#wcbh marcus moreno

[shoot-me-now-or-shoot-me-later92]

Can we have more Marcus Moreno pleeeease?

[thosewickedlovelies]

Private Eye, chapter 2 | Tim Rockford/Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Summary: With too much evidence and not enough progress, you and “Agent Rockford” go and meet the neighbors. But you’ll need a more creative solution to get into the rest of the mansion…

Tags: vague murder(?) mystery; workplace romance; we meet Marcus's powers 👀

Word count: 5,460

Note: welcome to chapter 2! I've lost perspective on this one honestly, but please enjoy the promised sneaking around in the dark 🥷🏻

ch 1 | Masterlist

It’s clear from the get-go that you and Marcus make an effective team. Your strengths balance the other’s weaknesses. You’re both thorough and driven to make something of this strange case- but you’re drowning in evidence, and the potentialities pull you every which way.

“We need a board,” Marcus declares.

It’s day three since his arrival, and he’s made himself at home at a desk in the basement. So have you, for that matter- it’s easier to keep everything related to the case in one place, so you drag a spare desk next to his and divvy up the paperwork. The wood-paneled walls are about 30 years out of style and the space is full of old metal filing cabinets, but it could be worse. There’s some natural light. Plus, you have the bathrooms all to yourselves.

At his pronouncement, you glance at the clock. “It’ll make a late night to start it now,” you point out.

“I don’t care, I can’t make sense of anything while it’s all piles of paper.” Marcus groans, sitting up and rolling his neck. 

He sees your expression and falters. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t mind doing it. Or starting it, anyway.”

Your sigh flutters the documents strewn over your joined desks. “There’s a drawer of takeout menus upstairs. Any preferences?”

His face lifts, and it honestly defies logic that a man can look simultaneously so rugged and so adorable.

“Do you have a good Chinese?”

--

Marcus is surprisingly adept with chopsticks, making you wonder how many evenings he’s spent like this. Maybe he just really likes Chinese food? You’re adamant about separating food and work- taking an actual dinner break- and he seems perfectly happy to follow your lead.

He makes a good dinner date, easily balancing personal chitchat with lighter topics. Despite the looming task ahead, it’s a refreshing change from your normal quiet evenings alone.

After tracking down the promised corkboard, thumbtacks, and enough red yarn to commit a murder yourself, you’re ready to carve a path into the uncharted jungle that is this case.

“Okay,” Marcus finally sighs. “If we’re gonna do this, I need to show you something. And you can’t laugh,” he warns.

His tone gives you pause. You regard him warily, until he takes out…a glasses case?

From the case Marcus removes a pair of glasses with dark, round frames, and lifts them to his face with exaggerated reluctance. He looks for all the world like a schoolboy sitting in the principal’s office. Laughter begins to bubble beneath your ribs.

As if he can sense it, he pins you with a warning look.

You clap your hands over your mouth, but the giggles spill out regardless. “Oh my god, is this why you’ve left your sunglasses on every time we’ve gone to the mansion? Are they prescription?”

“Yes,” Marcus sulks. His pouty lower lip only enhances the schoolboy effect, and your laughter redoubles.

“I can see why you don’t wear them around the other officers. They’re so cute,” you tease. “I just want to pinch your cheeks.” You don’t, but you pinch the air toward him for effect.

At your words Marcus ducks his head. Is that a hint of color in his cheeks?

You clear your throat, quelling your amusement. “Okay, sorry, I‘m done. They are cute though. Very…suburban dad.”

The glasses lend him a perfectly harmless air. With his suit jacket long since shucked off and his tie loosened after-hours, you could easily imagine him waiting on a little girl after soccer practice, arms open for an energetic hug. He’d be the heartthrob of the soccer moms with his handsome face and old-school manners, you think wryly. His shoulders in that gun holster don’t hurt either.

Marcus snorts. “Huh. Well, you got me there. That’s my other job.” He says it with perfect nonchalance, but your mouth parts. Marcus avoids your gaze, suggesting that he’s well aware of the trust he’s placing in you by sharing such information. You’d wondered at his ring, but still…

As if reading your mind, he holds up his left hand. The matte silver ring on the third finger glints in the light. “Widower, though. So, no one to come after you for flirting.”

You sputter and choke on your noodles. Marcus laughs.

--

“Do it again,” you beg. “Pleeeease.” 

Two days later, and you’re considering bringing down another corkboard. The one across the room is nearly covered already. Newspaper clippings, photographs, evidence files, interview notes. All overlapping and criss-crossed with red string in an array that would make a conspiracy theorist proud.

Marcus tsks. Despite himself, he lifts your proffered thumbtack into the air with a point of his finger. It hovers between you, yellow plastic glinting around the metal barb- until with a flick, Marcus embeds it into the corkboard on the opposite wall.

You had inquired only briefly about Marcus’s powers the first day you met. “Metal manipulation,” he’d replied, still sitting beside you at the captain’s desk.

“Must be useful against bullets,” was all you’d said.

But today, watching him remove and rearrange the bestringed tacks in the board like a conductor before a symphony- you had to ask for more details.

With a quick glance at the stairwell, he’d reached into his jacket and removed the gun from his holster. “Actually carrying around a gun is mostly for other people’s benefit. It can be anything I need it to be.” Marcus then proceeded to crumple the metal into a ball, stretch it back out into a crowbar, form tiny fragments into keys with which he unlocked every lock in the room, and finally, with his eyes closed in concentration, returned the pistol to its original form. 

Your mouth hung open.

Marcus offered the reborn gun to you for inspection. 

“Wow.” The metal was faintly warm to the touch. You turned it over, opening the chamber and clicking the trigger, but everything seemed to be exactly the right shape it should. “So you’re basically a metalbender. Like from that kid’s show.” 

Marcus’s laughter warmed the air. “Exactly. My daughter loves that show. When she was little she was obsessed with Toph, because she was ‘just like me.’”

His smile was infectious, full of pride in and love for his daughter. Suburban dad heartthrob strikes again, you thought, your cheeks warming.

“I can do other, less flashy things, too. That’s kind of the point of my branch of the FBI. They train us to use our powers in ways you wouldn’t immediately consider. For instance, I can tell you the elemental composition of every metal object in this room, just by concentrating. I can usually tell if there’s foreign material in or on metal things, too, even trace amounts.”

You thought about what that could mean. “So if someone didn’t clean a piece of evidence well enough, you’d be able to tell even if forensics failed?”

“That’s right,” Marcus confirmed. He looked strangely somber about it, as if the morality of his powers was a question whose weight never lightened. 

“Huh.” 

That was something to chew on. There was a stretch of silence while you mulled over all he’d shared.

It didn’t last long, though, as if Marcus was afraid of what conclusions you might come to.

“It also means I can do stuff like this-” and then he’d levitated a thumbtack and shot it across the room like a bullet.

“No more, now,” he says, stern but apologetic. “We have to be careful at work.” Still, a conspiratorial light twinkled in his eyes.

Marcus stands from his desk with a stretch and a groan. He approaches the board you’d just had him flinging thumbtacks at and regards it.

“Who are we missing here? Is there anyone else involved who could be a suspect?” The stubble on his cheeks scrapes audibly at his thoughtful scratch. He’s squinting slightly- his glasses lay half-covered by an evidence bag on his desk.

A knock sounds from the top of the staircase. “Detective? Agent Rockford? Some new data for you.” 

“Come on down,” you call.

“Don’t tell me it’s more knives,” Marcus groans.

The junior officer, Richards, falters at the base of the stairs, clearly cowed by the sight of the big bad FBI agent turning his scowl from the corkboard to him.

You stifle a laugh. Scowl, your ass- how no one has ever clocked that for the myopic squint it is is beyond you.

“Stand down, Agent,” you drawl. Pointedly, you rustle the bag hiding his glasses as you stand. “Thanks, Richards.”

The officer hesitates, glancing between the file he’d just handed you and the corkboard Marcus is studying. 

“...Did you have some thoughts on the case?” you prompt.

Marcus looks over alertly, and the officer scampers. “No, no, not until I read up on it some more. See you around!”

You snigger as you head over to the board, skimming the file as you go.

“Friendly guy,” Marcus remarks, although his glance toward the staircase is bemused. 

Your snicker turns into a full-belly laugh. “Normally he is friendly, Rockford. If you didn’t always look like you’re suspicious of everyone, he’d probably ask you out.”

“What?” Marcus’s brow furrows.

You exaggeratedly imitate his grumpy-looking squint, putting an elderly pucker in your lips for good measure. You plant your face about an inch from the corkboard.

“Oh.” Marcus grimaces. “I know, it’s a terrible habit. Missy is always warning me I’m going to get even more wrinkles.” He sighs in resignation.

You hide a smile, your glance skipping over the fine lines around his eyes and mouth- signs of age that a child wouldn’t understand the appeal of. “I hope your FBI team has a super-powered eye surgeon.”

“Actually- uh.” Marcus cuts himself off, his mouth turning down. “That’s probably classified,” he mumbles.

--

“Any plans for the weekend, Agent Rockford?” You make an effort to use Marcus’s fake name every so often, so you won’t forget and slip up around others.

Marcus leans back in his chair. “Nothing exciting. I thought I might check out the mansion again, maybe see if the neighbors are in. Get some interviews.”

You look at him. 

After a second, he realizes that you haven’t responded, and looks over. “…What?”

“People usually make non work-related plans on the weekends, Marcus.”

“Oh. Well…” Marcus shrugs, fidgeting. “Missy’s going to be at a school thing, so I won’t have anything else to do. And we haven’t made much progress with the neighbors,” he points out.

He’s right, but still.

You hesitate. You don’t have any exciting plans either, and people might be more likely to be home during the day on a weekend…

“All right. Let’s do it.” 

Marcus looks confused. 

“I’ll come with you to interview some neighbors this weekend. It’s a good idea,” you clarify.

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that you had to come with me,” Marcus says hastily. “Just that..I don’t mind, and, you know, I’m not doing anything else.” He shrugs again, looking away.

“I know. I’m saying that I don’t mind either, and you’re right that we need to interview the neighbors. They might be home on a weekend. We can get a feel for the neighborhood.”

His mouth opens and shuts. Marcus hesitates, like he thinks he should argue but can’t think of anything convincing. He settles on a grateful smile. “Okay.”

--

It’s a sunny day. The sky is clear, and you have a great view from the top of the hill, which is, naturally, where the mansion sits.

It’s not a very tall hill, but it’s enough of a slope that one could easily feel superior looking down from atop it. The residents of the houses below would be unable to avoid seeing the mansion whenever they looked up. The old New England houses echo the style of the mansion, albeit on a smaller scale- stately, grand and yet sort of homey at once. Highlights include spires topped with weathervanes featuring quirky animals and turrets with children’s drawings taped in the windows.

The air smells of greenery- all the hedges in the garden, probably. And something else; the odd smoky whiff of a weekend barbeque, interspersed with something…sweeter. Mom with oven mitts inside while Dad lights the charcoal outside. Apple pie America, indeed.

You survey the suburbia laid out below. You and Marcus agreed to meet at the mansion and strike out on foot from there, and now you’re deciding on a plan of attack.

“I say we canvas this street,” he’s saying, pointing to the uppermost houses, “maybe the next one, and see what the vibe is like from there.”

“What the vibe is like?” you repeat, amused. “Did you pick that up from Missy?”

Marcus coughs and shuffles a bit. “Did I use it right?” he asks, sheepish behind his glasses. The normal ones today- the round lenses made him seem sweet and trustworthy. 

It’s impossible not to laugh. “Technically, I guess. Come on then, hip guy.”

The hill isn’t very wide, or steep. These streets make up just one small subdivision venturing up into the woods, branching off the two-lane highway. There are others further along, clustered more densely closer to the town. The houses here are arrayed like a waterfall, with the mansion as its source.

The top street, in fact, is only four houses long. The first two are uneventful. One man answers the door with barbeque tongs in hand, his New Balance sneakers gleaming as white as his smile. He offers you and Marcus burgers to go, which you politely decline. You glimpse a woman coming up behind him as the door closes; her face is as stiff as her husband’s was welcoming. Interesting.

Things get even more interesting at the third house. 

“Oh, you’ll want to talk to the neighbor if you’re looking into Ursula.” The young person on the threshold nods their head to the only house you haven’t been to. “She can go on about her for hours, especially if you mention the pie.” They roll their eyes in a long-suffering expression.

You and Marcus exchange a look. “The pie?” Marcus slowly starts to reach for the small notebook he keeps in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah. Ursula liked to bake. Won the county fair pie competitions almost every year. Winter and summer, even after they made it anonymous and started rotating the judges.”

The neighbor and resident of the fourth house introduces herself as Olivia Tate. A woman with a somewhat jowly resemblance to a bulldog, she nearly starts slavering when your questions turn to Ursula’s pies. Her kitchen is the source of the sweet smell you caught from the top of the hill- a picture-perfect, lattice-topped pie bakes in the oven, which, Olivia laments, you could have sampled if you’d arrived half an hour later. 

Her jaw clenches at your implications about Ursula’s baking. “I’ve been baking pies 30, 40 years, and I’ve never had anything taste like hers. That’s the real mystery- what she puts in them!”

Her voice pitches higher the more you probe about Ursula and her pies, and the fledgling business around them she had apparently just started.

At the end of the street, Marcus jots hurriedly in his notebook, noting everything you had learned at Olivia’s house. When he’s done, you turn your head toward the top of the hill. “Should we go back to the mansion and have a closer look around the kitchen? This is the first we’ve heard of the pie business. It could be a fresh perspective.”

The mansion’s main kitchen is an enormous, envy-inducing affair. A stunning tile backsplash, an island bigger than your kitchen table, and a stove nearly as big as the island. At first glance, the single knife block and magnetic rack above it appear perfectly in order- there’s nothing to indicate the volume of knives the department had found stashed in the rest of the house, some of them nearly the size of machetes.

With fresh motivation, you start opening cabinets, nudging aside canned goods and tubs of flour. You and Marcus have hardly begun, however, when a thumping gait sounds from within the house, clearly getting closer. You exchange an alarmed glance.

A white-haired, wide-shouldered figure swings open the door. Mud flakes off the galoshes on his feet. Long gardening gloves sheath his hands. The man stands still for a long moment, silently measuring you.

“May I ask what you’re doing in Boulton house?” His voice is coarse with age, but his tone is unmistakably flat.

--

After being unceremoniously removed from the mansion, you stand by your patrol car, fuming. “Can you believe that guy? We’re investigating a crime scene. You can’t tell me he doesn’t know something.”

The groundskeeper had, of course been interviewed straightaway upon the breaking of the case. He hadn’t had much useful to say, and you’d released him thinking that you’d try again once you had more context in which to question him. But for him to claim now that your searching was out of bounds..!

“Probably. But he is within his rights to kick us out.” Marcus watches you cautiously. 

Leaning against your car, you face the street below, both lost in your own thoughts. From this height you have an unobstructed view of Olivia Tate’s house. It’s close enough, you realize, to make out her silhouette bobbing at a window, presumably rolling out her umpteenth pie crust. 

Marcus seems to realize it too. Gesturing to the window, he starts speaking again as if you’d been mid-conversation. “So these women could have easily watched each other from their kitchens while they baked. I bet on a good day you could even smell the pies from the other house. Every year they compete at the county fairs, and their rivalry gets worse. One day the neighbor snaps?” His eyebrows lift.

“A little unlikely,” you say. “Since there’s a clear view down the drive, she’d have to come at night, or by some secret back way. And she’s barely younger than the grandma.”

“True. But that means they’d be at even odds,” Marcus points out.

You concede that it’s technically a viable theory.

Glancing around, you indicate for Marcus to get in your car. 

An anticipatory silence grows while you consider your words, longer and louder until it’s drowned out only by the metallic creaking of the car itself. Marcus clenches his hands into fists to stop their fidgeting. 

“So,” you finally say. “We have to come back, right? Investigate this place properly.”

Marcus exhales. He looks pensive. “Yes. But how?”

“Look, I don’t like it, but I think we’ll have to do this slightly…off-books.”

You make a plan. By day, you’d return and continue to examine the inhabited portions of the house with the rest of the team. But by night…

“We can’t ignore the possibility that our culprit is using the closed-off parts of the house. It’s a perfect excuse- ‘nobody goes there, it’s falling down, it’s dangerous’. We can’t risk not searching it.”

You and Marcus agree to meet back at the mansion in a few nights- long enough for the groundskeeper to relax his guard.

--

On what little hill rises above the mansion, there’s an old hiking viewpoint jutting out of the forest. Although you’re sure people still use it for hiking during the day, by night, well…there was enough sniggering and elbow jabbing amongst your townie colleagues for you to figure out what it was used for at night.

It’s about a half hour hike from the viewpoint to the mansion. You and Marcus will be starting your nighttime searching from there, since parking or walking from anywhere else would get you spotted. 

You sit in the passenger seat of Marcus’s car while he drives. It smells like him, clean and masculine- probably nothing more than a combination of his laundry detergent and a no-nonsense deodorant, yet in such confined quarters it makes you light-headed the longer you sit in it. To distract yourself, you take a discreet look around. 

There’s not much to see. No trash or trinkets, just a road atlas in the pocket on the back of the driver’s seat. Except- sticking out from under the backseat is the crinkled corner of a magazine cover emblazoned with pink and yellow headlines and, just visible, the swoop of a youthful hairdo. The evidence of Marcus’s daughter makes you smile.

Gravel crunches under the tires as Marcus turns into the lot. His headlights reveal another car on the far side, with condensation glimmering on its windows.

“Didn’t expect to find anyone else doing night hiking,” Marcus mutters.

He continues his slow route toward the other car, to your mounting horror. “Don’t park next to them!” you hiss.

“What? Why?” Marcus’s question is utterly guileless. But he obeys, turning the car smoothly and ending up parking roughly in the center of the line of spots. 

You sigh. “I mean first of all, parking right next to the only other car in an empty lot, at night? That’s weird. Second of all, those aren’t night hikers.”

“Then what…” Marcus turns his furrowed brow toward the other car. Under the still moonlight, he finally seems to put all the pieces together- the short drive from town, the isolated location, the car’s fogged up windows. “...Oh.”

You can’t help but laugh at Marcus’s mortified expression. His full lips turn down, his cheeks darkening with a blush. “Well…now what do we do?”

“Let’s just go. The path is on this side, anyway.” You nod your head toward the end of the viewpoint that’s not currently occupied.

You and Marcus gather your small packs and exit the car. The slam of the door is like a shout in the silence and he winces, darting glances to the other car all the while. You cough to cover your laughter. “Great conditions for some night hiking, right?” You say loudly.

Marcus looks at you, startled. You widen your eyes at him meaningfully. “Oh, yeah,” he says, catching on. “Sure is.”

You grin. “Come on, this way.” You lead your partner away from the lot and the scene of his embarrassment. 

Your hike is quiet. These trails are unfamiliar to both of you, especially in the dark, but you keep your headlamps on low, wary of being spotted- more so the larger the mansion looms through the trees. 

A low brick wall marks the edge of the property. There’s no gate nearby that you can see, but it’s an easy task to pull yourself over it- probably the least risky activity you’ll undertake tonight.  

The gardens are slightly too overgrown to pretend you’re on a romantic nighttime stroll. “This reminds me of a corn maze; you know, the kind you get at pumpkin patches in the fall,” Marcus says, low and hushed. 

It’s an apt comparison. Tidily partitioned squares of greenery, once neatly groomed, had sprouted out of control, spilling onto the paths and obstructing your view. Wire towers for climbing vines now resemble buildings in an apocalypse movie- so thickly smothered with vines that their original structures are no longer visible, their trailing tendrils now falling to sway in your faces as you pass.

“Ha, I see what you mean. I’m not sure that makes it more or less creepy.” Another thought makes you shiver. “As long as nobody with a chainsaw starts running after us,” you mutter.

Marcus lets out an unexpected, loud bark of laughter. You look at him in astonishment, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, it’s just...” He clears his throat. “If you remind me of this later I’ll tell you why that was funny.”

At the mansion’s back entrance, you glance around quickly, then let yourselves in with the key. Safely inside, you stand in silence for several moments. 

“Nobody’s here,” Marcus whispers.

The house is silent, and dark. Without any neighbors, there are minimal streetlamps to provide light from outside. Most of the windows are framed by heavy, ornate curtains as well, blocking what meager moonlight falls in. Only the beams of your headlamps illuminate the dark wood floors and wall panelings.

You make your way toward a door at the end of the hall, stepping quietly, just in case. “How far do your powers reach?” you ask Marcus. “Like, you’re definitely sure there’s no one in this whole house?”

It’s slightly difficult to look at Marcus without blinding him with your headlamp. If you twist your neck and look sideways, you can make out the thoughtful press of his lips. 

“I can sense the rough outline and structure of the house thanks to all the little metal things- nails, window fittings, doorknobs. Any metal object within those bounds, I can reach. But sensing blood is tricky to begin with. It’s such a tiny amount of iron, in such a weird form…I can sense your blood just fine, because you’re right next to me. Somebody across the room would be no problem, likely even somebody in the next room, but across a whole house?” Marcus shakes his head. “Blood moves, so that tends to give it away. That sense of flow is primarily what I look for. But to answer your question…” Marcus does the same sort of neck twist to look at you. Beneath the white light emanating from his forehead, his face is serious. “I can’t be one hundred percent sure this place is empty.”

Interesting, if not entirely reassuring. “Well, I guess keep your eyes open then. Or not your eyes, but your..senses? You know what I mean.”

“I think the official term is ‘spidey sense’,” Marcus quips.

You laugh at that, and it eases the tension that had crept up alongside you like mist in a haunted house.

It doesn’t take long to reach your goal. The innocuous door looks like all the rest that line the hall- it could just as likely hold a fancy sitting room as a dilapidated once-home. 

You adjust your headlamp determinedly. “Ready?”

“Lead the way, Boss.” There’s a playful quirk to Marcus’s lips as he repeats his words from the day you first met.

You snort, ignoring an odd little flutter in your belly. “Sure, ladies first, they say, step right up to the dangerous door…”

“You can tell me to go first, if you want,” Marcus suggests. “Perks of being the boss.”

“Am I your boss?”

You’re stalling, is what you are. But it is something you’ve wondered. If push came to shove, would Marcus have to obey you?

“I could probably go over your head if I felt it was necessary,” Marcus admits. “But practically, we’re supposed to follow local jurisdiction. Supplement your abilities, not..take over.”

He meets your gaze. “I’m not worried about questioning your orders.”

Before you can react, Marcus continues cheerfully, “You’re stalling, Boss. Come on.” He lifts his hand, and the door swings open.

You brace yourself; for what, you’re not sure. But all that happens is a gust of dusty air hits you, and you have to stifle a sneeze. 

It’s nearly pitch-black. Marcus lifts his hand higher, and a tinny screech comes from across the room, where metal rings scrape against a curtain rod, dragging open a tall set of drapes. There’s still not much light, but the room now appears more gray than black.

The carpet runner beneath your feet is thick with dust, its pattern blurred. The room you’ve entered looks like it was indeed once a sitting room or living room of some kind. Dust covers in the shape of couches squat around a table on the far side of the room. Other furniture against the walls has also been covered. In the gray darkness, lit only by the swinging beams of your headlamps, it’s impossible not to think of ghosts and horror stories. 

“Do you sense anything?” you whisper to Marcus.

He lowers his hand. “No. No one hiding, and a normal amount of metal for an old living room.”

You let out a tense breath. “I’ll admit, this is creepier than I thought it would be.”

Marcus laughs softly. “Tell me about it. I don’t even like scary movies.”

It’s reassuring, at least, to have Marcus’s powers on your side. You tell yourself firmly that nothing bad can happen with him around, and it mostly quiets the part of your brain dwelling on every zombie movie you’ve ever seen. Mostly.

You set to searching the room. You pull off dust covers and lift cushions, but all you get for your troubles are grimy hands and some disgruntled spiders. 

The next room is more of the same, only there’s even less to search. The open space contains little more than an ornate fireplace and a bar built into one end of the room. You stand in the center and spin slowly, your hands on your hips. “Are we missing something?”

“It’s here.” Marcus is standing at a section of wall blank except for squares of wood molding. 

“Huh?”

He reaches up and pushes a small section of the molding. It clicks, and the whole portion of wall slides sideways like a door. 

“Whoa!” You hurry over, the solid blackness of the opening sucking up your headlamp’s beam until you get closer.

“A servants’ kitchen, maybe,” Marcus says. “I’ve been doing some research on the history of this house, and other houses from the same period.”

The disused kitchen is barely the size of a closet and smells faintly of mildew. You follow Marcus, your mind turning. “A big old house like this…it’s got to have like, secret passages, right? Real ones, I mean, not just servant shortcuts like this.”

Marcus’s face wears a thoughtful grimace. “More likely than not. I already found one in the central dining room.”

“Wait, you have?” This is the first you’ve heard of it.

“It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a passage to the kitchen, a shortcut for staff. The housekeeper was still showing us around when I found it, so she told us. She didn’t look too happy about it thought…I bet she knows where they all are.” Marcus trails off in thought.

“Shouldn’t you be able to sense them?” you ask.

“Well…yes and no.” Marcus looks vaguely uncomfortable. “House walls have metal in them anyway- all the nails and whatnot- and sometimes construction companies do weird things, so it can be tricky to sense when there’s metal out of place. That goes double for old places like this, where all sorts of random stuff has been stuck in the walls over the years. I tried pulling on something the very first day and nearly brought down that massive portrait over the fireplace- you know the one of the guy with the-” he makes a gesture near his face. “Turns out I was pulling on some convoluted hanging system.”

Marcus rolls his eyes, eloquently expressing his frustration with the entire situation. You wonder if the blueprints to house are accessible somewhere. They’d be in the city planning archives, surely…

As you step back through the doorway, you hear a click. The sliding door rumbles toward you with surprising speed, and you freeze for a split second before your muscles tense to leap out of the way-

But before you can, a strong grip encircles your wrist, and you’re yanked back and held tight against a wide, solid mass. The mass is warm, and expanding and deflating rapidly, and nearly crushing you to it with the steel strength of his arms. 

The door thuds closed with a force that makes you flinch. The thin beams of your headlamps seem insubstantial against the sudden near-complete darkness. 

You twist your neck to look at Marcus, your eyes wide with surprise. He does the same to look at you. His hold and the angle of your heads puts your faces only inches apart- far closer than either of you anticipated. 

He releases you immediately, taking a step back for good measure. “Sorry. It was a reflex.” One hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.

The warmth of him still clings to you. “I do have several years on the force under my belt,” you point out mildly. You reach out and squeeze his arm. “But thank you.”

You turn back to the door. The flat, featureless door that looked remarkably wall-like again. 

“Um,” you say. “Can you get us out?”

Marcus chuckles. “Now that I know it’s there…” There’s a click and a rumble, and the wall slides aside again. “Yes.”

Gray light pours in, so dark before but like sunlight after being trapped in the windowless kitchen. You breathe deeply of the air in the open room.

“I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: November 20

Heyo! I've been just parking read fic here for a while and didn't realize how long it was getting! And then I used my wait times in Disney to read a bunch more.... anyway. I've got a long list of fun for you!

Also, I'm really sorry, this is the dumbest header I've ever made but it made me laugh so here we are.

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation Fics!

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DIETER BRAVO

Dieter, Dieter, Pumpkin Eater by @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist I can't decide what I love more: Dieter getting frisky in a bouncy castle or his gleeful exclamations when the goats take to him. I want this. I want all of it. Sign me up. Crocs and all.

Tip Your Server by @nothoughtsjustmeds I love love love this fic. I love Dieter needing to get reader all hot and bothered while wearing fancy clothes, I love the banter, I love the obvious love these two have, the cavalier throw-away of a precious object, every gesture of affection and its tie to absolute, loving sass. And the prose is so great. This is a masterclass fic.

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JOEL MILLER

Strong Enough To Stand by @the-blind-assassin-12 Oof. This both hurt and was satisfying. Joel has a habit of holding onto love and hurt. It's definitely detrimental at times. But damn if it doesn't illustrate how fiercely he loves. Alyssa's lead up story to this--It Pours From Your Eyes--nearly destroyed me, but this one thankfully helped to soothe.

Surrender Chapter 13 and Chapter 14 by @ezrasbirdie Birdie gave us a beautiful reunion and ending for Daisy and Joel and I'm just so proud of her for putting her heart into a wonderful OC. There's so much in this series about learning to love and--even more interesting--learning to BE loved, and both Joel and Daisy are wonderful for that. I know there's an epilogue coming and I will patiently wait for my desert while this meal of a fic settles in my heart.

Saying I love you through an accidental kiss by @songsformonkeys Listen. Joel Miller's got a lot going on today and it's chaotic and you made him food and took care of Sarah and you...you reached for him first. SOFT! CUTENESS!

Spend All Your Love Making Time by @haylzcyon Sub!Joel is my new favorite obsession. He's just so in LOVE with reader, so in thrall and this is hot hot hot.... Those baby browns are certainly made for puppydog wants....

Something Soft by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 Everyone knows what you do with dandelions, right? Until an apocalypse wipes off even the tiniest things from human culture. Then kids like Ellie may not understand the simple joy of making a wish on one. Good thing there's folks like Joel who remember and help her out.

Joel, Interrupted by @iamskyereads This is both melancholy and warm, and that is such a welcome taste. It is quiet and lovely and the last line gave me so many feelings. If Joel was a ghost in his own house, this is exactly how he'd be. <3

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MARCUS MORENO

Not All Heroes Wear Capes by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 I love "fandom crossovers" as a year of tropes offering. ST:TNG was one of my big fandom obsessions, so it's nice to return to some of those characters. Putting a Pedro boy in there is inspired, and this was handled so well!!!

If It Wasn't For The Nights by @simpingcowboy 🪐 Marcus is just made for angst, isn't he. It's obvious how much he loved his wife and how much he loves their daughter. Going inside to examine that is just asking for a heart twist....

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

The Last Blockbuster: Bump in the Night by @blueeyesatnight I love these two slacker filmophiles and am always happy to see them return to my dash. This time it's a test of readers' spine, to see if she can handle the scary movies like she says she can. I appreciate the appearance of another movie memorabilia piece...🦇🦇🦇

IRL part 1 @ nickcage_numerouno and part 2: of festivals and food by @grogusmum I love that both these dopes are so insecure about meeting one another. Javi is sweet and wonderful like always, and it's nice to get his POV here and there as our plus-size reader deals with her own assumptions. But oh my gosh he's smitten and if there's gonna be a part 3 I'll lose my mind.

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COMANDANTE VERACRUZ

When it Comes to You... by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 I mean, if anyone's gonna get violently protective over his girl, it just might be Veracruz. I mean, to make you his priority during an ambush? To come back victorious and rail the crap out of you afterward? That's the dream....

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DAVE YORK

First Kill by @hopeamarsu 🪐 Holy balls, this is a beautiful little character study on Dave. Hope goes inside his head during a therapists' session where he's asked about his first kill, and it is menacing AF. Take a look at this piece, because it is bomb.

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EZRA

Gravity by @insomniamamma 🪐 J has a way with Ezra that I'm just addicted to. I know she loves him deeply, always takes so much care with him, gets his soft side just right. She makes me yearn so very hard for this man...his physical gracelessness a grand contrast to the gracefulness of his devotion. My goodness, I love this fic.

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PERO TOVAR

untitled by @writeforfandoms Listen. It's a little mixed trope drabble about Pero as your bodyguard that might not mind being mistaken for your boyfriend and I could take 10K of this thanks.

Bangathon fics Cowgirl and Missionary by @prolix-yuy I may be a broken record, but I just cannot get enough of a solem and sour protector who only shows his vulnerability behind closed doors. I knew better than to read LJ's take on him and expect to remain unmelted.

Grumpy Pumpkin by @sirowsky This is just the very cutest. Of course Pero knows his way around knives, but pumpkin carving doesn't go exactly as you planned. In fact, it goes much sweeter.

Seed by @perotovar I love a Pero that is hot for his wife whether or not she can concieve. And that the want for a baby that hasn't come yet doesn't make them sad...it just makes them want to try harder! Soft and sweet and spicy all at once. Just like I like him.

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FRANKIE MORALES

Ring Toss by @morallyinept Look. It's a simple concept. Frankie brings you donuts because Frankie loves you. You're resisting because you're on some silly diet. Donuts have holes. Frankie's got something that will fit in that hole. One temptation is bad enough, but two sticky treats together? Resistance is futile.

Questions and Stories part 1 and part 2 by @never--doubt 🪐 I love this concept of Frankie and reader's daughter asking them how they met and functioned as soulmates, how love takes work, and the mechanic of not being able to see one particular color until your aoulmate finds you....

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EDDIE THE VAMPIRE (WITH MAX PHILLIPS)

An Act of Kindness by @missredherring This is a very sweet intro to a really lovely dynamic between a vampire reader and a fledgling. Oh my balls, Eddie needs help and she's such a good teacher. And he's so smitten with her in the cutest way... And of course, Max being Max, which is to say, Max being a douche.

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JAVIER PEÑA

Summer Kiss Prompt - Apology Kiss by @something-tofightfor I cannot deal when strong men recognize thier trauma and try to do better. It's clear here that Javi hasn't learned how to let someone else take the lead with him yet, but the growth that's comes is beautiful.

Summer Kiss Prompt - Lazy Kiss by @something-tofightfor Rachael does slice of life so well. There's something very wonderful about Javi's focus on his work to the point where he forgets to take care of himself, and maybe even lovlier about the woman who makes sure he eats something and has himself a break now and then...

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TIM ROCKFORD

Rockford and Roan 4 by @littlemisspascal I am so in love with Rae's soft soulmate stories, she always knows how to warm my heart. This one has some darker elements what with Tim investigating crimes....BUT THERE'S ALSO A DOG THIS TIME.

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DIN DJARIN

Ambrosial by @spacecowboyhotch A soft and lovely story staring a black reader, wherein Din learns about the ritual and culture of her hair, how it links her to her family, how much a part of her it is...and therefore how much a part of himself. I just wanna curl up in this, it's so cozy.

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

FENNEC SHAND

A Different Way of Life by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 Yes. Yes this is what I want. To run away for adventure only to find I really ran away with the love of my life...who just happens to be a bounty hunter and a ton of fun.

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DICK GRAYSON

Seasons of Love by @captainsophiestark 🪐 I don't know much about this character, but he seems very sweet and loving. A jump through time in a relationship involving ties to the Wayne family.

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[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: As the leader of the Heroics, Marcus Moreno always seems to get stuck with the worst of the legislative duties, including dealing with the local police stations. The station secretary, Amy Oliver, quickly steps in, finding subtle and not-so-subtle ways to get Marcus the information he needs. WC: 2.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, eventually explicit.

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

>>> Chapter Two

A/N: Hello friends! It's been a very very very long time since I've posted a fic and needless to say, your girl is nervous. I've been hard at work on book prep and promotion, and in between all of that I have been plucking away at this story. I really wanted to write something fun and easy and self-indulgent. Thank you to everyone for reading!

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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Marcus is tired. The kind of tired that builds slowly, the feeling cresting higher and higher until it’s pulsing behind his eyes. The kind of tired that leaves him irritable and anxious, and ready to take it out on anyone or anything. His head is pounding, his body aching from the physical exertion of standing his ground for far too long. It had been what felt like hours of runaround from the chief of police; a semi-regular occurrence that he had grown far too accustomed to. The room was stuffy, the blinds pulled closed and the door shut tight, locking them in with the stale air and cigarette smoke. He fights the urge to tug at his tie, refusing to give the bullheaded ass sitting across from him the satisfaction.

Being leader of the Heroics came with quite a few headaches but the bureaucratic anxieties that came along with dealing with the local law enforcement was one of the biggest thorns in his side. 

“Sir, the Heroics have always done our best to keep the lines of communication with your precinct open. But in order to achieve that, you’ll have to meet us in the middle.”

Chief Baldwin chuckles, the sound demeaning in more ways than one. He leans back in his chair, his heels making a heavy thud as they hit his desk. “As in break protocol? Skirt the rules? Allow vigilantes free reign in my precinct and my city?” 

“I don’t see how my asking for a few unredacted case files is–”

“Forget it, Moreno!” He grins, making a show of picking up the very file Marcus had asked for. “You can go through the proper legal channels and you’ll take what I give you. Now get the hell out of my sight.” 

Marcus turns where he stands and storms out, making sure to slam the door as hard as he can, the bland, generic art hanging on the wall rattling on impact. For a moment he doesn’t move, chest heaving and fists clenching, wishing he had something (or someone) to take this simmering rage out on. Just as he’s about to start walking again, intent on completing his righteous tantrum with a moniker of dignity, a soothing voice hits his ear with the smallest of peace offerings. 

“Coffee?”

He turns to see Baldwin’s secretary staring at him from her desk, a stack of paper sitting in front of her, her pen poised above a signature line. His frown shifts, the tension melting from his shoulders as his head jerks out a nod and he falls into the seat beside her desk, the chair squeaking beneath the weight of him. 

She doesn’t say anything else, instead gripping his shoulder once before standing and stepping away. He watches her from the corner of his eye, her movements precise as she pours him a cup of dark liquid. She tears open two sugars, adding them along with a splash of cream before finally setting the navy blue mug down in front of him. She pours her own, a chipped white mug with a worn-away police badge on the front, and returns to her seat, turning her quiet gaze in Marcus’s direction. 

“You can say it,” she prompts, brown eyes watching him over the rim of her mug, the slightest hint of a smile curling along the corner of her lips.

“Your boss is a jerk.”

She doesn’t respond, but her smile shifts just a smidge wider. She takes a generous sip, humming as if she actually enjoys the taste of it. She sets her coffee to the side, and pushes up the sleeves of her cream-colored blouse, turning back to her stack of papers with renewed intent, jotting something down across the top of the page.

“The two of you have been doing this dance for years now. I’d think you’d be used to it.”

Marcus grumbles into his own coffee, refusing to respond, knowing full well how good of a point she’s making. Amy Oliver has, after all, had a front row seat to every argument between the Heroic and the chief of police from day one. She knew the pattern just as well as Marcus did, and after every instance of door slamming and name calling she was always there to help in her own way. She was one of the few people in the building who brought a smile to his face and he found that even when he knew there would be trouble, Marcus always looked forward to sitting at her desk and sipping her terrible coffee. 

“Might be time to just end these little visits. Not like they get me anywhere.”

“Don’t joke,” she gasps, her over the top pout more than comical. “What would I do for entertainment around here without the two of you having your little pissing matches? My job?”

He rolls his eyes, but her smile is contagious, and before he can stop himself, he’s hiding his own behind his mug. 

“Perish the thought.”

“The audacity,” she murmurs mostly to herself, checking another box with a bit too much flourish, her ponytail swinging from the effort. “How was your weekend? Did Missy end up going out with what’s his name? The one who’s death you’ve been daydreaming about?”

Marcus feels his smile slip at the change in topic, but Amy doesn’t miss a single beat. “She did! I love this! How did Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, handle his baby girl going out on a date?” 

“I’ll have you know I handled it great.”

The admission seems to finally have her full attention. She drops her pen and leans forward on her elbows, the tips of her fingers just grazing the tops of his thighs. 

“Define ‘great’?”��

Marcus swallows hard, ignoring the heat swirling deep in his belly, even as he feels himself lean, just barely, into her phantom touch. Amy, for her part, takes his silence in stride, reading between the lines of everything he doesn’t say.

“Let me guess? Sharpening those silly swords at the kitchen table when he came to pick her up? A stern reminder of curfew while also demonstrating superhuman strength? A text or two under the guise of ‘checking in’?”

He barks out a laugh at how keen her eye really is. “Alright, you got me! I may have leaned a little hard into the protective dad thing.”

“And I bet Missy was still home by curfew.”

“A few minutes early, actually. Not sure why I worry so much.”

Her hand is on his knee before he even has a chance to register the feeling, another comforting squeeze, there and gone faster than he can pull air into his lungs. “Because you’re a dad.”

He coughs and takes another sip of coffee, an action meant only to help slow his racing heart, and leans further back in his chair.

“How was your weekend?”

“Oh, big Saturday night. My mom sent Harris Candy Land. So, naturally we had to play it 5,000 times in a row.”

Marcus feels his chest fill with a different kind of warmth, picturing Amy and her 7 year old daughter going toe to toe over the same board game he and Missy would play night after night. She could downplay it all she wanted, but he knows that when given the chance to spend quality time with her daughter, Amy would play as many repetitive games as there were stars in the sky. 

“You wouldn’t believe how many times she beat me, Marcus! I swear! This weekend I’m pulling out Monolopy and letting her taste my wrath.”

“Big words,” he teases, admiring the way her cheeks heat up beneath his own gentle ribbing.

When their snickers finally start to subside Marcus moves to refill both their mugs while Amy continues to work. She thanks him, easily splitting her focus in a way he’s always been jealous of. She checks a few more boxes and signs one paper after another, all the while never letting her bright eyes and impish grin stray from his attention. She doesn’t falter, even in the throes of her gentle teasing, and Marcus wishes he could spend the rest of his day sitting across from her.

And then, as if she can read his mind, “Can you stay for lunch today?”

“No,” he sighs, hating the taste of the word more than the shit Amy calls coffee. “I have to get back. The rest of the team will be waiting for me.” He takes one final sip of coffee before standing, knocking his fist against her desk in lieu of goodbye. 

“Okay, well, can you toss these files in the shredder for me on the way out the door? I have to get a presentation set up for a briefing, and I’m already behind.”

“Of course,” Marcus agrees, accepting the stack of papers that she had been carefully chipping away at since he walked in this morning.  

“Thanks, handsome,” Amy quips, turning back to the computer screen, the click of her mouse following him as he goes. When he gets to the shredder he stops and tosses one single piece of paper away, taking care to fold the rest in half before sliding them into the breast pocket of his jacket. Once outside, he walks quickly to his car, only stopping briefly to send a quick text.

M: Thank you 

A: For what?

She always was a pro at playing dumb.

It would have been easy to mistake Amy as a wallflower, her eyes always pointed down, her lips seemingly sealed tight, fetching coffee and filing paperwork with zero complaints. She knew the precinct better than anyone, and though every cop in the building would rather die than admit it, she was the reason that place made any difference.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a secretary was underestimated. 

But it wasn’t long before she proved that very notion wrong, finding Marcus after his very first argument with Baldwin, pushing a crumpled piece of paper into his hand along with a crappy cup of station coffee. When he smoothed it open later that day, it was to find a list of suspects, hastily scribbled in Amy’s beautifully looped cursive. 

Neither of them mentioned it again, but the tips kept coming, subtle and not so subtle alike. Case files meant for the shredder that never made it, heavy boxes carried to the evidence locker under the guise of a favor, and one hilarious time when a phone number had been penciled into five down on a Monday morning crossword puzzle. Each one had helped him avoid the legislative tape wrapped securely around police work, and Marcus was eternally grateful for all she did to help him and the other Heroics. 

Even if he couldn’t tell a single soul.

M: Next time I’m around, lunch is on me.

Marcus tries not to think about how it’ll probably be a few weeks before he shows his face around the precinct again, especially considering the confidential information he had just been handed. It always felt prudent to keep a low profile after these run-ins with Baldwin. He picks up his pace, anxious to get back to Heroics headquarters and begin parsing through the case report tucked out of sight, his detective skills already thrumming to life with the potential of new puzzle pieces.

It’s another helpful distraction from the lingering memory of her comforting grip around his shoulder, the hint of her smile over the rim of a chipped coffee mug, the teasing lilt of sweet adorations that he knows don’t mean a thing.

-------------

Amy takes care to keep her eyes forward, watching Marcus over the top of her computer monitor, only catching a glimpse of his hands as he tosses away some of the pieces of paper she had handed him, and pocketing the rest. The transition is seamless, and she can’t help but swell with pride as the Heroic disappears completely from view, the front door of the precinct swinging shut behind him.

Her concentration is broken by another stack of papers hitting the corner of her desk. From the sound of the dull thud it gives, she already knows the rest of her afternoon is now spoken for. But, she reasons, at least it should help the hours tick by just a little bit faster. 

“I swear. That Moreno. He just doesn’t know when to call it quits.”

She casts an eye over her shoulder at her boss, refusing to feel any sort of shame for being caught staring. It was hardly the first time she had let her eyes linger on the width of his shoulders or the cut of his jaw, unable to deny how handsome the man is. She was only human after all.

Today had been just like any other, Marcus’s righteous fury boiling away to reveal his tender heart, joking along with her as he slowly relaxed back into himself. Amy could feel the heat making a home in her cheeks, unable to look away from his plush lips as they formed around a laugh or the stretch of his skin as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. But for all her stolen glances and coy flirting, she knew she could never bear to ask for more, not willing to risk the precious friendship they’d built together over the years. 

“You could try playing ball with the Heroics every once and a while.”

“He’s a bleeding heart, Oliver. Walking around with superpowers and worrying about petty police business. Best not to get too hung up on him.”

A bleeding heart is one way to put it. 

A good man is another. 

A rare find in a world full of men and women alike who were anything but. Amy had had her fair share of experience with those, Harris’s dad the best example she could conjure up. But it hardly mattered. He was gone and she and Harris were better off for it. 

And if given the choice she’d gladly take Marcus’s bleeding heart over the man who walked out when there were two lines on the stick instead of one. 

Derek stares down at her, dark eyes nearly piercing where they pin her in place. For the briefest of moments, white hot panic slices through her heart and she worries he’d seen the case report Marcus had slipped out of sight. But then he’s turning away, reaching for the coffee pot that lives behind her desk, pouring the last dregs of dark liquid into his cup. 

“But we’re all on the same side. Right? Derek?”

Amy watches the older man for a minute longer, doing her best to listen to the steady beat of his silence for any lingering secrets. But Derek Baldwin has always been best at keeping things close to the vest, and his true feelings towards the Heroics were no exception. He taps two fingers on the stack of papers, his movement firm, his orders concise. 

“Finish these up and then you can head out for the night.”

“Sir?”

“Take the afternoon. See your kid. You’ve earned it.”

Amy can’t help but smirk, ducking her head and pulling the papers close, anxious to finish up and head home. 

If only he knew the whole truth. 

Earned it doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

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>>> Chapter Two

A/N: All my love and thanks go out to @jazzelsaur who has listened to me talk about these two (and silly book stuff) basically non-stop. Really, truly, I can't believe I get to call you my friend. How is that possible????

[pedropascalito]

[bluestar22x]

Never Forgotten

Summary: Light pink carnations represent love and gratitude, appreciation of a mother, and never forgetting someone. That's why Marcus gifts them to both his wives on Mother's Day.

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x OFC!Elena (Current Wife), Marcus Moreno x OFC!Reina (Past Wife)

Rating: 18+ Series

Word Count: 2,800(ish)

Warnings: Romance, sexual tension, flashbacks, pregnancy, family life, mentions of cancer, sickness, death, mourning, angst, love, joy - it's a rollercoaster

Author’s Note: This takes place in my Second Chances verse, but you do not need to read the series to enjoy this! This was created for the Moth and Birdie's Mother's Day Fic Challenge by @mothandpidgeon and @ezrasbirdie. Went with something both sweet and angsty, but true to Mother's Day.

xxx

"Mommy, mommy get up!"

An excited young voice drew you from a peaceful night's sleep, leaving you drowsy and a bit mopey about not being able to wake up on your own terms that morning. It was rare you had a day off where you could do so. You had thought on Mother's Day you'd have a better chance.

Still, you smiled when your three and a half year old son (almost four, he insisted) ran into your view, looking as lively as ever.

"Morning, Teo," you mumbled at him.

"Morning, mommy," he greeted you back, beaming. "We have a present for you!"

"Oh? You do?" You and your husband Marcus had decided last year that outside of Christmas presents weren't really going to be a part of your holidays anymore, so you were curious what was in store for you.

Teo nodded at you enthusiastically. "Yeah! Daddy sent me up here to get you!"

"Well," you said as you sat up in bed and rubbed your eyes, "Tell daddy I'll be down in a minute. I've got to brush my teeth first."

And use the bathroom, but that was a given.

"Okay!" And just like that the young boy with wild curls left your room, flying off like superman, whose image was printed many times over on his cotton pajamas.

You made your way after him as soon as you could, having smelled your "present" before you even made it out of the master bedroom.

Marcus was making breakfast, and the kids were helping out, you could only assume. Knowing them, Teo probably came up with the idea, and Missy probably insisted Marcus not do it on his own. She knew very well how easily distracted he could get sometimes.

"Smells like burnt eggs," you joked as you strolled into the kitchen, stopping to pet Ginger, your Chihuahua, who was laying on her side on the bare floor, basking in the warmth of the morning sun.

"Not on my watch," Missy told you from her position by the stove, alongside Marcus.

"Hey," he protested. "I can and have cooked eggs just fine on my own!"

"So long as the TV's not on," you added, grinning. "So this is my present? Breakfast?"

"Brunch," Marcus corrected you as he shut off the stove top burner he'd been using. "It's ten-thirty, honey."

"I slept that long?" You gaped. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"Part of your gift," Missy said, nodding towards the table. "We're also going out for supper. You're not allowed to cook today."

"Sounds good to me," you told her, going to sit at the kitchen table with Teo, who was already chowing down on a syrup covered pancake. "Can I steal a piece?"

"Of course mommy," he answered, pushing his plate towards you more willingly than you'd expected. The kid loved his food. "It's your special day."

"Just testing you," you declared, winking as you plopped a fresh pancake from the stack in the middle of the table onto the plate in front of you. "I can take my own."

Marcus and Missy placed more food on the table, eggs and bacon and breakfast potatoes as you poured a ton of syrup on yours, more than even Teo liked. You preferred your pancakes drowned in it.

As they both sat down with you and Teo, you took a moment to sniff the large bouquet of light pink carnations that were in a thin dark green vase in front of your spot at the table. "Mmm, these smell lovely."

Marcus smiled. "I'm glad you like them. Happy Mother's Day, Elena."

You covered his hand with yours and grinned back. "Thanks for all of this. Though the flowers could technically be considered a gift."

"I get some for Reina every year," he reminded you. "Didn't feel right not to give some to you too when you're not getting anything else."

"Are you visiting her this afternoon?" you asked him quietly.

"On the way to the restaurant, after we visit mom," he confirmed, squeezing your fingers with his.

Reina had been Marcus' first wife. The original Mrs. Moreno. She had passed away years before you'd even met Missy in the school library. You'd encouraged Marcus to keep up the tradition he had of visiting her grave around Christmas, her birthday, and Mother's Day, along with Missy, even when things got hectic.

Sometimes you hung back, giving them their privacy, other times you joined them in solemn silence.

You didn't know Reina outside pictures, stories Missy retold of her mother, mentions Marcus made of her, but you felt a kind of connection to her through them. A comradery of sorts, having both shared your lives with them.

There had never been a time where you'd even considered being jealous of her ghost. You knew Marcus loved you both, equally and differently at the same time, neither able to replace the other. And you were grateful to her even, after all, you wouldn't have Missy in your life if she'd never given birth to her. You couldn't imagine what the last five years or so of your life would've looked like if Reina had never existed.

A coworker had once asked you if you could bring Reina back if you would do it, and you'd said of course without hesitation. Even though it was a loaded question, the answer was easy because you knew how much Marcus and Missy still mourned her, and you'd have loved to meet her. You wouldn't let fear or insecurity make you selfish. You refused to have them, and you loved your family too much for that.

"Dig in before the eggs get cold," Missy warned, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You nodded and reached for the pan of scrambled eggs that was thoroughly mixed with herbs which made them look more tempting than ever. "They look perfect, Missy."

She shrugged. "I've gotten a lot of practice in college."

Though Missy was currently living in a dorm most days, she got cooking experience through the cafeteria job she'd picked up on campus at the tail end of the previous semester.

You took a good share of the eggs, though you made sure to leave enough for the rest of your family and shoved a mouthful into your mouth with your fork.

You closed your eyes and hummed at the delectable taste of them. "Holy...cow Missy. These are amazing! That's not standard for a college campus."

"I mix it up when they let me."

"I'll try not to take offense that you've never said that when I cook," Marcus teased.

"You have plenty of other talents," you assured him.

Some of which would be very inappropriate to mention here, you thought.

The way he grinned at you after, you were certain his mind had gone there too.

Later. Definitely later. Once you had privacy and the kids weren't likely to interrupt.

For now you were going to enjoy the family you both had cultivated together.

x

Visiting Reina's grave never really got easier for Marcus, but this visit was one of the hardest in a long time, even with Missy by his side and you and Teo waiting in the car.

This particular Mother's Day marked ten years of the holiday without Reina's presence. It meant Missy was well into having spent most of her life without her mother around.

That thought pained Marcus deeply as he set the flowers in his hands, ones identical to the batch he'd given you earlier, up against her headstone.

When he backed away a couple feet Missy stepped forward and kissed a couple of her fingers before pressing them against the top of the gray granite. "Miss you, mom."

Marcus felt his heart plummet at her soft, solemn words. For the first time in years tears threatened to surface.

No words were able to form on his lips, none he could think of seemed appropriate, so he thought about Reina instead.

x

He'd been training in the Heroics gym shirtless when they first met. She walked in all professional in a pencil skirt and white blouse, long dark hair pulled back in the tightest possible ponytail, not even batting an eye at the sight of his young sweaty form pounding on the punching bag before him.

"Mrs. Moreno wants to see you," she'd stated plainly.

"Hey," he'd greeted her, halting his activities and wiping the sweat off his forehead with a nearby towel. "Are you the new secretary?"

"Yeah, I am," she replied, pausing, "Sorry, it was rude of me not to introduce myself first. I'm Reina."

Marcus stuck out his right hand and she shook it. "Nice to meet you, Reina. I'm Marcus."

"I know," she said, "Your reputation proceeds you. Top of your Heroics class and your mother told me you're aiming for leadership someday."

He frowned. "She did now, huh?" His mother had been suggesting he take her place from the start of his training to be a Heroic. She claimed he would be a great leader, but he still wasn't convinced after a decade of hearing it.

Reina must have heard the change of tone in his voice. "Is it not true?"

"It's an option," he told her. "I'm just not sure I'd be good at it. If I even want to be the leader."

She nodded. "It's not an easy choice."

"Speaking from experience?"

She shook her head yes. "My father's a lawyer. He was expecting me to lead his legal team someday. Instead I moved away from the countryside, to the city to be a little ol' secretary."

"You like the job?" Marcus asked.

She smiled, and it suddenly occurred to him that it just might be the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen. "Yeah. Your mother is nice to work for. Honest, brutally sometimes, but not mean. And I like the idea of helping you Heroics do your job, since I don't have powers myself."

"You don't need to be powered to be a Heroic," Marcus informed her. "Yes, the team's all powered at the moment, but there are no rules against non-powered people from joining."

"I'm more of a behind the scenes person," she said.

"I can respect that. We need people like you. You and the other secretaries are the backbone of this team."

She looked surprised. "You really think so?"

"We couldn't do our job without you," he added.

She smiled again, and he felt something akin to his stomach flipping witnessing it. "Thanks, Marcus. It's nice to hear. Can I tell Mrs. Moreno you're on your way?"

"Yeah," he said. "Is it an emergency, or can I shower first?"

"No emergency," Reina answered. "I'll tell her you'll be up in ten."

Marcus nodded. "Yeah, I'll be ready by then."

"Perfect," she said with a nod before spinning away on her six inch heels.

He watched her go, fully realizing he was interested in her, beyond pure physical attraction, but having no idea if they'd have a shot together.

Her looking back at him just as she opened the door to leave the gym space gave him hope.

x

"How was today?" Marcus inquired as he walked over to Reina, who was standing on their apartment balcony, apparently waiting for him to come home from work.

He banded his arms around her from behind and leaned down to press a light kiss to her jaw as his hands found the underneath of the expansive mound at her waist.

"Your daughter has been moving almost constantly all day," she told him, splaying a hand over his, the same one that bore the rings he'd given her the previous year. "And she insists on kicking my ribs at the worst possible times," she added with a hint of exasperation.

"Be nice to your mama, baby," he said sternly to his unborn child as she shifted under his palms.

Or he tried to at least.

Reina chuckled. "Guess I'll be the one disciplining her. Not that I'm surprised."

"You calling me soft?" Marcus asked with mock upset.

She turned in his arms to face him. "You are going to be like putty with her."

"Now, that's going too far."

She grinned at him, brown eyes bright and lively, and curled her arms around his neck so she could guide his head down to her lips for a warm kiss.

"I haven't been wrong about you so far," she whispered after, lips quirking upward.

He couldn't argue with that.

x

She looked as beautiful as ever, skating alongside little seven-year-old Missy, holding her hand gently and giggling as they both tried to keep themselves from falling over on the rough surface of the frozen lake.

Her hair hadn't grown back in well, so she was wearing a wig but it looked normal enough, she looked normal enough that Marcus could enjoy the moment, soak in the sight of Reina enjoying the sunny winter day with her daughter, despite it being as bitter cold as it was.

Watching her, watching them that day, Marcus had a hard time comprehending that his wife was dying right in front of him and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

For months he'd been at her side, every step of the way, holding her hand, her hair, as she suffered through radiation and chemo and a mastectomy, all in hope that it would cure her illness.

All of it had been for naught, her doctor having told her last month that they had no more options, that the cancer had spread to a whole slew of different places in her body, including her brain.

She could've continued chemo to prolong her life a little longer, but Reina had decided to choose quality over quantity. She hadn't wanted to live out her final days feeling as sick as chemo made her, so she stopped going to get treatments.

Marcus could only respect her wishes. He knew he would want the same put in her position, and a day like this was worth a lot more than a hundred of her lying in bed hardly able to move or clinging to the toilet bowl.

She caught him watching and they shared beaming smiles, hers natural, his a bit more forced, but it was still wonderful.

x

Going to the mountain lake for one last family trip had been her idea, and as per usual she'd been right.

They'd all needed it, and that was the memory Marcus had clung to most the week, the month, the year after her death.

That last truly good memory always made him smile through the tears.

And as he often did, he made a silent promise never to forget it that particular Mother's Day. To never forget her, as she was meant to be.

x

It was ten minutes before Marcus and Missy joined you and Teo in the car again, as usual more subdued than when they'd left it.

Missy buckled herself back into the seat next to Teo's as you rested a hand on Marcus' cheek, rubbing a thumb over it comfortingly. You could still see the lingering grief in his eyes, freshened by the visit to Reina's grave.

"You okay?"

He grabbed your hand and kissed the top of it, his love for you surging. "With you, always."

He slowly let go of your hand so you could rest it on your lap and you smiled softly. You had no doubt of how important you were to him, but it was still the best feeling to hear it.

He poured it into an intimate kiss you shared later on, after you got back home and the kids raced into the house together, anxious to rewatch a movie they both enjoyed together in Missy's old bedroom.

"You are the best wife I could've ever asked for," he told you, his mouth hovering just over yours, his hands on your hips. "Certainly the best mother."

"Just like Reina," you said, without a tinge of insecurity to it.

"I've been so damn lucky," he murmured, bumping his nose against yours, the edges of your glasses also hitting. "I got to share some of my life with her, and now I get to spend the rest of it with you. Two amazing women who gave me two wonderful kids. I'm beyond grateful."

"How much so?" you inquired, a playfulness to your words. Your hands traveled from his shoulders to his soft stomach, just above the waistline of his pants, fingers grazing the top of his belt buckle.

He hummed with peaking interest as he observed their new, tantalizing placement. "Way beyond."

You grinned widely at him. "Wanna take a shower with me?"

"Have I ever said no?"

You chuckled at that and guided him anxiously into the house to sneak past Missy's bedroom.

The sun may have set, but as far as you were concerned, your Mother's Day celebration was hardly near its end.

And you had a feeling it would be one of those nights not to be forgotten.

xxx

Tagged: @harriedandharassed

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[yourstrulylightstar283]

My rewriting of headcanon for la familia Moreno

Missy, Anita and Marcus Moreno love cats and kittens as well and they're not allergic to them. They also still love dogs and puppies and they're especially fond of chihuahuas. They love rabbits, bunnies, dolphins, orcas, penguins, pandas and red pandas too. They even love elephants, tigers and monkeys.

They love caesar salad with bacon, caesar salad with turkey bacon chicken caesar salad with bacon and chicken caesar salad with turkey bacon.

Their favourite flowers are peonies, tulips, roses(Including red, pink and blue ones), pink carnations, deep red carnations and sunflower.

They love gardening flowers, drawing, painting, reading, swimming, cooking and even baking(Though Marcus still can be distracted like his introduction scene in WCBH.).

They still believe in Santa Claus and they're very proud of it.

For disclaimer, I don't own the Morenos and We Can Be Heroes.

The headcanon and the concept of it (c) @yourstrulylovely52(Me)

[thosewickedlovelies]

Private Eye | Tim Rockford/Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Rating: T for Teen

Summary: You're a detective assigned to the strangest case this apple pie America town has ever seen. Enter: Marcus Moreno, alias Tim Rockford. Will you and your secretly super-powered partner be able to solve this case and the mysterious thing brewing between you?

Tags: vague murder(?) mystery; workplace romance; this is about detectives even though acab 😔✊🏻

Word count: 2,214

Note: Despite making fun of his name, I do still enjoy writing for Tim 😂😅 So here he is! This will eventually (hopefully) be a fun(?) series involving late night paperwork sessions, sneaking around a cool old mansion in the dark, and those intriguing powers of Marcus's...

Masterlist

No matter how many times you’ve been here, the mansion’s long, twisting hallways were never as unnerving as when you were alone in them at night. The shadows seemed to skulk closer than they were able to with your partner by your side. Now they skitter and warp, growing in the corners of your vision, as distance stretches between you. You stare after him in outrage and disbelief.

“Rockford!” you hiss.

He doesn’t answer, and you’re forced to nearly jog to catch up with his long stride. 

“Marcus!”

He whips around suddenly, and for a fleeting instant he’s caught in the moonlight slanting through the tall, narrow windows. Fury glitters in his eyes. In all the various stages of stress you’ve seen him, his jaw has never been clenched this tightly. His livid expression brings you up short.

The next thing you’re aware of is a searing pressure around your wrist as Marcus’s hand encloses it in his blazingly hot grip, dragging you, stumbling, until you reach one of the manion’s many now-familiar closets. The door slams behind you, and all you can see is darkness.

“I told you not to use my name onsite! You know it could put us in danger!” Marcus’s voice has dropped to a scalding whisper. 

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? You weren’t listening to me,Tim!” You place a scornful emphasis on his alias. “You were the one who said we can’t just go stomping around- that we don’t know who we’re dealing with, we have to be careful. You can’t just throw all that away.”

There’s a long, tense silence. You can practically hear Marcus’s internal combustion, a roaring fire of frustration spitting and discarding replies, the pressure rising all the while.

The tension clamors and builds. Marcus takes a long, long inhale- and then releases it, a great gust of a sigh so deep it ruffles your hair in the small space. 

Something creaks. You picture him leaning against the shelved walls, or maybe a serving cart. This old mansion was built with a plethora of butler’s pantries, and some of them still contained evidence of when this place actually employed a butler. 

There’s a squeaking sound that could only be the wheels of a serving cart as it’s pushed aside.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, and I’m sorry. It’s just…this fucking house, and this case. The evidence keeps piling up, but it’s not leading anywhere. I can’t get anything out of the knives or the needles, and the damn grandma…”

Marcus growls his frustration. 

In the utter blackness of your surroundings, the sound breathes goosebumps down the back of your neck.

You swallow, trying to think to professionally. “I know. I’m as frustrated as you are, okay?” 

That probably wasn’t strictly true. Marcus’s superpowers were best described as metalbending enhanced by modern-day science, but even he was struggling to glean any insights from the many knives and knitting needles you had in evidence for this case. He’d built his career on cracking strange cases like this; with his powers stymied, it must feel like groping in the dark. 

You take a deep breath of your own. “I’m sorry for using your name. I know you told me not to; I just couldn’t think of how to get you to stop.” 

Marcus sighs again, but this time it sounds less burdened, like some of his irritation has dissipated. 

“I know you understand the danger if my identity was revealed. I just…had to remind you. I’d never be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because of me."

A sound like his shoes scuffing against the ground, a sense of movement in front of you- what is he doing?

His deep voice is much closer suddenly. “Detective?” 

You’re grateful he can’t see you jump. “Yes?”

It takes your body a half second longer than your brain to realize that what’s touching your arms are Marcus’s hands, so this time he definitely knows you jumped. You almost immediately relax again, however. No matter how long he’d been wandering around this drafty old house in the cool of night, Marcus always managed to be radiator-warm. With your upper arms in a gentle grasp, he strokes soothing paths with his thumbs.

“Please don’t think I’m questioning your abilities. Just- you have be careful using my real name. No matter how much I enjoy hearing it from you.”

His tone drops to a velvety murmur. Your pulse kicks up. Is he…?

Your breath hitches. You scour the darkness for any glimpse of Marcus’s expression, but are only able to perceive the faintest hint of his silhouette. Blindly, carefully, you lift your hands until they find his chest.

“I’ll be careful.” Your voice comes out remarkably steady. 

“By the way…remember how I told you my powers extend even to things like blood? How when I concentrate, I can do things like…sense your heart rate.” Beneath Marcus’s nonchalance lurks a damning amusement. 

You still, although it’s not the mention of Marcus’s powers, but rather that of your traitorous, stuttering heart that’s provoked a sudden sense of danger. Blood rushes to your cheeks, doubtless confirming his guess.

Marcus chuckles softly. “Something making you nervous, Boss?”

You swallow hard against your dry mouth. “��Nervous’ isn’t exactly the word.”

“No?” 

Marcus’s suit jacket brushes your front as he rustles closer, and your fingers instinctively curl around the lapels.

“No. Maybe.”

His presence fills the dark, enclosed space. The smell of Marcus pricks at your nose, his deodorant losing out to the exertions of a day of work and two hours of mansion-haunting. You fight the urge to inhale it. Your knees wobble, at risk of giving way.

Marcus takes your hand and guides it higher up his chest. “Me too,” he admits. “See?”

His heart thuds beneath your palm, beneath his ever-present layers of shirts and the firm pectoral beneath. It’s a comfort to find that it beats nearly as rapidly as yours- but not quite, the calm, confident bastard.

“Can’t see much of anything, actually…” It’s low-hanging fruit, but you manage a weak laugh.

Marcus snickers. “Fair enough.”

His breath hits your cheeks first, and then his nose bumps yours. You gasp quietly. It’s still too dark to see, but you can feel him- the shape of his body against yours, every nervous shuffle as he presses as close as he hasn’t dared in the weeks since you’ve met. 

“What about now?” he murmurs. 

“I think so,” you whisper.

Deep within the house, a door slams.

You both freeze. The tip of your nose digs into Marcus’s cheek; his mouth hovers against yours, your lips barely brushing in an agonizing almost-kiss. Your hands now clutch at each other, every muscle tense and listening.

A Few Weeks Earlier

“Someone else is here,” Marcus breathes.

---

“Detective, meet Agent Tim Rockford. He’s a federal investigative liaison who’s been assigned to assist us on this case.”

You blink. “A what?”

“Just think of me like FBI, but freelance,” the man- Agent Rockford- interjects smoothly. He extends a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” you say slowly.

A freelance federal investigator? Like…a government-approved private eye? What is this, a noir film?

Surveying the grounds again, you snort to yourself. It might as well be. An utterly nonsensical mystery, set in an enormous mansion that could have easily been the setting of an Agatha Christie investigation? The spooky elegance of rundown old money infuses everything about the place, from the overgrown hedge garden to the mildewing paint of the building’s front turret.

Yeah, you’ve definitely seen a murder mystery setting like this before.

“Take Agent Rockford through the crime scene and get him up to speed. Report to my office before you go home, both of you. There’s been some developments we need to discuss.” Your captain strides back to her car, boots crunching on the gravel roundabout. The fountain in the center, filled with stagnant water, blocks your view of her driving off. 

The agent in question is looking around curiously- or at least, you assume it’s curiosity. It’s hard to say for sure with his eyes semi-obscured by a pair of dark lenses. They’re set in a common, unremarkable frame, matching the unassuming aura exuded by his brown pinstripes and polite posture.

“Well, Agent Rockford, let me show you around.” Maybe his job title will make more sense as the day goes on.

“Please, just Tim is fine.”

The man uses his long legs to step neatly ahead and open the door for you. You give him a look, but his smile appears genuine, not condescending- as far as you can tell. 

“Right. Well, as you can see, we’ve got gardens to either side of the driveway, which wrap all the way around the house. There’s a couple greenhouses, sheds, and several other entry points to the house, all with locks intact. I’ll take you through the gardens on the way out.”

Only after you finish speaking do you enter the house. “Thanks.”

Rockford pulls the door shut behind him without comment, but you’re sure you spot his mouth twitch.

The entry foyer is brightly lit by a vast chandelier twinkling high above. It illuminates the corniced ceilings, the grand central staircase with gracefully curving banisters, the shiny granite floors. It’s clear that effort was made to preserve this piece of the mansion’s grandeur, if little of the rest of it. 

“Wow.” Rockford is openly gaping, neck craning to take in the view overhead and throughout the polished space. 

It’s strangely endearing; you would have guessed from the gray flecks in his scruff that a man of Rockford’s experience would be hard to impress by now.   

“Yeah. It’s a shame we’ve had to scuff this place up, but, you know. Crime scene.” You gesture wryly, apologetically to the dust tracks and footprints dirtying the marble floor. 

“Is the whole house like this?” Rockford adjusts his sunglasses, still looking around. Why doesn’t he take them off?

“More like it used to be like this. The last generation or two of the family wasn’t big enough to need the whole house, so they closed off most of it. The rest is a few years away from caving in.”

Rockford nods. He’s looking closer at the details now- the painted portraits and original wood finishings, the evidence tags in the room beyond- and you can see his professional mind beginning to turn.

He turns to you expectantly. “Lead the way, Boss.”

--

Whatever you thought a ‘federal investigative liaison’ might be, it wasn’t Rockford- Tim, as he kept insisting. He was sharp without being obnoxious, respectful without being spineless, and, as you discovered, making your way back through the station, funny. As Tim pulls a face at your least favorite colleague’s diminishing figure, you think: maybe this case won’t be such a drag after all.

“Captain. You wanted to see us?”

“Yes, come in. Shut the door, please.”

Sitting at her desk, your captain shuffles aside the paperwork she’d been doing and unlocks a drawer to retrieve another file folder.

“Rockford. I trust my detective brought you up to speed?”

Tim nods, his face strangely grave. “Yes. I’d like to be honest with her, if you agree.”

“I think at least one other person should be aware. And she’s one of my best; you can trust her.”

Your captain’s praise doesn’t quite mollify your irritation at being talked about like you aren’t there. You’re opening your mouth to interject when she squares her shoulders to you.

“Detective. My apologies for the subterfuge. The agent here will be your partner and federal arm in this case- but Tim Rockford is not his real name.

“This is Agent Marcus Moreno, from a classified branch of the FBI which trains super-powered individuals in investigative capacities.”

You stare, dumbfounded.

“All that means in practice is that we’re detectives, just with super powers,” Tim- Agent Moreno- adds hastily. He awaits your reaction with a thin, anxious smile.

Your stunned gaze slides to him.

Oh. He’s removed his sunglasses. 

Well, that’s…distracting, frankly. Clearly visible for the first time, his eyes are a lovely shade of brown, and round and shiny with sincerity- utterly incongruous with the rest of his ‘generic jaded detective’ look.

“It was my decision not to tell anyone at first. It’s safer that way- it’s hard to know who to trust with this information, being classified and all. But since we’ll be working together so closely, I think it’s better for us to be open with each other.”

Well, that changes things. Or does it? It’s not your first time working with the FBI, but it is your first time meeting an agent with superpowers. Like a freaking Heroic! 

And you’ve seen the danger they face. Seen them targeted by all manner of enemies. You remember the shock and terror on their faces when one of their identities was publicly revealed- and the terrible, gaping hole left when that particular hero vanished afterward. 

Maybe you can understand Moreno’s desire for discretion.

You stick your hand out to the anxious agent sitting beside you. “Nice to meet you, Agent Moreno.”

Thanks for reading! Find more on my Masterlist ❤

His relief is palpable. He accepts your handshake with a boyish smile. “Please, just Marcus is fine.”

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: August 21

Now that the busytimes are over, I just desperately wanted to get back to the fic world. And I may have binged a little. No punishments plz. I have a lot of catching up to do.

Also dang, there's a lot of Jack this time around. There must be whiskey in the water...

🪐 = Year of Themed Creation fic

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JOEL MILLER

Kindred Spirits by @all-the-things-2020 🪐 It's Anne of Green Gables, but with Ellie and Joel. Really, y'all, this one caught me in my chest and had me tearing up more than once watching Joel come back to life for the love of a new daughter. My heart!!!!!

Surrender Chapter 10 and Chapter 11 by @ezrasbirdie So now we've gotten to the end of Kin and I'm still tense about Joel and Ellie even if I understand that their story will lead them back to Jackson. But now I'm just worried about Daisy. She's so vulnerable, so convinced that love is an accident or will always be so fragile and fleeting, I'm so afraid she'll run from it before she has a chance for it to really sink in. I just want to smoosh her and never let her go.

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EZRA

Taking Root by @the-blind-assassin-12 This short story takes place in an existing Ezra storyline, but you don't need to know that series to appreciate this fluffy bit of lovely, heartwarming give and take between Ezra and Cee as they make a gift for someone they love and care for.

E is for Exhibition by @butchmandalorian 🪐 Pro dom!Ezra is back, my beloved, and this time it's sex in a movie theater. He is such a menace and loves his work so much. I really wish the man was real. I am not a BDSM girl, but there's just something about butchmandalorian's Ez that gets me in all the right places.

Kinktober in June: Focus by @leslie-lyman Holy balls, y'all. This is mesmerizing in every single sense of the word: a little hypno-kink will do ya. Even without his arm and his humanity, Ezra still has many skills. The ability to manipulate and get what he wants. A silken voice. Patience. And apparently, that's all you need too.

E. - "Are you sure you're ready for this?" by @missredherring A drabbled writing exercise wherein Miss Red takes the prompt out of the smut box and into a softer place. Which is totally my jam.

Miles and Time by @never--doubt 🪐 Have I said yet how much I love Ezra? Or soulmates? I've never seen this mechanic before--the one where you have numbers on your wrist counting down the distance between soulmates. I love it. There's a lifetime of angst, but man, Ezra's worth the wait.

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JACK DANIELS

Draft Release: Dial Up the Jack, Dim the Whiskey by @artemiseamoon 🪐 You know, I had the same reaction to Jack that OFC Bria does here. Initially, I thought he was ridiculous and full of ego, not worth losing my heart to. But she gets to see the Jack that's deep down inside that Whiskey persona and...well...never say never.

untitled by @brandyllyn Hi would you like to be punched in the heart with just 600 words? Why don't you read what happens when Jack comes back from taking another bullet to the skull? I feel like this could be the prologue to a story that could end up so so sweet...but damn, that last sentence is a doozy.

Saying I Love You With Flowers by @songsformonkeys 🪐 I'm not really a flower person myself, but if I was getting them from y crush constantly, I could be converted real fast. Is there anything as lovely as when Jack's both a scamp and a gentleman all at once? He's the master at it and I am a puddle at his feet.

How Wrong You Are by @haylzcyon A short and sweet piece wherein Jack professes his care in the aftermath of a sketchy getaway. Haylz is never over-saccharine, but hits all the notes just right, just like a damn fine Whiskey indeed.

Bangathon: Position: Kneeling Reach Around (with Marcus Pike) and Position: 69 by @prolix-yuy My goodness, LJ is great at the smut and I love how she writes Jack. He's a confident lover, putting the object of his affection exactly where he needs them...and where they will soon understand they need to be. He may go after what he wants, but he never pushes too hard and always makes sure it's what they really want. I would 100% want to be in this man's mustachio'ed embrace. Yee-effin-haw.

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JAVI GUTIERREZ

Music Box: Prologue by @beecastle Aw yeah, we're getting Little Mermaid AU! This is a quick prologue setting us up for wanting more--both in terms of story AND in terms of the reader character wanting to learn more about humans. I'm hoping there's a certain sweet human in her eyeline soon....

To Your Rescue by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 Oh to be in the employ of Javi Gutierrez. To have his attention, his yearning looks, his protection. Really, my favorite thing would be to fall asleep watching movies with him...and you'll get that here too.

Litha by @grogusmum 🪐 Javi and his beekeeper girl are sweet as honey and I'm not gonna shy away from saying so. I love that he appreciates her taking an interest in his hobbies and family celebrations and shows that he cares for her interests by helping her celebrate a sweet Midsummers!

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MARCUS MORENO

Taste by @@radiowallet I generally don't read Marcus but I will always ALWAYS make an enthusiastic exception for Cat's Marcus. He is a true hero, both sweet and confident, pulled so ardently by his needs but really getting off on saving the day for you. And, of course, there's Cat's style of writing which is song in itself. If anyone can make me fall in love with period sex, it's her, it's Marcus, it's this sweetly smutty fic in all its soft, yearning glory.

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TIM ROCKFORD

First Mistake by @hopeamarsu 🪐 I am really delighted by this little character study. Hopes took what we see in the trailer and turned it inward, focusing on Tim's physical sensations and trains of thought. The way he registers the take-out he's eating, how he craves the whiskey in his desk drawer, his frustration as he looks at the clue board trying to make that crucial connection. It's a beautiful little piece, simple and yet full of so much.

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PERO TOVAR

untitled by @writeforfandoms I am such a sucker for Jen's modern-not-modern Pero. He is learning, but still such a menace and a hedonist that I can't help but giggle at him and adore him in equal measure. I love when his puppydog nature rears its head like it does here as he tries to keep his reader all to himself on a nice picnicy day...

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JAVIER PEÑA

The Third Date by @lowlights What Laura has done here is pretty much described my perfect third date with Javier. I mean, it's Javi being soft, giving his attentions, doing soft naughty things in public. But even more than that, it's tacos, y'all. Sign me up.

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DIN DJARIN

Year of Small Joys: Stargazing by @keldabe-kriff 🪐 I love that Lyr is focusing on small joys. It's totally my jam to see my favorite characters just having a moment of peace or happiness, just to see their reaction to something I find lovely or to hear their thoughts about something I'd never stopped to notice. This time it's Din and stars, which really should be old hat for him. But he still finds a beauty in stargazing...

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OBERYN MARTELL

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #8: Oberyn Martell - Apology Kiss / Jealous Kissing by @something-tofightfor I might be living for this modern AU playboy Oberyn and his proclivity to be vulnerable in my presence, to open up and be real when hurt feelings are on the line. He did wrong, but I think he'll make up for it, and boy howdy do I want to be on the receiving end of that.

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SPECIAL GUEST CORNER

OBI-WAN KENOBI

A Chance Taken by @ghostofskywalker 🪐 I know that Obi-Wan has his duty, but wouldn't it be nice if he always harbored feelings and had plans to settle after the war? This one is living that dream....I wants it.

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BOROMIR

The Advice of Hobbits by @ironmandeficiency I mean, nobody should take advice from Merry and Pippin. And so it goes without saying that nobody should take love advice from Merry and Pippin. Ever. Poor Boromir. But I'm not gonna lie. The results are pretty cute.

[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter 9

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: Amy and Marcus are happy. WC: 2.7K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, a blatant show of testosterone, blood, injuries, kissing, making-out, dry humping, a smidge of dirty talk hurt/comfort, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 8 >>> Part 10

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

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“Mommy, why are you smiling like that?”

“Because I’m happy.”

“You look crazy.”

Amy's eyebrows shoot up into her forehead, not sure how to answer her daughter’s question. She tries her best to school her expression into something more neutral but fails almost immediately. Harris snorts into her bowl of cereal, milk spraying out across the kitchen table. A muffled ‘sorry’ is mumbled around a mouthful of crunch berries, and before Amy can offer an alternative, Harris is mopping up the spill with the sleeve of her shirt. 

And she still can’t stop smiling. 

——

“Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?

“Like you slept with a coat hanger in your mouth.”

Marcus sneaks a glance to the passenger seat where Missy is watching him, eyes narrowed, one sneaker propped on his dashboard. He briefly considers playing it off and changing the subject, but that tactic hasn’t worked on her in years. 

“Just happy, kiddo. What can I say? Just really happy.”

He watches Missy bob her head from the corner of his head, her own smile stretching her cheeks. 

“Next time they should come to our place.”

If possible, his smile gets even wider. 

——

“Hey, Oliver, you got that list of potential informants from Saturday?”

“…Oliver?”

“Oliver!”

A stack of papers and a cup of coffee hit Amy’s desk one after the other, and she blushes when she glances up and sees Derek staring down at her. There are certainly better ways to start a Monday morning than the chief of police catching her daydreaming about brown eyes and very kissable lips. But who could blame her, when the memory of Marcus’s touch was still so fresh, the bruise of his kiss still seared into her skin? She was already counting down the seconds until she could see him again, her mind on anything but police reports and notary stamps, only able to think about the way he – he…

“Oliver!”

“Shit! Sorry, Derek,” she apologizes, ducking her head and grinning despite herself. She shuffles through the mess, looking for the papers he was asking for when a cough draws her attention back to her boss, the cup of coffee he had put down nudged in her direction. 

“Seems like you need this.” 

“Thanks,” she offers between sips, closing her eyes and humming at the familiar taste. 

She hears the scrape of a chair and looks over as Derek takes a seat beside her, something stuck between a smile and smirk looking back at her. 

“Someone on your mind?”

“Oh god, what do you know?” 

It seemed only fitting that he knew about her and Marcus. A skilled detective with years of experience beneath his belt who has had a front row seat to the back and forth for years now? Of course, he knew.

Derek throws his head back, his trademark laugh filling out the stiff Monday morning air. “Not much, but I think I can take a good enough guess.” 

Amy snorts into her mug, taking another sip before returning to the task at hand.  “No jokes or warnings? Nothing about ‘bleeding hearts’ or ‘vigilante shit’?”

“It’s not like it would change your mind,” he reasons, leaning back in his chair, the heel of his boot resting across his knee. “Would it?”

“Mmmm, definitely not,” she hums, the smile returning to her face. She pulls out the list Derek had been asking for and passes it over to him with a wink. 

“You can spare me the details, Oliver. I’m happy you’re happy, but just do me a favor?”

The tone in his voice catches her ear, and she takes care to stop what she’s doing altogether, giving him her full attention. For a moment he doesn’t say anything, sharp eyes watching Amy from only a few feet away. Not for the first time, she wonders how much Derek really knows about her friendship with the Heroic and how even as it progresses so seamlessly into more, there is one piece of the foundation that remains. He clicks his tongue to the back of his teeth and shakes his head, telltale smirk returning. 

“Come find me when you’ve got these reports done. I need to take a look at them before the briefing about Wednesday night.”

——

“Falling in love with that file over there, Moreno?”

“Hmmm, what’s that?” Marcus asks, not looking up from the papers in his lap, Miracle’s question hardly registering, save for the call of his name. Whatever it is, it’s not nearly enough to distract  him from the memory of Amy’s kiss, and suddenly he’s wondering if it’s too early in the day to call her. Surely, she’s at work by now, and Marcus can’t think of a better way to brighten his own morning than by hearing her voice. He’s just about to reach for his phone when suddenly a blonde mustache is directly in his line of sight.

“Anybody home up there?”

“Jeez!” He shoots out of his chair, Miracle Guy’s intrusion into his personal space. “Warn a guy next time!”

“Oh, you mean the three times I called your name while you were daydreaming weren’t enough?”

Marcus feels his smile slip for the first time that day, his cheeks heating up at the realization he had been caught red-handed. The other man smirks before straightening and sauntering back to his seat on the other side of the room. He makes a show of swinging his hips back around and sitting in his chair before fixing a Cheshire grin directly on Marcus. 

“Sooooo…did you do something slutty?”

“Get back to work.”

“That’s a yes,” Miracle declares triumphantly, cheating his eyes back down to the file in his lap. 

“Not your business,” Marcus counters, shaking his head and doing his best to focus on his own work, hoping the subject would be dropped for good. The last thing he wanted was to reduce his weekend with Amy down to typical locker room talk, no matter how well-intentioned his friend was. No, this was something he wanted to safeguard, and protect, in any way he possibly could. 

They work in silence a little longer, only the scratch of Marcus’s pen to fill up the space between them. He’s just starting to make a little bit of headway when he feels it, the stare of blue eyes from across the room. Sure enough, Miracle Guy is still watching him when he looks up, but his features have evened out to something tempered and genuine. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” he tosses out, cheating his eyes back down to his lap. “So, when you seeing her again?”

Marcus doesn’t bother pointing out that he had yet to actually confirm the shift in his relationship with Amy (or that it was even Amy that had him so distracted in the first place). Instead, he tosses the stack of papers onto his desk and folds his hand in his lap, giving up fully on killing his smile.

“Friday.”

Miracle Guy nods, leaning forward to meet Marcus’s gaze head on, his own smile splitting his lips. “What would you say to seeing her sooner?

——

The assumption has always been that Miracle Guy is dumb. People see the cape and the muscles and the smile and they draw conclusions to a very obvious (if not boring) narrative. Marcus grew up side by side with the other Heroic, a tenuous rivalry that blossomed slowly into a friendship that spanned two weddings, two kids, one devastating loss, one almost retirement, and one fake alien invasion. 

The two men brought out the best and worst in each other over the years. Miracle was strong, so Marcus took up swords. Marcus was quick on his feet, so Miracle took to the skies. They were so different in so many ways, but when push came to shove it didn’t really matter that Marcus was named team leader. Miracle Guy looked good on a lunch box and so that was his role to play. The face. The smile. The whole package. 

But the world didn’t know. 

They didn’t see it. 

Miracle Guy was the smartest of them all. 

And so when he pointed out one distinct pattern that Marcus had overlooked in every case filing, every box of evidence, every shake down of a perp, he knew the other man was right. About a lot of things. 

The air in the station feels less stale today, something static sparking at the tips of his fingers, even just the potential of Amy’s smile leaving Marcus breathless. He spots her quickly, her head bent low over her desk, her pen moving in short, sweet strokes, a half-empty cup of coffee beside her.  He shifts where he stands, giving himself a few seconds to collect his thoughts, admiring Amy from afar in the meantime. From the outside, she appears focused, her eyes sharp and her pen strokes precise, but Marcus doesn’t miss how she pauses every so often, the scratch of her pen falling silent, the tips of her ears tinging pink.

He can’t help but hope it’s him that has her so distracted.

She looks up, the weight of his eyes on her finally catching her attention. He gives a small wave, not bothering to hide his grin, delighted when she matches him beat for beat. He moves quickly after that, not slowing until he’s beside her.

“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” Amy greets him before taking a sip of her coffee. From the look of disgust on her face, it’s gone cold but she takes it in stride, standing and moving to the coffee pot behind her, mug in hand.

“Me either,” Marcus admits, his hand coming to the back of his neck. He watches her patiently as she tops off her lukewarm coffee before pouring a cup for him, adding his preferred two sugars with a smile and a wink. 

“So is it safe to assume you’re here for more than just a sweet surprise?” She murmurs, brown eyes cheating to where Baldwin’s door is shut tight.

“Guilty.”

Amy takes his confession in stride, handing him the mug of coffee before leaning in to kiss his cheek. It’s soft, a barely there brush of her lips, but still, he can feel his heart rate pick up speed. It’s another addition, something small and sweet, the change in their dynamic more apparent than ever. Her eyes find his, something warm spilling out between them, and before she can move away he leans in and steals a quick kiss of his own. 

“Okay,” she hums, settling back down in her seat and motioning for him to do the same. “Spill. Tell me about your day.”

Marcus grins but obliges, scooting his chair in until his knees just graze Amy’s. She doesn’t say anything, but he can feel her push her own leg forward into his space, and he takes that as his cue to talk

“Miracle Guy and I were doing a little bit of work today. Going over some of our notes from the past few weeks, and he noticed something interesting.”

“Mmm? What’s that?” She asks, not looking up from her own work, the perfect picture of feigned indifference. 

He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding his head left then right, trying to match her nonchalance. “The only piece of evidence collected.” 

——

Amy hadn’t really thought much about the bags of money from the weekend. Not since they had fallen into her face, interrupting her kiss with Marcus. After their giggling had quieted, and Marcus had leaned back in for one more kiss, softer and sweeter on the second go around, she carefully stacked the bundles of cash back on the shelf and promptly put them out of her mind. 

Until now. 

She can feel the heat of Marcus behind her as they navigate the narrow stairwell down into the evidence locker. Tendrils of warmth curl down in her stomach, the memory of Saturday morning still fresh in her mind. Somehow returning to the scene of their first kiss feels more intimate than anything else they’ve shared since, and it takes every ounce of willpower for her not to turn around and recreate the moment beat for beat. 

It isn’t just Amy that’s distracted by the memory, the brush of Marcus’s lips along the nape of her neck giving away his own thoughts. As her feet touch the bottom step his hands find her waist, holding her in place, his breath insistent across her skin. Logic falls to the wayside, one calloused palm cupping her chin and turning her head until their lips finally meet. 

The kiss is hurried, sharp and sweet, breaking apart and coming back together again and again. Amy does her best to hold on, one hand finding the bend of Marcus’s elbow, the other planted to the wall, chipped paint catching beneath her fingernails. She gasps into the kiss and his grip only tightens at the sound. Suddenly, she's spinning, her back to the wall, his chest pressed to hers, teeth and tongue taking even more. 

“Missed you,” he murmurs into the kiss, refusing to part from her lips any longer than necessary. 

Amy is vaguely aware of the growing risk, the busy precinct one floor up, filled with an endless number of people who could walk in and steal this moment. And still she can’t stop, kissing Marcus as if he was the air inside her lungs, breathing him in and holding him close and praying for forever. His tie between her fingers and his hands in her hair, and how could it be that only a week ago she was convinced this man didn’t want her. 

Couldn’t want her. For all the things she carried from point A to point B. 

Amy was never so sure of how good it felt to be wrong. 

Level heads and a gentler touch eventually prevail, the kiss ending with soft smiles and pink cheeks. But Marcus doesn’t pull away, even as his eyes find a spot over her shoulder, the shelves of evidence splitting his attention. 

“What are you looking for exactly?”

His jaw ticks hard to the left, his brows bunching in with the effort. When answers, it’s with his own question, something like guilt coloring his words. 

“How hard are those bags of money to open?”

——

It turns out, not very hard at all. 

Amy pulls one of the neatly stacked bundles down, running the tip of her finger along the sealed edges.

“You can’t open it here, because you’ll cut through these signatures,” she points to the scribbled names of two officers. The ones who had collected the money from the scene of the crime. “But if you cut here,” she slides her finger down to the bottom of the bag, “you can reseal it without it being too noticeable.” 

“It’s weird though,” she hums with the afterthought, turning the bag back over in her hands. “Once we confirm the money was obtained illegally the FBI comes to haul it away. Must be hung up ‘cus we confiscated it over the weekend.” 

Marcus nods in agreement, a sharp buzz starting to ring in his ears. He’s acutely aware of the lines being crossed, Amy’s voice pitched to a low whisper, her tone rushed with nerves. New layers of guilt are sticking to his every thought, and he hates how unsure he is of both of their motives. Is she willing to help because she always has, his friend first and foremost, their relationship built around little lies just like this one? Or is this something bigger? The memory of their kiss still bruised into her lips as she willingly helps him take something he knows he shouldn’t? 

“Marcus?” She calls his name, pulling his attention back down to her, her own eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you think is in here?” 

Slowly, eyes never leaving hers, he takes the bag out of Amy’s hands and places it back on the shelf behind them. With his hands free, Marcus cups her cheeks and leans in, pressing his lips, first to the crease in her brow, to the tip of her nose, and then finally, to her lips. When he pulls back, he keeps her close, her breath warm where it mingles with his own. 

“I’ll find another way.” 

------

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading.

[yourstrulylightstar283]

I admire Missy's teacher saving Missy and Missy's classmates & Marcus saving Missy's teacher as well and I adore their bonds💕

My Hero

Marcus Moreno x gn!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: brief violence, non descript injury, hospital setting, hurt/comfort, fluff

Request from anon:  I have no idea if requests are open but if they are I can’t get the idea of Marcus Moreno x reader, where she is Missy’s teacher and gets hurt/kidnapped while protecting her class?

Notes: I went with injury this time since I did kidnapping already lol. I hope you like this, anon and I hope you see this! I’m sorry it took so long but I could not come up with the words for this for the life of me lol. This uses the same reader from Back to School Night, but you don’t need to have read that for this one. And as always, taglists are open!

~

“Don’t forget your backpack, Missy,” you called to her with a wink as your class packed up for the end of the school day.

Missy rolled her eyes playfully at you as she gathered her things. You watched the kids with a grin on your face as you thought back to the backpack that changed your life. It was because of that forgotten backpack that you had found someone special in your life: Missy’s father Marcus. She must have gotten tired of the way you both made goo-goo eyes at the other when you weren’t looking and single-handedly orchestrated some alone time for the two of you. Luckily, Marcus gathered the courage to ask you out, and you gathered the courage to say yes. And things have never been better.

Your eyes trailed over to your desk where a single flower sat in a little vase. It was your favorite flower, and Marcus always got you a new one every week to decorate your desk. The little gesture made your heart flutter as you thought about how much the Morenos meant to you. A grin lit up your face as the chatter of your kids filled the room. Everything seemed pretty perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Keep reading

[oonajaeadira]

For the Love of Fic: February 13

Zero writing done, but I’m getting through my gigantic read list! 

Here’s what I enjoyed this week!!!

🪐 = Year of Themed Creations work!

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PERO TOVAR

First Kiss by @hopeamarsu 🪐 Holy BALLS was I left breathless and yearning with this one. I think I’m still recovering. What I wouldn’t give to make Pero stop for a hot second and realize what a kiss means to him. To not let me go. To want more. 

The Herbalist: Part 3: Appearances Can Be Correct  and Part 4: Sticking Your Nose In by @blueeyesatnight A wild Pero appears (proceeded by odor and followed by cussing) just as reader is described as “a lady.” You think he cares? These two couldn’t be less likely or suited to enjoy each other’s company...and I can’t wait for them to crave it.

Love and Red by @chaoticgeminate This is actually a fanwork of leslie-lyman’s Stranger At My Gate. Readers of that story will recognize the Walsh family members, as well as Pero and Tess and their red string. It’s wonderful to look at a fan paring from an outsider’s POV while inside the story itself!

In the Belly by @grogusmum 🪐 Hazel’s Hedgewitch and Mercenary are preparing to reap the fruits of their Beltane tumbles. Since his Mariposa is supposed to be resting, it’s up to Pero to get the Imbolc ritual right. After being put through a quiet test, he’s about to get what he deserves!!!

Whatever Comes Our Way by @writeforfandoms  Okay, come on now. Jen’s modern!Pero is one of my happy places because he’s such a toddler of a man. Pouts, grumps, refuses to give into force. But his defenses can be eroded by the funniest things...in this case, a ferret. Watching Pero bond with a ferret is... *giggles* delightful.

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JOEL MILLER

The First You by @yelena-bellova I love this meditation on Joel through the eyes of his Tess-like companion, sleuthing out little gestures and behaviors that point to an inner Joel, someone with passions and preferences he’d rather not let anyone be privy to. Which is a shame...because he’d benefit so much from the love. Beautiful and aching.

I Lied by @flightlessangelwings 🪐 When Joel gets protective, he gets protective. And when you belong to him, he’s not gonna let anyone else have you. Swoon.

Saying I Love You After A Fight by @songsformonkeys 🪐 Hanna’s going for my heart this year in all the different ways one can say I love you, and she’s already making me yearn on this first one. The way the reader and Joel trust and know each other--know how they argue, the sound of sleep vs. laying awake, the words that are unspoken and those that are... It’s just a beautiful quiet moment of making up in the quiet way Joel has, and I’m here for it.

Home by @radiowallet  Cat revisits the moment when Tess denied that she had a home with Joel and how it affects him. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful like all of Cat’s writing, but that last line goes for the throat and the pain is so exquisite that I’ll gladly just lie here staring at the ceiling and letting it bleed out....

Getting Lost is Being Found by @littlemisspascal  This is an absolute stunner. Dark AU, hellhound!Joel, alpha/omega dynamics. Sometimes I feel like Rae is the good witch of this fandom, peering through her cabinet of ingredients and skillfully poitioning the most amazing fics from them. Her writing in this one is particularly beautiful, her descriptions and worldbuilding just gorgeous. This is one of those fics that takes me out of time and places me somewhere else for a while. Perfection.

Anywhere But Here by @prolix-yuy A bleak and beautiful examination of Joel and Tess’s relationship from Tess’s POV, from a supposed meeting right up until the greatest thing she’s ever done. LJ’s writing is absolutely gorgeous as usual, and she really knows how to make it sing while it stings.

Men Who Are Fighting To Be Warm: The NSFW ABC’s of Joel Miller by @something-tofightfor  Listen. When Rachael writes Joel, she writes JOEL. And even if this is a headcanon format, you’re going to get in deep to Joel’s head and learn about him beyond the bedroom. The man has stories from so many lifetimes--from Texas, Boston, Jackson...he’s got his triggers and his traumas, but it’s nice to see him on the road to having the semblance of a quiet and loving life.

SPECIAL GUEST CORNER: THE LAST OF US EDITION ELLIE AND SAM

Not A Monster, Not Alone by @beecastle  Bee wrote us a fix-it fic for Sam and Ellie. And it’s so bright and wonderful that it just breaks my heart all the more...

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OBERYN MARTELL

Does Your Mother Know? by @simpingcowboy 🪐 I’m in love with the ABBA theme. I’m in love with this version of Oberyn. And I’m in love with how he toys with her and leaves her wanting more. I’m not an age-gap kinda girl, but I adore Oberyn’s way of saying something shocking as if it was not taboo at all. Because, to Oberyn, little is taboo. But even he has his limits.

Sweet Reds and Starlight Mornings by @lowlights No joke, when Oberyn’s told to make a mess, he’s going to enjoy making that mess. And there’s no mess like a honey and fluids mess. What a fantastic birfday gift. Lap. It. Up.

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MR. BEN

What The Hell Are Fancams? by @musings-of-a-rose I’m kind of still reeling from this. I usually stick to reader fic or OC (this one’s first-person narrator) so nearly took a hall pass...and I’m so so SO glad I didn’t. I love the narrator a lot and her student Chelsea is a little mischievous queen. (Can we talk about her mutual student crush and how adorable they are???) This is just wall-to-wall mutual crush at first site and holy balls this is so fluffy and cute and my heart was just fluttering all the way through it and pulling for them the whole time. Srsly. NO. CRUMBS. LEFT.

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EZRA

Glory by @insomniamamma 🪐 I never want J to stop writing for Ez and Prickle. And since she so cleverly writes their story out of order in moments and assignments, expertly weaving in just the things you need to know in order to follow that particular installment, you can read any of them as standalone or read them as they come up, as if you’re getting scattered stories of a life lived, as many life stories are told. This one isn’t of just one instance but many, of how love looks and acts with Ezra at the wheel. And forgive me if I disappear after this one as I have melted and am slowly seeping into my couch cushions...

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JACK DANIELS

Spare Parts by @haylzcyon  I am in love with the balls on this reader character. How she knows when she’s not wanted and leaves without a fuss. How she speaks her mind. How she tells her man exactly what’s on her mind. And, of course, how she puts him in his place--secure in her heart and bed. <3

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MARCUS MORENO

YSC: Heartbeat by @deadhumourist 🪐 This fic gave me emotions that I don’t really know how to define. For her first Year of Science Fiction installment, Ani takes Marcus and gives him a new heart. Which sounds lovely and poetic. Until you realize this is sci-fi. And then things point toward the darker side. 

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[radiowallet]

Eyes Open - Chapter 11

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: Marcus and Amy finally get their date. WC: 3.4K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, a blatant show of testosterone, blood, injuries, kissing, making-out, dry humping, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, a smidge of dirty talk hurt/comfort, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, single parents, DID I MENTION THE YEARNING?

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

Part 10 >>> Epilogue

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

------

The first thing Marcus notices is that he’s hot. Too hot for a bed where most of the covers have been kicked down to the floor. The next is that there is something heavy laying across his chest. The third is that his back is killing him. 

“Next time we do this,” he hums, trying hard not to let it sound like a groan, stretching his legs where they dangle off the side of the small bed frame, “we’re staying at my place.” 

Amy makes a similar noise from where she shifts on top of him, her chin digging into his bare chest, propping herself up, half-lidded eyes soft in the early morning light. 

“Next time?”

Marcus takes care to smooth back the loose tendrils of hair that had tangled overnight, before cupping her cheek, letting the pad of his thumb trace the crease of sleep around her eyes. 

“Next time.”

Already he’s thinking of Friday - tomorrow -  and the date he’s been planning for what feels like forever now. The night before still feels lost in a haze, the two of them more exhausted than either cared to let on. By the time they got back to Amy’s apartment, they had just enough energy to stand in her kitchen, trading cold leftovers back and forth as they watched each other with hungry but tired eyes. 

“I don’t know if this is okay,” he had murmured through a bite of chicken, his gaze tracing the curves of her form slowly from top to bottom, “but I really like how you look in my clothes.” 

Amy looked down, tugging at one of the buckles on his vest before looking back at him, her smile more than knowing. 

“You mean this?”

It was impossible to respond, his tongue dry, sticking like glue to the roof of his mouth. He stepped in closer, dragging his thumb across her bottom lip, wiping away any phantom trace of barbecue sauce before leaning in for a kiss. 

“You need to take this off.”

“Why? Is it distracting?”

It seemed stupid to lie at that point, even to tease, so he nodded instead, hands dropping to the buckles and snaps, pulling them free with the slightest of tremor. His own sob came out of nowhere, tears tracking down his cheeks as he pulled the Kevlar off of her, letting it land somewhere by their feet. Amy had moved in time with him, pulling him to her own shoulder for comfort, but Marcus held his ground, backing her into the counter and caging her in with the width of his arms. 

“Never again,” he growled in her ear, a possessive thrill chasing his spine when she shivered at his words. 

They had fallen into bed shortly after, tears traded for laughter as Marcus did his best to fit his broad frame on Amy’s twin-sized bed. By the time they had settled into a position resembling comfortable (Marcus on his back with Amy curled half lying on top of him) they were too tired for much more than a few languid kisses before sleep claimed them both. 

Amy hums again, parroting his promise of next time back to him before sliding out of bed, stretching her arms overhead. Despite his complaints, he’s reaching for her, beckoning her back to the too small space. She shakes her head, the sweetest smile teasing her lips in an apology. 

“Chris will be here with Harris soon.” 

This has him sitting up, eyes cheating between Amy and the front door. 

“Should I go?”

She shuffles back and forth, tugging at the hem of her sleep shirt - black and dirty and very much his - her bottom lip snared between her teeth. 

“I don’t know?” She perches her small frame on the arm of the sofa, head falling into her hands. “I probably should have figured that out before this morning.”

Marcus moves over to sit on the couch beside her, his hand finding the curve of her knee easily. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I brought a woman over?”

She turns to him, brow arching in mild disbelief. “When was this?”

“A couple of years ago. Missy was around 14.”

“How did you handle it?” 

“Badly,” he admits through a nervous laugh. 

“Was Missy home?”

“Yes,” he can’t help but groan, letting his head fall back into the couch. “It was all very spur of the moment. I was out with some friends for drinks and I spent the night talking with this girl. She wasn’t my soulmate or anything but she was nice and there was a mutual attraction. And… fuck, I was horny, Ames.”

She looks like she wants to laugh but she holds it back, instead putting her hand on top of his where it rests on her knee. “I can relate.”

“It was so late. Almost past one. I was sure Missy would be asleep.” 

“Buuuuut?”

“But sure enough, open the door with what was basically a stranger on my arm and there she was, watching some weird cartoon in the living room.” 

This time Amy does laugh, a small chuckle breaking past her lips. He pulls her down off the arm of the sofa and into his lap, fingers digging into her ribs as he does so. Her laughter turns frantic, and Marcus is quick to swallow the sound, kissing her firmly on the lips until she finally settles. 

“So was that the end of Marcus Moreno’s adventures in dating?” 

“It was the end of random hook-ups, that’s for sure.”

“Excuse me for being a bit obtuse, but that story didn’t exactly clear up my confusion,” she quips, leaning in to nudge her nose into his bottom lip. 

“My point,” he admonishes, grabbing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, an attempt to keep her attention on his words, “is that Missy is no worse for the wear. And no matter what you decide, Harris will be too.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you.”

They part ways after that, Marcus partially taking the decision on himself and saving Amy a difficult conversation so early in the morning. 

“I’ll pick you up around 7 tomorrow night?” He asks between their fourth and fifth kiss goodbye. 

She nods and smiles, before stealing kiss number six. “Any hints on what the plans are?” 

His only response is kiss number seven. 

————

There hadn’t been a lot of cause for dressing up over the past few years, leaving most of Amy’s nicer dresses to be shoved to the back of her closet. She hasn’t thought about them much, the short skirts and tight tank tops feeling like they belonged to a different person most days. But now she thinks maybe she’s not so different, and maybe, just maybe, it’s time to rediscover pieces of herself she had set aside. 

She smooths at the black lace, admiring the way the fabric falls around her waist, refusing to second guess her choice. Marcus hadn’t given her any hints about his plans for tonight, but she had reasoned that some things would always hold true, like how good she looked in (and out of) a little black dress. Chris had assured her it was perfect when she walked in, a knowing smile when she spotted a small overnight bag next to Harris’s. Amy only shrugged in response. 

Before they had left, she took care to bend down, straightening Harris’s jacket and smoothing back her curls, doing her best to appear calm. “Are you sure you’re alright spending the night with Auntie Christine again, Jellybean?”

The 7-year-old had rolled her eyes, grabbing Amy’s cheeks between her small hands, schooling her tiny features into an attempt at something serious. “We are going to see Spiderman,” stomping her foot for emphasis. “Do not screw this up for me, momma.”

The dramatics had been enough to wipe away the last of her anxieties, and she waved all of them off with just enough time for one last primp in the mirror before Marcus was knocking on her door. 

“You’re early,” she teased, opening the door wide enough to let him in. 

“Can you blame me?” he fired back, admiring her with hungry eyes. 

Amy can feel herself blushing beneath the heat of his gaze, the look enough to remind her of every touch and every kiss they’ve already shared, and the promise of more to come. She bites her lip and grabs for her bag, holding it up for Marcus to see.

“I didn’t want to assume.” 

“Always so prepared,” he hums, taking the bag from her hand before offering his other arm for her to take. 

“So are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She asks as they walk outside, the two of them parting only long enough for her to lock up. 

“I was thinking, you got to show off your cooking skills. So maybe it could be my turn?”

“So that means…?” she asks, the answer already pulling a smile to her cheeks and a pull deep in her core. 

“Amy,” he starts, his lips turned up into something wolfish, eyes burning dark with want. “Can I take you back to my place?”

————

Marcus had plans. A menu with wine and dessert. Ingredients stacked neatly in the fridge. There had been candles and an empty house and a chance for him to pamper Amy in all the ways he knew she deserved. 

But then she answered the door in that little black dress. She packed a bag and took his arm and smiled. She let him rest the palm of his hand on her thigh as he drove them back towards his home. And slowly, then all at once, his plans fell apart. 

He blames that first kiss. 

Seemingly innocent and pressed to his cheek as he unlocked the front door, the smell of her perfume overwhelming his senses. What else was he supposed to do but turn and kiss her fully? How could he do anything else? But slant his lips over hers and pull her close, letting the door close soundly behind them. Pull her up the stairs and back towards his bedroom, a broken plea moaning out between each and every kiss. 

Amy is quick to follow, her hands clinging and grasping and pulling at the barriers between them. Somewhere between the bottom step and the top, laughter breaks out, the two of them stopping to take in their disheveled state of affairs. Marcus trails the tip of his finger up her shoulder, pushing the strap of her dress back into place, watching with rapt attention as a shiver follows his simple touch. 

“I had planned on cooking you dinner.”

“You still can,” she promises, leaning up on the balls of her feet to kiss him on the lips, the briefest of tastes, the brown of her eyes bleeding darker by the second. When she pulls away, the strap of her dress has fallen back down, and this time he can’t resist helping it along, fingers following the thin piece of fabric along to the curve of her breast. 

It’s a bit of a fumble from there, anxious legs moving too fast while careful hands try to savor each piece of skin exposed. Marcus feels a tremble, the flutter of her heart catching beneath his shaking fingers. And he can’t ignore it, his grip slipping as he tries and fails to unzip Amy’s dress. Smaller hands find his cheeks, her lips pressing into his, and together they breathe in and out. It’s more than enough to steady his touch, and finally, finally, her dress falls to the floor. 

“I feel like I should say something romantic,” he admits, refusing to look away as Amy sinks to her knees. 

“Like?” She teases, her smile doing little to hide her intent. There are words burning at the back of his throat, his own jokes that he could make, but every thought leaves him when the tip of her tongue finds the underside of his quickly hardening cock. 

“Shit…Ames….,” he half groans, eyes falling shut as he savors the feeling, then, desperate to see her again, he forces them open. And not a moment too soon, her lips stretching around him, the weight of her tongue heavy beneath his length. 

His hands find the back of her head just as she swallows around him, her own moan vibrating through him, his knees buckling around the sensation. Her pace is slow, steady, bobbing up and down his cock while she watches him from below. He moans again, all of it so good so soon, and he can feel the way Amy smiles around him in reply. Delicate fingers find the back of his thighs just as she sinks all the way down, burying her nose in the patch of dark hair around the base of his cock. It’s then that Marcus loses some of his senses, hand digging into her hair, hips bucking, just once into the wet warm heat of her mouth.

“I…fuck…it’s been so…l-long,” he chokes out, legs shaking harder with each stuttering breath he tries to take. 

Amy pulls away in the cruelest of mercies, pressing a gentle kiss to his trembling muscles, shushing him softly. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” 

The gentle adorations coupled with the sweet touch of her fingers, petting along the back of his thighs is all of a sudden too much. He drops to his knees, framing her face between his hands, kissing her as hard as he can. There’s the faintest taste of himself on her tongue, the realization enough to drag another moan out of him. 

He pulls back after, giving them both enough space to take each other in. Marcus reaches behind her, then waits, watching Amy with a shy smile. She laughs, and nods, and then he’s unhooking the clasp on her bra with shaking fingers. He takes her in, each scar and every wrinkle, and he aches to press his lips to them all. Amy seems to have a similar need, her fingers teasing along his bare thighs, pressing to a constellation of freckles across his skin. 

They move to the bed after that and though he tries to hide it, Marcus is sure Amy can see the relief on his face when his knees hit the pillow top of his mattress. She falls back into it with her own satisfied hum, restless hands pulling him down on top of her. 

“Okay, you win. Your bed is better.” 

“Mmm, though I’ll admit yours has one thing mine doesn’t.”

She juts out her chin, a challenging tease in her voice. “Oh, what’s that?”

Marcus leans in closer, letting his lips graze across the beat of her heart, the pad of his thumb finding the sensitive skin just below her breast. “You.”

Her fingers thread the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him close even as she continues to tease from above. “Well I’m here now. You plan on doing anything about it?” 

Marcus growls, fingers finding her ribs, laughter peeling out of her immediately. He grins at that, the darker side of him pleased how responsive she is. It only spurs him on, and soon her laughter is choking off, his lips closed around one of her nipples. 

He sucks hard, feeling the bud harden beneath the flick of his tongue. Amy arches into him, fingers bruising where she holds him tight, soft gasps gifted to the ceiling above. Her other breast gets the same attention, a gentle kiss followed by a searing bite, nipping his teeth as he pulls away. He doesn’t go far, lips trailing down down down to her core, and just as promised, he presses a kiss into every dimple, every crease, each part of her that’s been hidden from him for so long bathed in his attention. 

Her legs fall open for him, and Marcus wastes no time in settling between them, the tip of one finger dragging between her folds. Soaked. She’s already soaked. He tilts his gaze up, catching her eyes where she’s watching him, waiting with barely tethered anticipation. He doesn’t look away as he pushes his finger inside, watching her face break apart around the pleasure. 

She’s tight, blissful heat squeezing around his finger, and he groans at the sight of her thrusting down to meet his touch. She mewls his name, hands fisting into the comforter, eyes wild and body writhing, a plea for him to move. Marcus can’t help but give her what she needs, pumping his finger in and out, a slow drag that has him aching for more.

One finger becomes two becomes three, his thumb drawing concentric circles around her clit. Amy’s cries grow louder, lips parting around the guttural sound. Marcus shushes her gently, a kiss pressed to the flush of her thigh, coaxing her through each new stretch. 

“P-please…Marcus, please,” she begs, the sound more desperate as the seconds tick by. 

“I’ve got you,” he echoes her sentiment from earlier, pulling his fingers slowly from inside her aching core, an indulgent kiss pressed to her clit to ease the loss.

She tastes every bit as good as he knew she would, and it takes the last of his strength to pull away, climbing up the length of Amy’s body to meet her in a searing kiss. 

“Now I feel like I should say something romantic,” she teases from below him, the smile shifting into another sigh when he notches the tip of his length at her entrance. 

He rests there for a moment, forearms framing her head, the tips of his fingers smoothing along her temple. She isn’t wrong. This is the moment to say something, and the words seem so obvious now that they’re here. 

Love, Marcus thinks. This is love. What else could it possibly be? The way he knows her and sees her and wants her, good and bad and in between. How he can’t look away when she works, the tap of her restless fingers and the way she scratches her pen. How she takes entirely too much milk in her coffee and uses coupons to buy her daughter’s favorite cereal. The second hand records and the chipped coffee mugs and the mismatched wine glasses. 

He loves her. He loves her and the time that stretches out in front of them feels like the most wonderful gift. 

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t need to. Not yet. Just the comfort of a realization is enough to bolster him. Now that they’ve finally found their way to each other, Marcus knows the rest will fall into place, as long as he’s patient the rest will come. For now he takes heart in the words in his head and the breath in her lungs, leaning down to kiss Amy with everything he has, before sliding fully inside of her. 

————

Marcus. Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. 

He is a steady beat inside her heart, her head, her core. Every nerve is on fire with his touch, the drag of him inside her overwhelming to the point that she can’t seem to find the words. None except for the chant of his name, a perfect match to the cadence of his hips, meeting hers again and again, pushing the pleasure deep. 

It feels like they should be savoring the moment, taking their time to work towards the ever inevitable crash of ecstasy, but their bodies can’t seem to cooperate. Amy pulls Marcus in, close enough to brush her lips along the moan on his, the steady pace of their hips picking up speed.

She can feel it, racing towards them at breakneck speed, fingers clinging and lips gasping, everything too tight and too good and too soon. In her ear Marcus chants his own prayer, a plea for only her to hear begging her to hold on tight. To stay with him. 

To keep her eyes open. 

And when they come it’s together, somehow still together and she doesn’t look away. 

————

Later, Amy wearing his shirt, Marcus only wearing his boxers, they make their way to the kitchen for the lingering promise of dinner.

“Was grilled cheese and cabernet your plan all along?” She teases from where she watches him butter bread with careful concentration. 

“Only the best for my girl,” Marcus jokes, but Amy doesn’t miss the way his eyes soften and his voice strains around the last two words. 

My girl. 

My friend. 

Mine. 

----------

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Part 10 >>> Epilogue

[chiriwritesstuff]

is there a Pedro character you would like to write about but haven’t yet?? I could totally see you nailing Dieter Bravo too!

Nonnie! that's a very good question!

I could totally see myself writing Dieter (my sweet baby angel!) because I'm in a comedy/rom-com phase at the moment! Can you just imagine? I've had a few ideas in my mind about Dieter that I wouldn't mind exploring once I put 'My Wife in IT' out into the world!

One character of his that I really want to write for is Marcus Moreno!

I remember watching WCBH and thinking up this storyline about someone he's worked/partnered with who disappears but somehow finds her way back and how he processes it after all these years, and how she's kind of processing how he moved on and lived his life, finding a wife and eventually having Missy (who finds a photo of the two of them in her grandmother's basement). Yeah, I've thought about this a lot, LOL! Maybe one day!

[yourstrulylightstar283]

Nice. 😀

Pedro Pascal in We Can Be Heroes (2020)

[spadesjadesfiction]

Since everyone else is throwing in their opinion, I feel like speaking mine.

Pedro's Joel Miller is like the anti-Marcus Moreno. The opening breakfast scene is the polar opposite in tone and relationship to WCBH. Both dads are preoccupied and do something foolish, but Marcus has his fathering shit together whereas it's plain that Sarah has to parent her own father. But it's very clear how protective both dads are, both break promises.... I feel like I am making the opposite of my point, but Joel is Marcus held up to a dark mirror. A mirror verse of each other, if you will.

But if something were to happen to Missy? It would destroy Marcus. He would very likely become exactly like Joel.