Ride* - TBD

[phandoz]

Punching Granada be like

Cop that. Satisfaction Level 1000 👌

The relationship you have built between Sarah and Missy is just so, so beautiful and I can't wait to see more of it. Sarah's conversation regarding fathers with Wildcard feels like her coming to terms with her own relationship with her father too which was nice to read.

And finally, Mechie are back together without any imminent danger. Please God, let them have an actual adult conversation about their feelings. But "If it feels like a final moment, then it seems fitting that this is how it ends."

A final moment... A FINAL MOMENT?!

Poorly Wired Circuit Chapter 27 or Final Girl

Parings: Marcus Moreno x OFC (Techie/Sarah Bailey)

WC: 5.8K

Rating: 18+ TW: angst, cursing, more angst, violence, blood, grief, even more angst. The movie may have been for children. This fic is definitely not.

A/N: Posting schedule? I expected myself to keep to a schedule? I mean, well knew I was full of shit right? Okay! Here is the conclusion of the movie portion of this fic. Again. I have taken liberties with what I chose to include. More notes at the end of the chapter.

II Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II

Chapter 26 > Chapter 28

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

You can’t seem to catch your breath, but you don't stop running. Running.

Run.

Faster. Fast.

Enough to outrun…

You can’t stop. They’re following you, they’ll catch you, they’ll…

You can’t breathe. Everything burns, hurts. It hurts, your body screaming at you to make a decision, to think, to stop, to run, runrun stop-

You’re lost.

You stop. Turn in a slow circle. You keep going, your pace slower. Slow enough for you to try and find your breath.

To think.

You loathe to admit it, but reality is slowly sinking in, and as you turn down another empty hallway, everything bathed in the same silver and purple glow, you slowly start to accept that getting back to Marcus might be easier said than done. You don’t stop moving, despite the fact that you are desperate to just slide down to the floor and rest your aching legs and cradle your arm against your chest. The sling Marcus had tied around your shoulder is in tatters, your shoulder almost numb from the pain.

It feels eerie, the long hallway stretching out in front of you. It feels like you’re the final girl in the final act of a horror movie, the secrets all broken free, everything too loud and too quiet as you slowly move closer towards the end. It feels like the wrong time for laughter to be bubbling up at the back of your throat, but it comes anyway, and you suppose it’s probably better than a scream. (You refuse to scream). The whole thing is ridiculous and unbelievable, and any other person with an ounce of self-preservation would be looking for the exit, trying to find a way out of this while most of you is still intact.

You seem to lack that awareness.

You keep your ears trained for the shout of the kids or the yell of a guard, any sound that might give you cause to run in either direction. It had felt like such a victory to get away from Granada but now, as you wander aimlessly, fear takes root inside you and slowly starts to grow. What if you never find your way back to anyone? What if you are stuck inside this ship when it does leave Earth’s atmosphere? What if you never make it back to Marcus and Missy? You feel your legs start to slow as those anxieties scream but something else is a little bit louder, catching your ear and pulling you back to a hallway you had just passed.

“There’s no time for that! We need to-

“No! I’m through listening to you!”

“But if you just-”

“Missy!”

All of the kids are grouped together in the hallway, bickering in a way that is oddly reminiscent of their parents, but at the sound of your voice they all stop, swinging their heads in your direction. Before you have a chance to move Missy is flinging herself into your arms and knocking the air from your lungs in the best way possible. You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around her tighter than your shoulder cares for, your face buried in a sea of brown hair. You feel her take a deep breath where her face is pressed into your neck, the small shudder that runs down her spine as she releases it breaking your heart. You mimic her, allowing your own breathing to even out, giving her and yourself a few seconds to find a balance.

When you do pull away, you feel a little lighter, so you count it as a victory, turning to the other kids and squaring your shoulders.

“Catch me up.”

A blonde boy in a wheelchair pushes through to the front of the group, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“We figured out that there are rockets trained for Earth that will automatically fire if we don’t stop them. We need to dismantle the shields and stop the launch by getting to the center of the ship and resetting the codes. And we have something like 20 minutes to do it.”

For a second you don’t know what to say, because you’re pretty sure this is Wheels, which makes him Miracle-Guy’s son, and if you were being extremely honest, this is not the image that presented itself in your head when Marcus talked about him. You cough and chew your lip before finally deciding time is of the essence and just decide to roll with it.

“You figured that out all on your own?”

“Um, yeah. And I’m sure I can stop the rocket launch too. All this tech seems super intuitive. We just need to figure out where the control room is and dismantle the shields.” The young boy nods proudly, a smile just a little too cock-sure for 11, reminiscent of the one his dad flashes at every chance he gets.

“Okay, you really are Miracle-Guy’s kid.”

You turn back to Missy who is watching you carefully. “Do we know where these rockets are?”

“We think sooo- wait, you’re not going to talk us out of this?”

“Kid, I don’t know how to break it to you, but that’s the best plan I’ve heard all day, and that includes when I was locked in a cell with your parents.”

All of them immediately erupt into panic.

“Are they oka-”

“Were they hurt?”

“Was my dad with th-?”

“I miss my mommy!”

“How about Mrs. Moreno?”

You take a deep breath and count backwards from 10 while they all continue to shout before you finally hold up a hand, signaling for them to be quiet. Thankfully, they listen.

“Your parents are fine. Locked in a cell, fighting like cats and dogs, but they’re all okay.”

“Where are they?” Another boy steps forward, the one who had been arguing with Missy earlier. You try to place him on appearance alone but you come up empty. You’re going to need a chart or something soon to keep track of everyone. You pinch at your nose and bite back a sigh, reminding yourself that these aren’t your children to be annoyed with.

“I’m officially going to need names to work with here.”

“Wildcard. And you need to get us back to our parents.”

He’s got an attitude wider than a mile and if you had been asked 10 minutes ago which kid belonged to Miracle, this would have been your first and only guess. The urge to agree with him is stronger than you care to admit, desperate to make sure Marcus is safe and that he didn’t do something insanely stupid to get to you and Missy, and as you survey all of their anxious faces you’re positive they’re just as desperate. It’s why what you have to say breaks your heart in more ways than one.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can. This place is a maze. I’ve been wandering aimlessly for a while now.”

“Well,” Missy starts, looking down at her sneakers for just a beat before she looks back up at you. “That’s okay. We know they’re safe. Now we can focus on getting to the control room and stopping that lau-”

“No! I’m done! If little miss no powers-”

“Hey!” You step between Missy and Wildcard, losing exactly all of your patience at the tone in his voice. “That’s enough. Arguing and insulting each other isn’t how we get out of this. I already caught episode one of that show and it was terrible. Listen,” you steel your voice, praying there’s no argument, “I was in the control room. Or at least that’s what it felt like. I’ll backtrack and take care of the shields. You guys go and take care of that launch.”

“No! No way! We can’t split up! We just found each other again and, and…you don’t have any powers.”

Missy says the last part like it’s some sort of secret, casting glances over both shoulders as if she’s waiting for aliens to hear it and come snatch you away in some over-perceived vulnerable state.

“Missy, my heart,” you grin, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “I know.”

You had expected a conversation like this to happen with Marcus, but the fact that it’s happening here and now, has you equal parts confused and proud. It’s like watching her grow up before your eyes. She’s looking at you skeptically, and you can feel her sharp gaze as it lingers on the cut on your cheek, blood smeared with snot and tears staining your skin.

”I love you and I understand you’re worried, but we need to focus on solving this problem, and this,” you gesture to the air around you, “is a complicated problem. And I think the solution needs to be just as complicated.”

“Like the fight between you and my dad?”

Her blunt reply catches you off guard and you wonder how much she must have figured out on her own and how much Marcus shared. You pause just long enough to let your mind wander to worst case scenarios, but you stop yourself just shy of panic. There isn’t time for panic. Missy is still staring at you, a small frown on her lips and you don’t know if you want to laugh or cry, so you settle for pulling her in for another hug, whispering gently into the top of her head.

“Let’s take care of this part first, yeah?”

Only when you feel her nod against your chest do you let her go, calling the kids to attention as you do.

“Okay, I’m going to go look for your parents and get the shields down. You stay together, you listen to each other, and once you’re done I want you to figure out a way off this thing.”

“But-”

“Missy, that is an order. I’m not your mom but I know for a fact she’d agree with me on this one. You take care of the missiles, then you get out of here. Do you understand?”

She nods and you’re about to turn away when her voice calls you back. “But only if Wildcard goes with you.”

You narrow your eyes and take in the smaller girl, a set to her stance and a tone in her voice you’d recognize anywhere, and you know for a fact that this is a direct Moreno order. You turn to Wildcard, give a jerk of your head before turning back the way you came, trying to quell the screaming anxiety that has found its voice yet again inside your head, not even considering what the alternative would be if you fail.

It definitely won’t make a good story.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

It is a strange sort of clawing deep within his stomach that has Marcus distracted, a feeling he hadn’t expected and isn’t all together unwelcome, but it feels misplaced as he watches everything unfold in front of his eyes. He can feel it scratching the base of his skin, what was once a dull thought easily ignored in the name of love, of fatherhood, threatening to break free. He had never considered, not once, in any way in which he would miss the thrum of battle. He had told himself he didn't need the drums of war to inspire recourse within his heart; that he could lead, he could fight, he could live a different way.

And he had physically recoiled at the thought of stepping back into this world. He had anguished and hemmed, hedging his bets in that locker room, glaring at his uniform and weighing the price of duty against the love he had for his family, but there was never any use denying it. Even as the battle was lost and you were ripped from his grasp, the adrenaline swirled down in the pit of his stomach, an intoxicating drug that spoke an honest truth.

He had missed this.

The feel of leather and steel between his fingers, the burn of his powers coursing through his body- this thing, this life, that hurts him- the thing he is best at and was loath to give up, even when he did so out of love.

The feeling is louder now, suddenly shouting like some sort of new discovery he hadn’t expected to see when he rounded the corners of his heart. It’s as if the killer had been living inside him, keeping a home in the darkest corners of his mind, quietly waiting until he wasn’t looking before stepping into the light and reminding him that he was a fighter. He was formed and carved, molded into a warrior from birth, and to deny that had been nothing short of foolish.

Marcus watches the monitor like a hawk circling its prey, eyes unblinking as he watches a group of children argue, strategize, plan. The day is being saved right in front of his eyes and all he can do in the meantime is wait. It’s torture in the greatest form imaginable, watching Missy step into his world so doubtlessly, her steps sure and her confidence boundless. The feeling only grows, doubles, expanding out onto itself when he sees your face appear, and your words from earlier– I never asked you to – ring loudly in his ear. He could never rescue you, not because he is incapable, no, but because it’s never something that you needed. Never.

He watches his daughter, he watches you, wrap your arms around each other, quickly, too quickly, quiet promises whispered that he longs to hear, before you’re splitting off, beautiful determination trailing after you both, and he’s…

Well…

He’s a little bit jealous.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

It isn’t as hard to back track your footsteps, you and Wildcard finding your way back to the monitor room where Granada had been holding you. Your mind seems to have cleared, focus returning in sharp technicolor now that there’s a firm plan in place. You say each step inside your head, matching each piece with the steps you take, finding comfort in the checklist, as if you were back at your desk planning out your work day.

Turn off shields.

Find Marcus and the others.

Go help Missy.

Talk to Marcus.

Behind you Wildcard is quiet and you appreciate it, but it doesn’t stop the waves of anxiety rolling off of him. Your mind had been laser focused on Missy, your own worry of her lack of powers lingering despite the confidence you had in her, but it’s more than apparent that none of the kids were prepared for whatever the hell this is, and you add it to the list of things to talk to Marcus about after all is said and done. You glance back at him every few steps, taking note of each nervous tick- eyes wide, fists clenched, all of him a tight ball of energy.

“So why Wildcard?”

“Huh?”

He seems shocked you’re talking to him at all, stopping in his tracks and staring at you like you’ve grown your own set of purple limbs and for a second you have to fight the urge to check.

“Your nickname? Wildcard. It’s pretty cool.”

“Oh, yeah, um. My dad..um, Tech-No is my dad. He’s called me it since I was a baby. I have so many different powers, and I have trouble controlling them all. Always have…I’m sort of useless.”

You smile softly and tilt your head forward, the two of you continuing to walk, your steps a little slower this time.

“Useless? Is that what he thinks or what you think?”

He’s quiet, your question catching him off-guard yet again, so you keep your eyes forward as you offer an explanation.

“Sometimes parents say things, and they mean one thing but we hear another. Not to try and pin a glossy bow on stupid things dads say, but I don’t think he meant it that way.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

You shrug, before signaling him to stop, allowing you a minute to peek around the corner of a hallway, checking for any possible guards. When your search comes up empty you start moving again, along with your words.

“I guess I can’t, but I do know that I spent most of my childhood assuming my dad meant things a certain way, and yeah, that’s mostly on him, but there’s no rule written somewhere that said I couldn’t ask. And for what it’s worth, your friends don’t seem to think you’re useless.”

“Yeah, especially Missy. She even trusted me to protect you. You’re practically her…”

You stop again, turning fully, eyebrows raised, curiosity winning out this time. He’s blushing furiously, eyes trained on his sneakers, kicking an awkward shuffle across the floor.

“My dad tells my mom that Mr. Moreno talks about you. A lot.”

You hate the heat that is spreading quickly up your neck, knowing that this is hardly the time to let the words of a 12 year old fluster you, but it’s happening nonetheless. It wasn’t a secret; you knew Marcus loved you, but to hear it stated so simply, from someone so separated from the whirlwind of your romance is enough to shift your perspective just enough to make you stumble. You watch Wildcard for another minute, your mind a million miles away, lost in the sea of missed chances and refusal to trust the man you love and just…ask.

You turn back around quickly, refusing to let your heart linger on those thoughts when your head needs to focus on your list. The plan. Shields. Finding Marcus. Helping Missy. Getting home.

The hallway is tapering into a large open doorway, the same one you ran from not too long ago. You press yourself flat along the wall, nodding in approval when Wildcard mimics your movements. You take in a deep breath and hold it just as you reach the entryway, leaning forward just enough to see that the monitor room is completely empty. You let out the breath and walk quickly to the large computer, your shorter shadow sticking to your heels. The screens are all a flurry of movement, and you scan them quickly, finding the kids with a huff of pride and frowning when you don’t see Marcus or the other Heroics.

“Do you think you can figure out how the tech works?”

You relax your shoulders, the ache from earlier finally fading just enough. You roll your wrists and let your fingers rest on the huge keys, squinting as you let your eyes trace the symbols in search of a pattern. It’s gibberish, curved lines twisted into shapes that mean less to you the longer you look at them. It only takes you a few more seconds before you think, fuck it, and just start pressing buttons, one by one, taking note of what each one does. By the third row you’re ready to give up but dumb luck gives you one more gift, one of the screens changing to a different picture. You press it again and again, each screen blinking forward to a new image until finally–

A sob breaks free from your lips, the tears you thought had dried up, starting to flow again, stinging at the cut across your cheek. Marcus is standing tall, safe and whole. You forget what you’re doing for a minute, letting yourself look at him like it’s the very first time. His eyes are hard, the brown of his iris sharply disconnected from the black of his pupils, the black shirt pulled tight across his chest where his arms are folded. The gloves on his hands are shredded, bloody knuckles on clear display. You long to smooth your thumb along them, soothing any lingering pain he may feel, and you have to shake your hand to expel the feeling away.

His attention is split between Miracle-Guy and a video screen similar to the one you’re watching now. You wonder if he’s watching Missy, or maybe even you. You scrub at the blood and tears staining your cheeks in a vain little motion, immediately embarrassed at your actions, before you focus back on the task at hand. Shields. Turn off the shields. Maybe if you just start pressing more buttons…

“Well well well, couldn’t stay away could you? And you brought me back a present. So thoughtful.”

You roll your eyes at the sound of Granada’s voice, simpering and overly sweet. You want to groan, because, yeah, you get it, she’s the villain, but Wildcard beats you to it.

“You really don’t have anything more clever to say?”

“Oh, and what are you going to do? Turn into a bowling ball?”

“If I want. I can control my powers now. Turns out all I had to do was believe in myself.”

“Well, turns out you have the cheesy superhero lines already down,” you mutter as you turn just in time to see four guards move in closer, you and Wildcard dodging out of the way just before eight purple tentacles crash into the screens, sparks flying out around you as you scramble awkwardly. Okay, things feel a little more complicated now.

“I’ll be waiting over here when you’re ready to give up,” Granada, cupping her hand around her lips and calling out over the mayhem. You ignore her, instead shouting across the room at Wildcard.

“We need to get those shields down! There’s only one more row of buttons. Can you distract these assholes while I try to figure it out?”

He nods with a cocksure grin and you do roll your eyes this time, crouching down to avoid the fray, smacking blindly at the buttons one by one, watching the monitor where Missy and the others are battling what looks like hand-drawn monsters. You don’t have time to dwell on it, dodging another tentacle before mashing another few buttons. Nothing seems to be happening and you growl in frustration, slamming your palm flat one last time and the cheer of the kids pulls your eyes back up to the monitors, barely working but you can still see clearly that the shields are down.

You breathe out a sigh of relief that is immediately snatched from you, something tight wrapping around you and pulling you up and away, your right arm swinging wildly, grabbing at the control panel in a useless attempt to stay on the ground. You’ve barely pulled another breath in as your body swings backwards until you’re nose to nose with Granada. Her face is twisted in rage, and you can’t help but smile despite this very specific predicament you’ve once again found yourself in.

“This is the part where you lose,” you grind out between your clenched teeth, ignoring the pain of twin purple tentacles wrapped around your chest. In the distance you can see one of many security monitor’s hanging on the wall, Missy on the screen, small hands balled into fists. Marcus on another yelling something at Tech, and Wildcard still needlessly taunting the four guards. You hope whatever he’s got planned, he takes care of it fast.

“We may be losing, but you are certainly not winning.” Granada’s voice pulls your focus around to her but you don’t answer back, refusing to take the bait. She doesn’t seem to care.

“Do you know how quickly he jumped at the chance to pick up those swords? Hardly had to think about it. Look around you, little girl. This is who he is. This is his world and there’s no room for you in it. You’re too ordinary and eventually,” she warns, squeezing you that much tighter, “he will get bored of you.”

You growl in frustration, your body screaming from the pain, muscles shaking as you try to fight her hold, her words. It’s a game; she’s playing a game with you, has been for months. And you don’t want to play anymore. With the last bit of strength you have you ball up your hand and swing hard, catching your fist on the corner of Granada’s jaw, her neck swinging to the side from the force of your punch.

“Shut. Up.”

She turns back to you, something inhuman etched across her features, but you refuse to look away in fear, even as instinct screams louder and louder inside your head. You think of Marcus and Missy, fighting her hold as hard as you can, but it’s starting to feel pointless. You’re having trouble getting your lungs to expand from the pressure, the nasty truth of her words screaming ferociously in your head as your vision starts to go black. It’s all too much and you can only hope Wildcard gets himself out safely when suddenly light and air and shrieks of pain are slamming into you, your knees hitting the floor as you gulp down gasps of oxygen and watch in fascination as Wildcard freezes Granada into a solid block of ice, her pinched features twisted in rage.

Once it’s clear the immediate threat is gone you fall backwards, all of your weight pressing down into your heels. The room is quiet save for the feedback of the others coming through the monitor, and you know you should be getting up and going to find them, but exhaustion is quickly making a home inside your limbs.

“Are you okay?”

You smile at the kid, considering his offered hand briefly before taking hold of it to help you stand up.

“I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

Lead by example.

How many times had Missy heard those words growing up? Shouted by her Abuela as she watched her father train, whispered by her mother as she kissed him goodbye before each mission, spoken softly with confident conviction by her dad as his world was falling apart all around him. She had heard them, taken them in, day after day, year on top of year, until she had memorized them, each syllable etched into her skin- a soundtrack to her life, a roar or a hush- always chanting for her, cheering her on.

Missy wasn’t sure she even understood them. She heard the words constantly, but…had she been listening?

She was listening now.

At first it felt like acting, a game of pretend where she was her dad and her new friends were playing the parts of their parents, but she did her best to remember everything she had been taught; her father’s example, her mother’s sharp tongue, Abuela’s training, your words. All of it. She put the pieces of the puzzle together and, ignoring the waiver in her voice, she started shouting orders at the others.

Finding the center of the ship had been easy enough, it was what came after that was a little bit harder. All around her, her friends were fighting as if that had been doing it for years- Guppy using the liquid metal to slam into the monsters, the twins finally (finally) working together confuse and tangle the tentacles shooting out wildly amidst the chaos, and Wheels diligently figuring out how to stop the launch. She’s proud, of them, of herself, but there isn’t time to linger on that feeling, not when they still haven’t found a way to stop the launch. You got the shields down, a thought that keeps Missy moving, a small kernel of hope that you’re safe and sound, just as her dad is. She keeps that feeling close to her heart as she shouts across the wide room at Wheels.

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad and not good!”

Missy rolls her eyes at that, biting back a groan at his answer. She drops to the ground, dodging a monster as Slo-Mo punches it hard, sending it flying right for her. She starts crawling in the other boy’s direction, only standing when she’s reached the base of his wheelchair.

“Could you clear that up a little?”

“We just have to swap out the ignition chamber’s motherboard with one that’ll tell the device it launched even when it didn’t.”

“Okaaaay. And where’s that?”

“Well,” he says, matter of fact and just a touch like he knows everything, “I have the dud here, ready to go. We just need to get it across there.” He points across the wide expanse of the launch terminal, right where a bridge to the other side used to be. Missy feels her chest tighten as she looks over the edge, swallowing hard and not thinking about what a long way down that looks like. Nope. Not thinking about that at all.

She looks around frantically, moving from one kid to the next, brain moving a mile a minute before she stops and smiles.

“Noodles! Can you make me a tightrope?”

“On it!” He takes a running start, flinging his right arm as hard as he can as he does, the limb shooting across the cavern, stretching out like one long rubber band. Missy looks back down one more time before turning her eyes straightforward, clenching her fists and straightening her back as tall as she can.

“Who’s gonna-”

“I am.”

She doesn’t wait for an argument from either boy, snatching the motherboard out of Wheel’s hands and stepping slowly out onto Noodles’ arm. For a second she panics, her body faltering back and forth as his arm sinks down, but he pulls his grip tighter, grunting from the effort but providing enough tension for Missy to carefully shuffle across. She doesn’t stop talking the entire way, quiet little affirmations muttered to the cadence of her shuffling feet.

“Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Straight ahead. You’re almost there. You are almost there.”

Truth be told, Missy sort of gets it now, why her dad hates those flying drones so much.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

“She’s leading by example.”

Marcus says it mostly to himself, his eyes glued to the screen, watching Missy walk slowly across Noodles’ arm, her eyes pointed forward, her jaw clenched in concentration. The others are all standing behind him, not a single word exchanged between them, ice cold tension settled throughout the room. Every parent is watching their child, tracking their every move, pride and fear eating away at them in equal measure. It wasn’t a torch any of them had been prepared to pass, and he can see their anxieties rising slowly, the next generation barely stepping into puberty and now they’re saving the world.

All of them had assumed there was still time.

Marcus had assumed.

A foolish mistake. Time was a novelty, fleeting and short-lived, and he was tired of telling himself a lie he should have stopped believing three years ago.

He wants so badly to find a way to help them, but he knows in his heart that what his mother had said was true. The next generation is always more powerful. They take what came before, all the advice, all the mistakes and all the victories, using them to find their own path forward. He can see it in how Missy shouts out orders, leaving no room for argument, how she balls her fists and and throws out insults, how she pulls the puzzle apart and puts it all back together. He sees himself, he sees Marina, he sees you.

He sees Missy.

He can’t help it; he’s smiling, his legs standing, carrying him closer to the screen, eyes greedy for every tiny movement that she makes. Her steps start slow, the confidence she wears ill-fitting, too heavy for her small shoulders, but with each one there is a change, a fire burning brighter, and by the time she reaches the other end, it’s like she’s walking on air. She moves quickly after that, switching out pieces of motherboards, her fingers handling the machinery easily, shouting orders over her shoulder to her friends; teammates?

Both ways sound so good inside his head.

Just as the last of the monsters meet their end, Noodles’ grip starts to slip, his arm snapping back and with it, Missy. For the briefest, most horrifying of seconds he watches as her body falls, almost completely out of sight before she snaps back up, clinging to the young boy’s hand, her eyes pinched shut as she flies up and down. It isn’t until she’s standing back up on solid ground that Marcus lets himself breathe again, the air he had been holding inside his chest burning hot as fear blinks slowly into relief.

They did it.

She did it.

It’s hours, or maybe it’s only minutes, before the doors to the cell finally open, and though Tech-No beams when they do, Marcus has a feeling it was someone else. Someone with fast hands and a smart tongue that found a way to get that door open for good. There’s a mad dash for the open doors, everyone pushing hard and fast to get to the children as soon as possible. Marcus follows, his steps setting a steady pace, something sharp biting at his heels as he follows the others. He isn’t sure if it’s the right direction, but something tells him the worst of the danger is behind them.

He feels Missy slamming into him before he even has a chance to lay eyes on her, but his reaction is instant. He wraps his arms around her tight and buries his face into her neck, breathing in deep and recommitting the feel and weight of her to memory. He thinks she should feel taller somehow, maybe bigger, after carrying all she had to today but she rests against his chest the same way she always has, head resting over his beating heart, brown curls tickling at his nose, her thin arms clinging just as tight as she can, fingers slipping where she tries to grip at his vest. He closes his eyes and leans in, just a little bit more, and thanks whoever is listening that this girl is bright, and brave, and just so very much more than those that came before her.

“We did it, Dad. We did it.”

He laughs, choking and watery, somehow pulling her tighter into his arms, nodding into the top of her head. “I’m…” he stops himself and looks down at her, making sure she’s really listening before he finishes. When her brown eyes find his own, he starts again.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Behind him his mother laughs, a joyful whooping sound, and he reluctantly lets Missy go so she can share in the relief that he feels. If Anita notices the tears in his eyes, the ones he doesn’t bother trying to blink away, she doesn’t say anything, instead nodding her head to the left, directing his attention down the corridor. Marcus turns slowly, knowing exactly who he’ll see, wholly unprepared for what comes next, but still he looks, he moves, he pulls you close.

Closer.

And even closer still.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

His arms are wrapped around you.

Tight.

There is a stillness here. A quiet. Your pain is gone, your limbs don’t shake, your heart beats in time with his own.

You aren’t sure what’s on the other side of this, and you can’t bring yourself to care.

If it feels like a final moment, then it seems fitting that this is how it ends.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

II Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II

Chapter 26 > Chapter 28

A/N: This chapter is largely dedicated to @jazzelsaur who has been holding my hand the entire time I painstakingly worked int the plot of We Can Be Heroes into this fic. It would have been ten times harder (damn near impossible) if you hadn't been there to listen to me whine about pacing and action scenes and how I wanted to make so many tentacle porn jokes. The words had been in my head for so long, but you helped me get them on paper.

Also big huge thanks to my dearest @pippki-writes who has no idea who Marcus Moreno is outside of this one single fic but continues to encourage all of my shenanigans. You now know more than you ever needed to about this movie for children and you are so very welcome!

Also endless thanks to @astroboots and @magpie-to-the-morning who are the bestest of friends, and have been the shoulders I cried on this week. I am endlessly thankful that I get to clown about with you virtually about these silly mens and all of our silly thots, and a simple thanks will never ever be enough, but that won't stop me from trying. Thank you so much.

.. .-.. --- ...- . -.-- --- ..-

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[yourstrulylightstar283]

I am going to write Marcus Moreno x OFC(Original female character) fic. My OFC is Marcus' 2nd wife, Missy's stepmom and Anita's second daughter-in-law.

For disclaimer, I don't own Marcus, Missy and Anita.

My upcoming Marcus Moreno fic and my OFC(original female character) (c) bat25wonder32super(me)