#wcbh marcus moreno

[oonajaeadira]

FLUFFBRUARY 27: table | blush | laundry (Marcus Moreno)

ADIRA'S SELF-IMPOSED FLUFFBRUARY RULES:

Six sentences.

Must be fluffy.

All 29 ficlets must feature a different Pedro.

All three words must be used (Fluffbruary prompt list here).

Use the words in order.

I reserve the right to break rules and/or cheat.

There’s not enough room between the folding table and the water heater to brush past Marcus without giving his cute little butt a good squeeze.

The shy smile and blush it usually garners is always worth it, but today the smile is wan and wistful as he remains focused on his task, piles of clothing precisely and neatly folded, color-coordinated, perfectly towered monuments to the gods of laundry.

“You okay, handsome?” you ask, wrapping your arms around his waist in such a way that he has to stop pairing socks for a moment as you pry into his attention a bit further, “You seem a little lost.”

“I was just thinking,” he says, uncharacteristically hesitant, pointing to a pile of brightly striped tops and then a second stack of more muted shades, “Missy’s, mine…but something’s missing.”

“Oh no…did you lose some socks?” you laugh, but it fades with understanding as he places a kiss on your forehead and then leans back to peer through his glasses at you with a look of hope and adoration.

“Yours,” he whispers, “When are you going to move in here with us and let me fold your laundry too?”

.

___

@fluffbruary

FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST

[thosewickedlovelies]

Anything That Shined: part 5

The Thief x Heroic!F!Reader x Marcus Moreno

Rating: T for Teen

Summary: The thief decides its the perfect time to throw a party, so you and Marcus suit up

Tags: friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, eventual threesomething; ~sexual tension~, the inner monologues are getting spicy (but are they self-aware? not yet); spot the PPCU characters

Word count: 10,719 (lmao???)

Note: Apparently it’s been THREE YEARS since I updated this fic??? ("I’ve abandoned my boy!") I’m deeply sorry, but in my defense, I did start several new stories (which I have also not finished). Hey ho. As atonement, I’ve finally made a masterlist and a moodboard for this story, for your convenience and pleasure 😌🥰

Fun fact, this chapter contains one of the scenes, yknow, one of the original scenes that i wrote for this story that i then had to build the rest of the series around 👀 a big ole smooch for anyone who guesses which one it was

As per, the wonderful art is by @patternedlantern

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

“Is that…Kermit the frog on your shirt?” Doc addresses Binary almost warily, as if afraid the answer will be a joke he won’t enjoy hearing.

Binary stretches herself into a graceful recline on a full-length pool chair, dropping her recently removed hoodie on the chair adjacent. “You know it, Doc. The icon himself.” The cropped hem of her graphic tee, depicting a glamor shot of one famous green puppet, rides up slightly above her leggings.

“I’m surprised you know who Kermit is, Doc. When was the last time you watched Saturday morning cartoons?” Deven drops himself at the neighboring table and pulls his hair free of its bun, setting loose a cascade of curls frizzy with sweat. In the midday sun flooding through the glass ceiling, they glint like Binary’s copper wire.

Doc casts Deven a withering look over the table between them. “The Muppets are quite literally older than both of us, Deven.”

“And the Muppets are hardly kiddy cartoons,” you point out. “Kermit is a pop culture icon for a reason. They’re universal.”

Doc gives you a nod of thanks. Your eyes crinkle in response as you shuffle into the row of pool chairs. The chair past the one holding Binary’s hoodie has a plush towel draped over the back, as they all do, in the same jewel-bright shade of aquamarine as the pool water. The glassy surface of it stretches away in a reflection of the greenhouse-like ceiling above. The air is damp and fragranced by trees and greenery bordering the room.

“Exactly.” Bellows chips in in agreement. “Plus, some of their humor is very adult-oriented. That sketch where Beaker and the doctor guy appear wearing each other’s clothes? With no explanation? Very naughty.” He leaves a gap between your chair and his so that Marcus, following him, can sit next to you. 

Marcus sits on your chair instead, and props his foot up on the spare one to untie his boots, mirroring you with your foot on Binary’s spare chair. You lean your back against his, feeling his thin t-shirt damp with sweat and the muscles beneath still warm with exertion.

Both of you are now more in the habit of the casual touching required to sustain your fake relationship. Your current contact is more weariness then affection, however, following a long stint in the mansion’s new training arena. The thief was absent for some reason, but everyone else joined, and someone had suggested relaxing afterward in the indoor pool- still another feature of the mansion you and Marcus had yet to discover.

“Aw, I always liked Beaker and his little meeps. Doesn’t his doctor boyfriend have a funny name?” Seams plops down on the chair between Marcus and Bellows.

Marcus says nothing, only withdraws his foot, but you feel him tense. Despite the nature of your game, he doesn’t like being forced into such positions. Briefly you place a reassuring palm on his shoulder, then shift away slightly to the end of the chair. 

Ever a gentleman, Marcus still responds to Seams’s query. “Dr. Bunsen,” he supplies.

You raise an eyebrow. Marcus spreads his hands in a shrug. “What? They’re universal,” he teases. “Plus, Missy went through a phase for awhile.” His voice drops slightly- he doesn’t like mentioning Missy in front of the others, as if scared to remind them of her existence. 

“That’s it! Bunsen and Beaker.” The nostalgia in Seams’s smile lends an unexpected sweetness to her face. 

An impression which is shattered by her subsequent hair toss and the appraising look she angles at Binary’s shirt. “But obviously Miss Piggy will always be number one.”

Ezra speaks up for the first time, appearing thoroughly- and uncharacteristically- bewildered. “What on earth are you all talkin’ about?” 

A long pale body suddenly leaps over the pool, limbs splayed and hair a trail of flame. 

Nobody ducks in time. 

Water spatters your face and clothes, and Marcus catches you when you reflexively flinch backward. His hands are twin suns on your hip and shoulder. Your own sunlight rises to meet his touch, quickly suffusing your whole body with warmth. Instinctively you duck your head from him. No, wait, you’re supposed to be reacting. Flustered now, you reach for a flirtatious expression, quirking your lips up and glancing meaningfully between Marcus’s hand and his face. 

Marcus’s own smile looks forced, but he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze. The two of you may have worked out the physical contact, but managing your faces has proven more of a challenge.

Laughter and complaints echo through the open space. Clicking her tongue, Binary shakes out her formerly dry hoodie and hangs it over the back of the chair in place of the towel.

“What? You were all going to get in anyway.” Deven’s hair is plastered to his head now, the red gleam doused to brown. Water drips from the small gold hoop in his left ear. He’d jumped right in in his gym shorts, although, according to Seams, there were lockers full of swimsuits for guests, and to spare anyone here the effort of having to go their rooms to change first.

Bellows’s chest swells. A breath later, a burst of water slaps Deven in the face. The Irishman splutters.

Sniggering, Bellows strips off his shirt, and you can’t help but raise an eyebrow. A thick dusting of dark hair doesn’t disguise the shape of the muscles beneath, filling out his narrow frame. All that breath control must be a constant ab workout. 

Marcus and Doc remain on dry land, but everyone else follows Deven in varying degrees of clothedness. You leave your leggings on- the wet spandex will be annoying to peel off later, but you’re not quite sure you’re ready to hang out with these people in your underwear. Nerea gives you a welcoming smile as you follow them in.

Water warm as a bath envelopes you, yet it’s still refreshing, buoying your stiff muscles and sore feet. The acrid tang of chlorine is pleasantly absent. Everyone drifts peacefully for a moment, soaking it in, floating instinctively toward a wide patch of sunlight. 

You turn to Ezra, determined to revisit his earlier question. “Did you say you don’t know who the Muppets are, Ezra?”

Water trickles down the pilot’s face, making islands of his freckles. “I keep hearing that word without the foggiest understandin’ of it, so that is indeed the sentiment I mean to express.” His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Would you care to enlighten me, starshine?”

Of course, you don’t manage to be Ezra’s sole teacher, as a clamor of disbelief immediately erupts. 

“Oh, I think I know these! The little blue one was my favorite- Grober?” Nerea’s accent throws you for a second, as does the name.

Bellows understands first. “Oh, Grover! Like from Sesame Street.” You all ohhh as if on cue. “He’s from a different show, technically,” Bell explains through the resulting giggles. “But they’re basically cousins.”

“We should have a movie night tonight,” Seams declares. “To properly acquaint Nerea and Ezra with the cultural phenomenon that is the Muppets.” She nudges the man beside her. “You’re not busy tonight, are you, Ez?” Seams tilts her head at him, a glint in her eye. She doesn’t say it like a question. 

Ezra, studying the way the water laps at the crevice between her breasts in a sports bra, takes his time lifting his gaze. It peruses the wet cling of blond hair to her neck, the roundness of her cheeks, with a lazy, leisurely privilege.

Finally his dark eyes catch her paler ones. “Not half as busy as I suspect I will be, spell-weaver.” Ezra’s voice is a low croon.

Something about their exchange makes you glance at Marcus. He’s looking at Ezra, as if captured by the other man’s tone. In the next second his gaze flicks to you; and then away, shuttering. 

“Well, that was something none of us wanted to hear.” Bellows interjects loudly, clapping his hands together to redirect everyone’s attention. “So, movie night! The normal place and time?”

Amid nods of agreement, Bell catches the uncertain glance between you and Marcus. “I’ll swing by your guys’ room and walk you,” he promises. 

--

Which in the end you’re very grateful for, because of course the ‘normal place’ happens to be a separate home theater, and of course you’re forced to admit you never would have found it on your own.

The problem is that all of these incredible things are hidden behind totally normal doors, you muse. There was not the slightest hint outside that this door contained what it did: 

A collection of mismatched couches and a projector facing a bare wall. Red velvet curtains lining the rest of the room. An impromptu kitchen consisting of a tabletop popcorn machine, cabinets filled with snacks, and a refrigerator stacked with drinks.

You’re instantly enamored by the cozy arrangement. “It’s a lot more…low-budget than I expected,” you confess.

Bellows laughs. “Oh, this isn’t the real home theater. Teo has a real setup down the hall, but we mostly only use that for new films. Or ones that deserve the respect of a giant screen and proper sound system.”

“Like Lord of the Rings?” Seams, passing you, snorts. She carries a bottle of white wine and a crinkly black bag depicting something that looks like seaweed chips.

Bell goes on the defensive at once. “When it’s the extended editions, absolutely!”

“Whatever,” Seams sing-songs, making her way to a couch. “All I’m saying is, if I have to sit through something four hours long, I at least want to be able to stretch out.”

Marcus has been silent thus far, the frown between his brows steadily deepening the more he hears of the thief’s excesses. At Seams’s statement, he snorts. 

You and Bell send him curious looks.

Marcus coughs slightly. “Well, they were really long,” he says sheepishly.

Bellows sniffs.

You and Marcus end up on a couch next to one holding Seams…and Ezra. Despite the latter’s unfamiliarity with the Muppets, and the former’s insistence that he become acquainted, she doesn’t seem to be demanding he paying very close attention.

Ezra’s husky tones drift over, and you shift uneasily. Obviously you and Marcus should be taking advantage of the environment to further rumors of your relationship- ie, snuggle or something. The only light besides the movie screen is a lamp in the kitchen space at the back of the room, and dimness wraps around you with an intimate familiarity, urging you to sit closer to him. Any other couple would happily curl up together, giggling furtively, turning the couch into their own little world. 

Marcus leans over, his lips almost touching your ear, and you freeze. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to break your ‘sitting on my lap’ rule?” he murmurs.

You almost burst out laughing. Your shoulders shake with it, one hand covering your mouth to keep it in. Still snickering, you elbow him.

Marcus’s eyes glimmer with amusement, his face still close to yours. Pleased, he continues in a whisper. “Seriously, though. Can I..?” He lifts his arm to indicate putting it around you. 

Affection for him warms your chest. You lick your lips nervously, but nod. A bit in disbelief, you scooch to your right, settling Marcus’s arm over your shoulders. Just for a second, your skin brightens gold, sunlight like a bioluminescent wave rushing up the shore.

You take a deep breath, willing the light to subside, keeping your face turned firmly toward the screen.

Marcus’s reaction, then, is outside your field of vision. The downward tilt of his eyes, the way his face softens at this manifestation of your powers.

Like fireflies, he thinks.

Those tiny blooms which appear at dusk. Insubstantial at first, little more than yellow flickers in the corner of your eye…until their glowing fills the darkness.

It reminds him of Missy’s childhood. Sitting on the porch on hot summer nights, watching the silhouette of her curls bobbing as she chased fireflies through the twilit backyard. Tiny hands clapping wildly until she learned that smooth, patient motions were more effective. 

Marina sitting beside him.

The thought of her doesn’t perturb him the way he thought he would. Somehow, Marcus thinks, I have a feeling she would find this whole situation very funny.

The thought warms him: that Marina would giggle to see the stiff, careful posture with which you sit under his arm. How cautious Marcus himself always is when touching you.

You know how to woo a girl better than that, Moreno.

Of course, he’s not wooing you for real, but…

Marcus tugs you toward him slightly.

You look at him in uncertainty, and then surprise. A fond smile turns up his mouth and the corners of his eyes- the most genuine smile he’s worn since arriving at the mansion. Marcus tugs on your shoulder again, and pats his leg with his other hand. A clear invitation. 

So you scoot closer, hesitantly nestling into his side. Gently Marcus takes your right arm and rests it on his thigh, guiding you into a more natural position. He leans back against the couch, clearly relaxed. 

Your sun hums in your chest. Marcus’s obvious comfort puts you at ease, transforming your proximity from intimidating into something familiar- you and Marcus, side by side on a mission together. Normal.

You dare to lean your head on his arm periodically. He smells nice- clean from showering after the pool earlier. Occasionally his body will vibrate with laughter at the movie, and your heart- and sunlight- will skip at the rumble of it against you. 

--

“Soo, what’s everyone wearing to the party tomorrow night?”

Binary, setting down her post-lunch coffee next to her empty pre-lunch travel mug, shakes her head at Seams’s question.

“What do you want to tell us to wear?” Bellows raises an eyebrow.

Seams appears affronted. “What you’ll look best in, obviously. I thought we agreed on the whole ‘united front’ thing?”

Doc interjects before her pointed look can pierce any deeper. “Do you think the thief’s gray suit would do me any favors? He offered to let me borrow it for the party, but I’m not sure about the color.”

Everyone looks at Doc then, picturing him in the steely gray suit jacket you assume he’s referring to. Pairing it with his sandy hair and hazel-blue eyes.

“The one he wore the other day? Hmm.” Seams taps her chin with a finger. “No, you’re right, the color will wash you out. Ask him for one of his more colorful plaids.”

“Much obliged.” Doc tips his mug to her in thanks.

(His mug contains tea, milky, courtesy of Deven: “You’ve been after something new to drink in the mornings, right? This will put hair on your chest, Doc. None for Belly, though.” Deven wagged a warning finger in Bellows’s direction.

You nearly choked on your tropical juice. Binary, her lips trembling from fighting her own laughter, gave the faux-sulking Bellows a pat on the shoulder.

Bel scoffed. “Please, I wouldn’t drink that stuff anyway. The only thing your people got right about tea is the size.” 

He tapped his mug with a fingernail, the clink ringing. It was a standard eight ounces but made of clear glass, decorated with patterns of concentric blue circles. The tea within was black and unadulterated but for a lush, leafy stem of mint. A sheen of undissolved sugar remained at the bottom, visible when he slurped a pointed sip, and remembering the amount he’d stirred in made you shudder all over again.)

No one escapes Seams’s interrogation (except for Ezra and the thief, who are absent). Nerea is the only person who agrees to be styled for the party, although Deven concedes to look through her jewelry collection.

“...But only because I want to see what kind of goodies that cute designer you stole from me at the last party is sending you.” Deven narrows his eyes at Seams accusingly.

She smiles with perfect innocence, and eats the last bite of her salad with a little too much relish.

Then Seams’s pale brown eyes turn to your end of the table. “And what about you two?”

“...Us?” You have to hide your astonishment. Marcus goes rigid.

You’d tried to remain unnoticed throughout the conversation. You and Marcus had been invited to the party, of course, but hadn’t decided if you’d go. What kind of message would it send if you did? You had no idea what circles the thief ran in. What kind of people would be there or who they’d talk to. Marcus would rather pluck out his own eyebrows hair by hair than go to any event hosted by the thief regardless, but you…you couldn’t help but be curious.

“Uh…we figured we’d find something in our closets that would work? Was it you who put together our wardrobes?” you ask in a sudden moment of insight. You feel foolish for not realizing it before. 

No wonder Marcus’s shirts fit him so deliciously.

The sudden thought is a rude intrusion, and you frown. You’d been having more and more thoughts like that of late; it’s unprecedented, and it makes you uneasy. We don’t think about our friends that way, you chide yourself.

…But if Seams had personally designed their wardrobes, then why was that? Why had she made Marcus’s clothes fit the way they did? He’s wearing the dove gray button-down again today, and it’s impossible not to notice the unique stitching making his shoulders look so wide-

“Obviously,” Seams replies with a flip of her hair.

But that confirms it-

Your face falls into a pleasantly neutral expression, while your breathing instinctively deepens in attempt to calm the sudden emotions clanging inside you- like a belltower, each thought tolling irresistibly preceding another. Jealousy, that Seams clearly also had ideas about Marcus’s most attractive features and how to emphasize them. Confusion, as to why you should be jealous that someone else finds Marcus attractive. Bewilderment- when had you started acknowledging that you found Marcus so attractive?

Only Marcus notices the shift in your breathing. Shit. The temperature hasn’t changed, but something has obviously provoked you, and it was his responsibility to be there for you.

“I guess we should thank you for that,” Marcus says. He smiles calmly at Seams and places a hand on your shoulder, offering your gratitude as a unit. It quells your chaotic emotions, for the moment.

“It’s what I do.” Seams gives a flourish of the hand and inclines her head as if bowing, but her satisfaction is obvious.

“His wardrobe has suits that will be fine for the party,“ she continues, waving at Marcus. “But yours…” she eyes you critically.

“My dress from the deep sea party,” Binary says. Casually she grabs a cookie from the small platter in front of her and leans back in her chair.

Seams’s eyes widen. “The navy, sheer one.”

“Mmmhm.”

Seams turns to her. “This is why I forgive you for not letting me dress you.” Her pointed finger manages to make even her supposed forgiveness slightly threatening. 

Binary rolls her eyes. “I’ll bring it by later.”

--

For all of Marcus’s searching, neither he nor Sunbeam have found the room they dined in that very first night. The one with his swords- Marina’s swords- hanging on the walls. 

Walls which, in Marcus’s memory, seemed to drip in shades of rage and blood.

Obviously that was their first thought- try the easiest solution first. Marcus was sure the thief was too cocky to have taken down the swords. No, it would be just like him to leave them on display in the same room, taunt them with the possibility of swiping them from the wall and running.

But Marcus is not at all sure the thief wouldn’t simply shift the whole dining room instead. “Steal” it right out from under their noses and put another room in place of every door they open. Who’s to say he couldn’t? All those stories the thief tells, the things he claims to have stolen, and Marcus has no way of knowing which ones are bullshit and which ones are plausible. 

Marcus’s priorities had shifted as soon as he realized who was holding them captive. 

The thief. The man, the villain, who had haunted him so many years ago. 

He still hopes to find the swords, of course. But, Marcus rationalizes, if he can bring the thief to justice, then he’ll have uninhibited access to his collections afterward. 

So he stalks the house in his every spare moment. All but taking notes, assuming everything he sees has been acquired in some questionable way and slotting everything even remotely ancient or valuable or familiar-looking onto a mental list.

Animal figurines carved in wood with breathtaking detail. A collection of jewelry in patinated gold, each piece lined with microscopic, painstakingly placed beads. Marble statutes that wouldn’t look out of place in St. Peter’s Square.

Marcus Moreno, despite his profession, is not a violent man by nature. The combat he engages in is defensive. On behalf of others. He tries to disable, not hurt or maim. Yet every time they enter a new room, decorated with the thief’s glittering prizes, a red, pulsing rage fills him.

How many people have been hurt because of his exploits?

It was his government that stole people, not the thief, but if he hadn’t been stealing things in the first place…

No. Marcus shakes his head. That’s not how blame works and he knows this, has long accepted it with the help of his blessedly patient therapist.

But that doesn’t mean he can forgive the man. Marcus can get along with most people. For as long as is needed, anyway. But the thief is…strange. And then there’s your theory, that he’s- what, reformed now?

Marcus thinks of Doc’s halting progress in their self-defense lessons. The thief’s genuine gratitude and relief at Marcus’s willingness to train him.

And the camaraderie the thief has with the others who live here. They’re so…accepting. Welcoming Marcus and Sunbeam into their fold with hardly a whisper of mutiny. It’s uncomfortable to consider next to the memory of the pranks Miracle Guy and Crushing Low often played on new recruits. And even on the old hands- although they eased off somewhat after that time Lavagirl left their offices a molten waste. Marcus could never get it into their heads that being around the longest didn’t make them superior to everyone…

Nerea’s kind smile shines in his head, sparkling white as the snow they liked to conjure. How did someone like them agree to work with the thief? How did any of them end up here? The idea of befriending the people who are complicit in the thief’s work makes Marcus grind his teeth, but that’s what you and he agreed to. And then there’s their other little plan…

Marcus groans, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes, and resolves not to examine the situation so closely anymore. He gets up to see if you’re still lounging in their shared sitting room.

You are. You appear to be asleep- limbs a comfortable sprawl, head dropped back against the arm of the couch- but despite your closed eyes, your skin glimmers faintly, rhythmically. A long inhale, and it brightens enough to cast a dance on the polished wood of the coffee table. An exhale, and it fades again, to a shimmer fine enough that it could be a trick of cosmetics, like the glittery lotion that Missy had found once to go as you for Halloween. 

(Of course Marcus helped her apply it, and the sparkle had clung to his hands for days afterward. It was worth it only because his daughter- and you- grinned every time she saw it.)

Marcus follows the line of your arm up to your shoulder, where the neckline of your top has slumped to the side. His gaze traces your bra strap, your light the same shade of gold even as it leads to the slope of your breast.

He finds himself wondering if your whole body glows just the same. Do your nipples glow? Marcus’s cheeks flush at the thought. But if they’re a different shade than the rest of your skin, it makes sense that the light would look different. What about, say, the inside of you? 

His eyes glaze over as this thought plays out- as he considers the only place where the answer to that question might be visible.

Your skin brightens pointedly, and it jars Marcus from his depraved headspace. He unclenches his hands, clearing his throat as he offers you a sheepish smile.

Your expression is groggy yet forgiving, the air flickering warm with your amusement, as you rearrange yourself, making space for him on the couch. Marcus sits, being very careful not to touch you, still feeling as hot as if your sun had somehow gotten inside of him.

Now there’s a thought.

Marcus forcefully wrenches his mind from its perverted spiral, wondering, with a tinge of panic, what the fuck was wrong with him.

He says, “You want to go to the party.”

You look up and then away again, shades of guilt painting your face.

“I know we shouldn’t- I know why we shouldn’t, but…”

Marcus weighs his words. “You don’t think we should use the opportunity to dig around while the thief is distracted? See what we can find while everyone is out of the house?” To do so would be Marcus’s inclination, but you and he are great partners for a reason- you often have some insight that he doesn’t consider, and he values your thoughts on this. 

You consider, still blinking away the meditative haze of your catnap. “I think…it won’t make a difference if we go or not. 

“If we don’t go- even if we say it’s because of appearances or because we straight-up don’t like him- I don’t think the thief will believe we plan on just sulking in our rooms. He’ll have extra security measures in place around the swords, wherever they are.”

Marcus’s gaze is distant. “Do you think he still believes the swords are our primary objective?”

You look at him in surprise. “Aren’t they?”

Marcus worries a small throw pillow in his lap, thumb repeatedly tracing the textured pattern. “I don’t know. I think we should let him think so, but now that we’re here…” He leans toward you, lowering his voice. “I’ve been looking for other things. Really notable steals, records or an office of some kind. I haven’t found anything yet, but…bringing him in would make it all worth it.” His gaze is distant, but contemplative. 

“And we’d still get the swords that way,” you say slowly, completing his thought process. 

“...But there’s still no way he wouldn’t have extra security everywhere during a party. We have no idea what kind of people will show up! If this is some kind of special party of thieves, or if other people with superpowers will be there…maybe we wouldn’t even be who he’s worried about.” You give Marcus a wry twist of your lips. 

“Maybe we could sneak off at the height of the party. Try to assess the security measures before then, if it would be worth it…”

“I could stay and distract him for a while?” You snigger even as you say the words, knowing how Marcus will react. “He won’t notice you sneaking off if I’m sparkling all over his arm.”

Marcus scoffs, trying to ignore the way his chest tightens at your suggestion. “You already know what I’m going to say to that. It’s too risky.” He flicks you a long glance. “What if he notices I’m gone and takes it out on you? Plus…”

He hesitates, unsure if what he’s about to say is a good idea. “I think a fancy party will be a good chance to really double down on our ‘relationship’. Get dressed up, stay close together the whole time, maybe dance, if there’s the opportunity.” He looks away.

“Oooh, I like that.” You sit up straighter. “You’d have to contain your jealousy if anyone else asked me to dance. Especially if that someone was Theo.” Your eyes sparkle mischievously. 

Theo. Marcus hates the thief’s little nickname, but he hates even more the way it falls so easily from your lips. Seams’s creation, a natural extension from the sound of ‘thief’, is obviously not his real name, and Marcus worries at how you’ve grown used to using it. Worries that you might forget who the man truly is.

“You guys kind of look alike, you know.” Your smile is sly. “Tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Wha-” Marcus sputters. He thinks back to your conversation on the balcony. If you think he looks like the thief, does that mean that you think Marcus is…hot?

You watch Marcus’s face steadily redden, like a balloon about to pop, and burst into laughter. “Oh, Marcus, you’re way too easy to fluster for a superhero.” It takes several seconds to contain your giggling. You school your features into something sympathetic. “I’m joking, okay? I mean I’m sort of not, because you are tall, dark, and handsome, but just…don’t worry, okay? I can handle the thief.”

You’re up and heading to your room before Marcus can regain his dignity, squeezing his shoulder as you round the couch. To his surprise, he feels a thread of anger winding through his embarrassment. You think he’s so easy to fluster? A blushing schoolboy compared to your worldly remove?

Marcus storms into motion, face still burning, aiming for his wardrobe. He pulls out his phone. 

--

You look like Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Deep blue fabric flows over your body, draping and cinching and flattering in all the right places. Beadwork unfurls across it like a flung bolt of stars. Your skin is what really brings the effect to life- your golden light whorls beneath the dress’s sheer panels, making you shimmer like no painting ever could.

Only Marcus will know that your sunlight only moves like this when you’re nervous.

You head down to the party between Binary and Seams, your arms linked. The latter is still high on her transformation of you (“Maybe I should specialize in superhero styling.”) Her chin lifts regally, her every stride as sure as the strike of a blade. On your other side, Binary’s walk is more of a flow, liquid and calm as her expression, only an understated gleam in her eye betraying her anticipation.

Okay. You breathe. Focus on not burning your companions. All you have to do is find Marcus, and you’ll be fine. You can make it until then.

The length of marble hall ahead gets shorter and shorter, and the music grows louder. The cries and chatter of a crowd reach your ears. Your anxiety reaches a crescendo all at once.

The scene that opens before you is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. 

The lawn normally visible from the breakfast room staircase has been transformed. This morning there hadn’t been so much as a blade of grass out of place. Now you can hardly see the grass beneath a constant drift of flower petals and glittery confetti, and the bejeweled heels of a few hundred cavorting strangers.

Decorative towers rise from the ground and form a border for the party space. Also constructed are trellised walls woven with flowers, joined to create the illusion of enclosed rooms, slightly more private spaces. Through the gaps are glimpses of plush chaise lounges and fur carpets- the same decor, it appears, as that of the low, open daises also scattering the lawn. Several are already occupied, lounging guests and their finery glinting at every turn; through the heave of the crowd you think you spot someone in a crown.

Globes of light and glittery garland seem to hang from the sky. Also suspended, seemingly from midair, are dancers- or maybe acrobats- graceful and daring and entertaining with a variety of poses and powers.

Oh, right. This is a super party.

Heroics didn’t like to entertain with super-powered methods. They were too above such things- they used their powers for a higher purpose, and expressed that others should do the same. You’d never catch Granada at any theater using magic for their special effects.

Here there were no such qualms. Across the lawn, two figures on pedestals seemed to be dueling with fire and ice, to the delighted gasps of the watchers below. A woman on a nearby edge of the crowd seemed to have skin lined with points of cold light. She notices you- perhaps she has similar powers?- and nudges the man besides her. As he turns, a tiny plumed bird takes flight from his shoulder. It wings several meters away, straight to the sequined epaulet of another figure, who seems to cock their head to it, as if getting a message. They too, turn in your direction, and you get the feeling that your entrance will not go unremarked. 

You’re immensely grateful when Ezra appears in front of your trio. “At last, the final three birds to complete our flock.”

Oh good, that must mean Marcus is already here.

“Are we late?” you ask.

“Fashionably, of course,” Seams replies. She pecks Ezra on the cheek as she passes, her (terrifyingly) tall platform heels raising her to his same height. She seamlessly lifts a glass off the tray of a passing waiter and bounces into the crowd.

The waiter, noticing your drinklessness, pauses to offer his tray to the rest of you. It holds what can only be cocktails, ranging in color and sparkliness to a degree that would put a pride parade to shame. You select something blue and opalescent that tastes like a spring rain.

“Come on, let’s find the others.” Following Ezra’s directions, Binary leads you among clumps of finely-dressed people until you spot a familiar plaid suit- the thief’s, but fitted to Doc’s narrow frame. 

“There’s Marcus. You go on, there’s someone I need to talk to.” 

“Wait-” you whip your head around in alarm, but Binary is already gone, only a glint of copper at head-height providing a guess at her path.

Where was Marcus? There’s Bellows and a figure in green over with Doc, but you skim past them, scanning desperately for someone scowling or suspicious, anyone in a plain black suit and glasses.

A glint of red catches your eye. Deven, gesticulating at Doc in a way that sets the sequins on his top glinting like a signal fire. You breathe. Deven likes a gossip, he might have seen Marcus. You start toward the two familiar faces. 

Honestly, has Theo hired a super whose power is to manifest flowers? You can’t think of how else he could achieve the constant ‘petals in the breeze’ effect. Maybe you missed a memo on the theme. There are flowers everywhere, nowhere untouched by their sweet, heady scent, a demonstration of the last bounty of summer. Only the rapidly cooling air betrays the receding season.  

An end of summer theme would fit Seams’s outfit, you suppose. A short, frothy fuschia dress, with beaded vines and flowers peeking out amongst the ruffled layers. Her makeup as minimal yet as striking a complement as ever- a swipe of spring green eyeliner over her top lids, with a dot beneath each lower lashline. 

Speaking of green…the figure beside Doc and Deven turns, and you stumble to a halt.

It’s Marcus.

Marcus, wearing a suit of deep, forest green, and smiling at something Doc says, his eyes crinkling in full visibility without his glasses. Why isn’t he wearing his glasses?

His hair is swept up and back in a way that it normally only achieves after being windblown in a superfight, or styled by someone else for a PR event. Since when can he do his own hair like that? He stands with his shoulders back, appearing relaxed, all but dripping charm and control.

Your hands are warm. Marcus is stunning, and you can’t stop gaping, and if you don’t get ahold of yourself your powers will scorch your own carefully constructed outfit to ash.

Deven turns, and your eyes meet. His eyebrows lift nearly to his hairline. A second later, some realization sparks, and his lips move.

The heat under your skin is mounting, but you can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Marcus’s smile, the breadth of his shoulders- he’s all you can see. What is happening to you?

“Sunbeam.” Nerea appears in front of you, smile soothing and reassuring as they reach for your hands. You gasp.

Their touch is cold, a wintery slap to the face. Your breathing jolts back to a controlled pace. Your sun immediately simmers down, although your face remains uncomfortably hot in a way you suspect is purely biological. 

“Nerea,” you mumble. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Their lips quirk knowingly. “Here.” They rest the backs of their hands against your cheeks for a moment. The cold is crisp and reinvigorating as pressing your face to an icy windowpane. You sigh in relief.

--

Marcus sees you enter the party, of course. Heads turn like ripples in a pond toward you, Seams, and Binary- but mostly you, sparkling like a fucking star, your skin shimmering coyly beneath the semi-sheer portions of your dress. It takes a second glance to fully appreciate; or, if you’re Marcus, one endless, captivated stare, during which his lungs struggle to function and his brainpower ceases entirely.

How is it he feels like he’s never seen you before?

You and Marcus have been to countless Heroics events before, dressed in all degrees of formality. But tonight, here, through a crowd of potentially dangerous strangers and half-obscured by flower petals- it feels like his vision is clear for the first time.

Beside him, Doc’s head tilts. It’s his only visible reaction as he listens to Marcus’s blood sing and surge, much of it in a very particular direction-

Deven lets out a long, low whistle at the sight of the three women entering. “We are a pretty bunch, aren’t we?” He slings an arm each over the shoulders of Doc and Marcus.

Doc hums an amused sound. Marcus clears his throat, Deven’s gesture having yanked the leash on his senses, allowing his thoughts to return to his plan. Your impression that Marcus is some stammering schoolboy, unable to handle the slightest hint of flirtation, is unbearable- so he intends to put that idea to rest tonight.

“Cheers to that,” Marcus says. Flagging a passing waiter, he hands two flutes of standard sparkling champagne to his companions.

Their glasses clink. Across the crowd, Binary is leading you toward them. Resolved, Marcus half turns away as if he hasn’t seen you, letting himself smile at the arriving Bellows.

--

Your almost-meltdown seems to have gone miraculously unnoticed, despite that you’re barely ten steps from Marcus.

“Oh look, there are the others!” Nerea chirps. Their hands still refreshingly cool, they tug you forward.

There’s no way they didn’t know that, you think. But you’re so grateful for Nerea’s subtlety you don’t even care. Especially not as Marcus seems to get taller the closer you get him, his profile stunning against the tall white headdress of someone behind him.

“Sunshine!” Deven appears at your side like a flame bursting to life. His shoulder-length locks are half pulled back, and the earring in his left ear is long and bejeweled, dangling low enough to brush his bedazzled lapels.

“Hey, Deven.” You laugh in surprise at his hug and blush at his praise, modestly waving off his compliments on your appearance.

Someone comes up to you from behind. You sense them before you see them, their hand lowering toward your shoulder- but even the split second before it lands, an inconceivably, unfathomably brief instant- you recognize him.

Marcus.

Your sun retreats from where it would have scalded anyone else. “Sunbeam.” Marcus lightly touches your shoulder, and you turn and face him.

Marcus beams at you, radiating relief. And something else? He leans down and presses his lips to your cheek. “You look amazing,” he murmurs.

Your knees wobble. Marcus releases your shoulder, and your sun rushes back in like the sea into a tide pool, as if desperate to touch where he’d been.

“Marcus.” Giddy at his sudden closeness, but mostly with relief rushing through you like a drug, you grin. “Thanks. Seams’s work, obviously.” You make a little flourish as if to hand off some of the credit. Marcus shakes his head a little, his eyes darting all over you, from here to there and back again. Everywhere your sunlight is visible…

“You look nice too! I’ve never seen you in this color.” You’re genuinely proud of yourself for how normal you’ve sounded so far. You give Marcus a onceover now that you’re closer, immensely glad to have seen him before now, because otherwise you would have made a fool of yourself in point-blank HD. Speaking of which…

“Where are your glasses?” It’s always strange seeing him without them outside of superhero mode- he looks the same, but not. As if their lack lets you see things you can’t normally.

“Doc ordered me some contacts, too. ‘In case I prefer them.’” Marcus rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.

You laugh. “Of course.”

Strangely, everyone you know seems to have drifted away from you. Even Doc, who normally wouldn’t do anything so impolite as snub a greeting. You shuffle backwards slightly, suddenly aware of how close to Marcus you’re still standing. 

“Well, should we…make our way around?” you suggest.

Marcus looks around, his face turning serious as if remembering where they are. “I guess so. We should keep an eye out for the thief, too.”

“Of course.” You smirk. “Gotta show ourselves off.”

“Show you off, you mean. Come on.” Eyes twinkling, Marcus takes your arm and tugs you along. Your whole body tingles.

--

You don’t know what you expected, but apparently it wasn’t that everyone would be so chatty. Plenty of people choose to stare instead of approach- every time you turn a pair of eyes flits away, or a group shuffles guiltily. But just as many people seem perfectly at ease striking up a conversation with you and Marcus.

A man with canines that protruded out of his purple lipsticked-mouth asked if it was true that Granada didn’t age. A hugely buff, cheerful woman at a food table commented on the delicate perfection of the macarons. An individual wearing a shimmery dress but of otherwise indiscernible gender queried, with a twinkle in their eye, if the Heroics ever helped rebuild any of the property they destroyed during superhero battles.

Marcus rubs the bridge of his nose. “They must have been talking to Missy,” he grumbles. 

You send him an amused glance. The next generation of Heroics was notoriously outspoken on how different things would be when they were in charge. Every new proposal they sent to Marcus meant another pile of paperwork, but neither of you would dream of discouraging the young people’s ambition.

You pick up a glass filled with something in the same shade of violet as the earlier guy’s lipstick and examine it, thinking.

“I don’t know why,” Marcus begins, echoing your thoughts, “but I thought more people here would be…”

“Villainous? Aloof? Suspicious-looking?” you suggest. 

Marcus frowns around the rim of his glass. “...Yes.”

You agree. “But they’re all so..nice. Like totally normal people.”

“Almost all of them,” Marcus mutters, leveling a dark glance over his shoulder.

He’s glaring at the thief, who’s currently lounging on one of the cushioned platforms in the center of the lawn. Most of his ire is directed at the crown Theo wears- or was wearing when he arrived. Now it doesn’t look as much like he’s holding court. Another man on the dais currently wears the crown, and is chatting amongst a small group sprawled on the plush rugs, not paying the thief any mind. Theo himself appears engaged in conversation with just the two people sharing his couch. 

When Marcus looks back at you, there’s a creamy pink flower petal caught in your hair. He reaches for it. “Wait, you’ve got a flower.”

Your breath catches when Marcus leans over you. His other hand hovers near your jaw, as if to hold your head in place. It doesn’t touch, but the mere promise of it is more than enough to keep you still.

Finally Marcus leans back, proffering the offending petal between two fingers. 

“Thanks.” You take a sip of your drink, feigning unaffectedness as you look around.

Hiding a smile, Marcus lets the petal fall. You’re not quite as subtle as you think. Every time he touches you, the faintest shimmer blooms beneath your skin. It’s addicting, being able to watch the reactions he would normally have to helplessly hope for.

He sets down his empty glass and scans the crowd, wondering if any of the waiters are serving water. Movement on the thief’s dais catches his eye. He appears to be leaving, kissing cheeks as he goes. His long suit jacket, tonight black and embroidered with gold and blue flowers, swishes around his thighs as he places one foot on the stairs.

The man still wearing the crown stands. The thief turns, one hand going dramatically to his head. Their faces are inches apart as the other man lowers the crown into the thief’s tousled locks. 

The thief lightly grips the man’s chin, and Marcus hates that he can picture the exact challenging, flirtatious expression on the thief’s face. The other man smirks; the thief tugs him down until their lips meet.

Marcus isn’t sure that he expected to feel anything at the sight, but something is undeniably fomenting. You’d reported the tidbit about the thief and Ezra previously being involved, but knowing something and seeing it are two different things.

Marcus looks away, grateful to find your attention elsewhere.

“Whoa, look at that gorgeous woman Doc is talking to. Does she look familiar…?”

Marcus’s mouth falls open. Not because of the woman’s looks, although she is beautiful- long tanned limbs and elegant stature and dark, intelligent eyes- but because he knows who she is.

Oh god, they’re coming toward you. Marcus has met some important people as a Heroic, but none in this context. What is she doing here? Talking with Doc like they’re old friends?

Marcus is nudging you in their direction, apparently determined to intercept them. You go unresistingly, still wracking your brain for where you’ve seen her before.

Doc catches sight of you and slows to an uncertain stop. The woman follows his gaze, but no sooner have her eyes lit with curiosity than the thief appears, kissing her on both cheeks and asking after someone called Oberyn.

“He’s terribly busy, I’m afraid, but he bid me come and have fun for the both of us.” You’re close enough to overhear their conversation now- close enough that it could almost be considered rude for Theo not to introduce you.

Her dress sways with layers of fringe the color of saffron threads. Dark curls spill down her back in a loose bind. There’s an easy, sensual confidence about her- the look of someone deeply settled in their own body. With her dark coloring and flower petals in her hair, she looks like summer incarnate.

Her gaze flickers from the thief to you and back again. “Darling Teo, you must tell me about the company you’re keeping these days.” She threads her arm through his. “Heroics?” Her tone is benign, but her glance is very, very pointed.

The thief clears his throat, and although he gives you and Marcus a regal nod of acknowledgment it’s clear he has no intention for you to join them. “My darling queen, trust me when I say I’m just as surprised as you are…” He directs her back the way she came. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Theo looked almost nervous.

The woman flicks her hair as they walk, and the dip of her dress reveals a tattoo of a spear rippling along her spine. You stare after them, curiosity of a different flavor piqued. 

“Do you know who that was?” Marcus’s face resembles a thundercloud. 

You frown. “Is she a celebrity? She definitely looked familiar, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

“He called her queen. Because she’s an actual, politically recognized Queen.” 

At your obvious lack of recollection, Marcus turns his disbelieving gaze to the heavens. “That was Queen Ellaria of Dorne. She’s married to King Oberyn. And apparently, both of them are best friends with Teo.” Marcus sneers his name.

He appears deeply unsettled by this turn of events. You wait while Marcus processes, mumbling to himself, making several movements halfway before aborting them. When a familiar, frenetic glitter appears in his eye, you speak.

“Oh! I finally remember where I’ve seen her before.” Marcus looks up. “I read some listicle recently- ���Ranking the 10 Hottest Monarchs in the World’, or something. But I remember laughing because King Oberyn was like, six, and his wife was all the way up at number two.” You chuckle at the memory.

Marcus stares at you. If before he’d been spiraling, worries spinning around him like debris in a tornado, now the storm had frozen in its path. Then Marcus guffaws, and his worries drop while his laughter continues, shaking him until his paranoid concerns are scattered at his feet.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile. Your skin brightens, your sunlight smug. “There’s nothing we can do but keep our eyes open. And let’s get another drink while we’re at it. I haven’t tried the orange one yet.”

So you continue your way around the party, sampling the food and flowers and drinks in every color of the rainbow. Despite the marvels all around, Ellaria’s appearance had had a sobering effect. The illusion had been shattered. Now you kept your eyes peeled, open to the real possibility of seeing someone you might recognize. You don’t, but Marcus spots someone who’s on the board of an international children’s charity, and his fists clench so tight that a crack appears in your highball glass. 

You find Ezra again, and he introduces you to a girl he calls his ‘ward’, Cee. Although she and her companion are easily the youngest people here, the elfin blonde looks plenty old enough to be independent.

“How are your lessons with Francisco coming?” Ezra asks her. 

“Fine,” she answers. Her gaze flits to you and Marcus with what’s by now a familiar uncertainty. How much to say around you who would normally be their enemies?

Ezra puts his arm around her. His right arm, the colored lights glinting dully off his sporadically-worn prosthetic. “Cee here is training to be a pilot. I’ve been a great source of inspiration to her, you see…” 

The woman plants her palm on his cheek and shoves gently at his face. Ezra cackles as he retreats, his blond streak sticking straight up amongst now-mussed hair. “A great source of pain, you mean,” Cee grumbles.

It’s somewhat jarring to see the mansion’s residents- a limited circle you thought you were getting to know- in such an expanded context. Ezra, with a daughter. Deven, blushing at a peck on the cheek from a tall, wide man and his companion. Bellows, appearing happily smothered in affection by a woman whose chatter was almost as bright as her intricately embroidered thaub.

You’re surprised to find yourself feeling slightly bereft at their distraction. It’s not that they’re ignoring you, but…Of course they want to spend time with their actual friends. It’s silly to think that they would prioritize you and Marcus, with your situation being what it was.  

Anyway, it’s not like you’re lonely. Marcus doesn’t leave your side the whole night. Literally- you’re not sure when he first got ahold of you, but you can’t think of a single moment when he hasn’t been touching you. At some point he found one of the gaps in the back of your dress, and his fingertips had seemed glued to your skin ever since. He leans down to hear you whenever you speak, and his lips nearly touch your ear when he replies. It’s entirely unnecessary. It’s making you warm. 

It only gets worse once a dance floor appears at the far side of the lawn. Marcus leads you toward it. 

“Dance?” His eyes gleam.

His palm splays on the small of your back. His other hand engulfs yours, holding it aloft as he sways you to the lilting music. Heat that has nothing to do with your power grows steadily inside you. Since when is Marcus this good of an actor?

Your sun can’t be contained either. Heat builds under your skin until you’re sure you look less like Starry Night and more like a certain sci-fi character about to regenerate. 

Marcus’s lips brush your ear. “Stay with me, Sunbeam. It’s just us, remember?” He leans back slightly, giving you some much-needed breathing room. His brown eyes catch yours and hold them.

Slowly, your temperature goes down. You become aware of watchful eyes all around, bright with anticipation. You look down.

A trickle of figures on the edge of the crowd catch your eye. Pairs and small groups head for the hedge maze, some more eagerly than others. Dark and quiet and alone? Yes please.

You catch Marcus’s eye again. “Wanna take a walk?” 

--

The hedge maze is everything the party isn’t. Cool and quiet, tranquil and relaxing. You and Marcus meander the dark paths aimlessly, your sunlight glimmering off glossy green leaves. He says nothing, and you neither.

Periodically, you hear evidence of others in the maze. Voices, giggling, rustling…moaning? You smirk to yourself and refrain from commenting. But the third time you pass what must be a very passionate hangout, without having seen a soul for at least twenty minutes, you begin to wonder. It’s not quite a maze, this. There are navigational signs, for a start. Almost all the lead-offs you peek into end in small, unadorned clearings.

From a shrouded, sordid corner of your mind rises the word. 

Pleasure garden.

Was that even a real thing? Or just something you’d absorbed from some historic fantasy novel? Either way, it rings true. The furtive yet eager behavior of the couples entering the maze- the fact that it was primarily small groups of two or three entering together. The paths are lush, but not overgrown. The atmosphere clandestine, but not spooky. More…romantic. Erotic.

“I think…” You slow to a stop, and Marcus with you. “I think this maze is meant for couples. Like, people who want to sneak away. That’s why we keep hearing…stuff.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be blushing over something like that, Sunbeam.” Marcus slides you a sideways smirk, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I figured that out too, somehow.” 

You roll your eyes like that will disguise your fidgeting. Normally you wouldn’t be so flustered in a situation like this, but you’re just so…hot already. As you have been all night.

There’s a gap in the hedges behind Marcus that you swear wasn’t there a second ago. 

“Well, if we really wanted to cement the rumors of our fake relationship…” You nod to the gap, and Marcus turns, the shadowy archway appearing in full. 

You and Marcus exchange a long glance.

“I’m ready if you are.” Marcus offers you his arm. The formal gesture strikes you as silly given the circumstances- you’ve already entered a pleasure garden together. Yet it puts you strangely at ease, too. This is Marcus, your friend, your companion-in-arms- giving you agency in keeping yourself safe, like he always has.

You loop your arm through his.

--

“I guess that means we’ll be here awhile,” you say, settling yourself on the softest grass you’ve ever felt. “Should have grabbed one of those champagne bottles.”

A number of the decorative towers glittering throughout the party had in fact been made of green glass bottles- drink option, decoration, and party favor all in one. You’d seen others brandishing them all evening, and now regretted not grabbing one before entering the maze.

Marcus is examining the barely-visible gap in the hedge that provided you entrance to your little clearing. The green of his suit nearly blends in with the leaves, adding to the enchanting surreality of his appearance.

At your words, he straightens. “I could go get one,” Marcus offers. “Or maybe…” 

His face alights with mischief. He turns his head in the direction of the party, eyes narrowing. Startled cries sound in the distance before transforming into awed, knowing oooohs. Marcus holds out his hand.

A second later, a green glass bottle sails down into his palm. He turns to you, grinning, lifting the bottle like a trophy.

You laugh in delight, applauding. Marcus indulges your praise with a little bow, looking pleased with himself in a way you don’t see very often anymore.

The two of you settle into the grass and pass the champagne back and forth. There’s no direct light source in your little enclave; a soft glow seems to emanate from the leaves themselves, doubtless some magic induced by the thief’s gardeners. However it works, it manages to cast everything in a warm, gentle light. It flatters Marcus’s already attractive features: his relaxed smile, the length of his throat, every flicker of muscle in his shoulders and arms beneath his fine white shirt. His suit jacket lay discarded, nearly invisible against the base of the hedge. You had nearly choked on fizz when he’d removed it.

The heat that had been building inside you all evening quiets, but doesn’t subside completely. It’s unignorable. It flares every time Marcus’s fingers brush yours on the bottle. Every time he laughs, his head tipping back. When you kick off your shoes and wiggle your toes in the grass, and he can’t quite tear his gaze from your legs. Your sunlight preens. You clear your throat and adjust your dress over your thighs, suppressing the ache between them. 

Silence settles comfortably between you. Marcus upends the champagne bottle, then holds it upside down over the grass, displaying its emptiness with a pout. You giggle, swaying where you sit. A pleasant, tipsy buzz has taken hold of both of you, making all of your troubles seem very far away. Why worry when you could simply relax for once, hidden away as you are?

For the first time, you hear other people outside the hedge. A trio, it sounds like, cooing at each other and laughing as they pass by. 

Only suddenly, they aren’t passing- the branches where you entered quiver, and the thump of stumbling footsteps sound.

You look at Marcus in alarm. 

His face hardens with sudden resolve. Quick as a flash, Marcus springs forward, and you find yourself sprawled on your back, his longer body covering yours like a blanket. The grass is cool against your spine. You gasp when Marcus’s mouth brushes your neck, his movements hurried and inelegant.

“Play along,” he mutters in your ear.

Right. You wrap your arms around his back, trying to grasp handfuls of his too-tight, tucked-in shirt. As your body relaxes into a more natural posture, Marcus’s tenses, the muscles in his back flickering. He grabs the back of your knee and hitches it over his hip, and you choke on a sound of shock.

You can’t see the intruders from your position, but Marcus whips his head toward them as they appear.

“Oops, sorry!” They back out immediately. Stifled squeals and giggles trail after them for a seemingly endless moment, until finally, finally, quiet falls again. 

The distant sounds of the party and the rustling of the hedges are the only sounds. 

No, that’s not true- you can hear Marcus breathing, harsh and fast. The humidity of it skims the shell of your ear. You’re barely breathing at all. Your chests brush every time you inhale, but you don’t dare make any other move.

“Are they gone?” Marcus whispers. 

The stubble on his jaw rasps against your cheek when he speaks. Despite that he holds the bulk of his weight off of you, you can still feel the mass of him, resting lightly against your body. It’s the only sensation that could possibly distract from the way he still grips your leg- barely above the knee, perfectly proprietary, but the real issue is that his fingers are on your skin. Keeping you in place in a way you know, instinctively, is going to haunt your dreams.

“It sounds like it,” you breathe in response. 

Marcus lifts his head enough to meet your eye. Neither of you move, frozen, close enough to taste the sweet champagne you shared on the other’s breath. Marcus’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

He flinches. Carefully Marcus scrambles off you, releasing your leg and sitting back by your feet. His eyes are huge and round and dark. He seems as stunned as you still are, staring up at him from the ground. Only a few moments had passed, yet the entire incident seemed both instantaneous and endless, echoing in the space between you. Somehow your sun hadn’t even reacted, only waited attentively in your chest for a coherent command.

“Sorry,” Marcus rasps. “It was the first thing I thought of.”

“It’s okay.” Clearing your throat, you slowly sit yourself up. “Do you think they recognized us?”

I hope so, is what Marcus doesn’t say. 

“Maybe. But we did want word to get back to the thief.” His mouth twitches infinitesimally, something that could be satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

“Well.” You flounder to recover the atmosphere. “If I knew you’d react like that, I’d have hired Seams to dress me ages ago.”

Marcus blinks. And then the tension dissolves, and his laughter bounces off the hedges.

--

Eventually, you and Marcus make your way out of the garden. He brushes grass off of your back with light, careful hands- although those hands still steal into the gap in your dress to rest against your spine as you walk. You’ve (not unhappily) resigned yourself to the endless, tingling warmth caused by his touch. Your skin maintains a low shimmer as you exit the maze, the champagne in your bloodstream loosening your grip on your power.

You sway a little as you walk, giggling, recounting to Marcus a story that Binary had told earlier. He chuckles in your ear, his head bent to yours. The crowd is noticeably thinner now, and you make it farther across the lawn than you realize without noticing- or putting your guards up.

The thief is back on the low dais in the center of the lawn, entertaining another (or possibly the same) group of people. Or maybe they’re the ones doing the entertaining, seeing as Theo is seated on the ground, seemingly unbothered by his position amongst the fluffy rugs. The crown he’d been passing around earlier now sits crookedly on his head, at the same angle as the smile on his face. A half-empty glass is in his hand.

When Marcus looks up, Theo is watching them. His gaze rests on their linked hands. A hollow sort of longing is carved on his face; Marcus, unexpectedly, feels sympathy pang in his chest. The reaction puts a deep furrow in his brow.

Theo tries to school his expression when he catches Marcus’s eye, but it’s delayed, clumsy, his finely tuned control unwieldy after too many drinks. He lifts his glass to Marcus, eventually mastering his usual refined smirk. 

Marcus looks away. He would have ignored the thief entirely if his company hadn’t spotted them, and erupted into exclamations with a lack of subtlety that indicated their state of inebriation.

You’d spotted Theo, too, as well as his excited friends. You flutter your fingers in a wave, and then blow a kiss toward the dais, sending a burst of sunlight in their direction. The guests ooh and ahh in the sudden warmth. Theo’s eyes close and his head tips back, basking in the light. The crown slips from his head. His face smooths into a serene, unguarded smile, and something squeezes in Marcus’s gut.

If you're still here, reading this story, I love you and I'm putting a freshly-baked cookie in your hand as we speak <3333

Taglist: @pinkninja200, @superwolflock29, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @punkerthanpascal

More on my Masterlist 💖

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Can we have more Marcus Moreno pleeeease?

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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. 

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

>>> 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)

[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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[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

[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.

------

“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: 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

.

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.

.

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.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Anything That Shined (masterlist)

The Thief x Heroic!F!Reader x Marcus Moreno

Summary: The Thief ‘steals’ you and Marcus, for no other reason than to see if he can. Why, then, upon your release, does Marcus Moreno choose to stay in the home of this infamous supervillain?

Tags: wcbh type universe, not a dark fic; friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, eventual threesomething, fake dating

prologue

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5 just posted!

[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.

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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. 

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

Part 10 >>> Epilogue

[yourstrulylightstar283]

Nice. 😀

Pedro Pascal in We Can Be Heroes (2020)

[ladydorian05]

A Christmas with you~

Oh god...where do I begin, okay as of today Dec/24/2020, the movie We can be heroes isn’t out yet, so everything is just from my imagination, interactions, personalities and everything else that may sound slightly canon, it’s most certainly NOT canon. I hate using ‘Y/n’ on reader inserts but this time I had to. Thank you @din-damn-djarin​ for being my beta for this fic, I really, really appreciate it. Go check out her fics, I adore her Neigbor Marcus Pike series, it’s SO good. 

This is a monster of a fic, where did so many words come from?

Hope you guys like it.

Thoughts are in italics 

A Christmas with you~

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with your best friend for years, what you don’t know is that he’s also in love with you. Could a little push from one cunning young girl help you both get together during the most wonderful time of the year? (sorry, still suck at summaries)

Warnings: Reader’s superhero name is “Striker”, why? Because my brain thought it sounded cool, I jump from POV to POV, one plotting child, best friends to lovers, a pair of pinning idiots and implicit spiciness.

Words: 7K something

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It was no secret to any of the members of the Heroics that you had no family to spend the holidays with.

In a way they were all your family, you were all a close-knitted team, but sometimes, it just wasn’t the same.

Then, there was Marcus and his daughter. He had been there from the moment you joined the team he became a very close friend, your best friend. Most of the time you got partnered with him, especially when it came to reconnaissance missions, you worked well together, you trusted each other and always had each other’s back.

Eventually, you began to feel differently towards him. You were no fool, you knew what you felt for him was definitely more than simple fondness, attachment or admiration. Your heart rate increased when he was close, his smile makes you smile, you would do anything for him, anything to keep him and his loved ones from harm’s way.

He’s always been so charming and handsome and a total gentleman. There had been times where you had wanted to take the first step, confess your feelings to him and see where that would take you, but you couldn’t; at first because he had been a married man about to become a father when you met him and then when his wife stopped being a part of the picture, well you just wanted to be there for him as a friend, he had enough on his plate raising Missy on his own, he didn’t need you to dump all of your feelings on him.

He was doing amazing on his own, but you wanted him. No, you wanted both of them, Marcus and Missy, to know that you would be there for them whenever they needed you. Besides, you were just friends, he’ll never see you as anything more.

“That will be all for today, everyone’s dismissed. I wish you all a happy Christmas eve and remember to keep your locators close, we all know how crime rates increase during this season. I'll see you again here until the 26th” Ms. Granada said, taking you out of your thoughts and officially ending the debrief meeting.

Every year, during the holidays, most of the team got a leave from duty, beginning early on Christmas eve, until the 26th; that was if no major crisis happened that required the whole team, otherwise only a handful of volunteers were left on patrol duty during those days.

Seeing as you’ve never celebrated the festivity, you always volunteered to be a part of the patrolling team. Not that your teammates had never invited you to spend Christmas with them and their families, they had done it on multiple occasions, not wanting you to be alone, time and time again you had reassured them that it was alright you didn't mind spending the night patrolling.

In truth, you always declined because you didn’t want to intrude, the celebration was all about family and spending time with loved ones, you knew your friends had good intentions but you just didn’t want to feel like you didn’t belong there, like you were invited to tag along out of pity.

Eventually, the invitations stopped coming your way, and while it hurt a bit that they gave up on you, you were also relieved for not being put on the spot again and again having to decline their generous offers.

But this year, unbeknownst to you, a scheme was beginning to brew inside the head of one young girl, to make you change your plans for the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Missy wasn’t blind, she knew there was something between her father and Striker, even before she learned that her father was a superhero.

When she was younger, she had shipped his dad’s alter ego and Striker. They always looked so in-sync on the tv, like the perfect duo, but now that she gets to watch them both in real life? She had no doubts, they liked each other.

And it wasn’t just when they were in costume, Striker had always been around ever since she could remember, all of her birthday parties, her school festivals, even helping her dad every time some mom came up with the idea to have bake sales at school over and over again; what’s wrong with that woman?

She had noticed all the constant glances, the here and there ‘accidental’ brush of hands, even the full-on staring; just like right now, during the debrief, her father’s eyes kept straying from Ms. Granada to Striker and every single time he turned his attention back to the meeting before he could notice how Striker had been doing the same thing. Oh yeah, they were both pining for each other.

The problem was that they were SO stubborn, she’s been trying to bring it up to her dad, but he would immediately change the topic of the conversation with some question about school or any upcoming mission, it was frustrating!

She wanted him to be happy, she wanted both of them to be happy, and being superheroes was dangerous business, she wasn’t about to wait until something happened to either of them, as dramatic as that would be, for things to move forward. Like always, it was up to her to give them a push.

“You know, if you keep staring at her like that she’ll burst into flames.” One good thing that came with the pair of pinning adults was that the whole thing made them so easy to tease, and she loved to tease her father.

“I think you're mistaken, that would be something Lavagirl could probably do, not me sweetheart.” With a chuckle, Marcus puts a hand on her head to ruffle her hair. “Ready to go?” Changing the topic, again. This time she wasn’t about to let it go.

“Not yet. Actually, there’s something you haven’t done.” Missy crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Oh, really?” Marcus smiled as he mimicked his daughter’s stance. “And what is that thing I haven’t done?” he said with amusement.

Missy smirked. “You haven’t asked Y/n if she wants to come home and celebrate with us. “The smile on Marcus' face disappeared, a stunned expression replacing it.

“What!?”

“Yeah, you should invite her, we can all have dinner together and maybe she can stay and open presents with us.”

“Uh…Missy, sweetheart I don’t think that’s a good-“

“Oh, come on, dad! It’ll be great! It’s not as if we’re doing something REALLY special tonight. Please?”

“Sweetheart, she’ll probably say no, you know she never comes to Christmas parties.” His hands moved from his chest to rest on his waist as he spoke.

“Which is why you should invite her over. We’re not throwing a party; it’ll be just the three of us. And even if she says no, you won't lose anything just by asking.”

He wouldn’t know what to do if she rejected him. How cliché of him to fall in love with his best friend.

He had slowly fallen for you, so much so that by the time he realized what was going on, he was already a goner.

He had always known how beautiful you were, your smile, the way it illuminated your whole face; your eyes, your nose, your lips. He noticed how you were always helping people, inside and outside your Heroic persona, he also noticed how you tried to dismiss your own worries, not wanting to ‘burden’ others with them.

If only you would let him do for you the same things you do for him. He would love nothing more than to share whatever problems weighted down on you. He also knew you never accepted invitations to any Christmas celebration, at first, he had thought maybe you were being shy, being the new member of the team and all that, but year after year you always declined every single invitation from your teammates, he had always hated the thought of you spending the holidays on your own, patrolling the city.

He had never tried to invite you himself, back when his wife was around, they had always traveled to her parent’s house so it was useless to ask you to tag along, and then, after she left, it had been difficult to even try to celebrate.

If he asked you to come to Christmas and you said no, if you rejected him…well what hope could he have that maybe, just maybe he could find the courage to confess his feelings. But the probability of them being unrequired scared him so much. Should he risk it all?

Missy didn’t need to be a telepath to know what her dad was thinking, he was thinking too much and that normally resulted in him chickening out, well this time she wouldn’t let him.

“Or do you actually like the idea of her spending Christmas patrolling the city in a cold night most likely on her own?” This time she copied her father’s stance, silently challenging him to a staring contest, she had this in the bag, her dad had never won a staring contest in his life.

“You can be so stubborn when you want to, little lady.” Marcus said after a few seconds, breaking eye contact.

“Who do you think I got it from?” She said with a self-satisfied smile on her face.

“Come here.” Marcus pulled her in a hug. “I love you; you know that?” he said, leaving a kiss on top of her hair.

“I know, I love you too. Now stop stalling and go ask her.”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh, you’re also bossy.” He squeezed her a little before letting go and walking towards y/n.

“It’s called leadership!” He shook his head laughing, well, at least he was doing something right, god knows raising Missy almost on his own hadn’t been easy.

~~~~~~~~~~

You had been waiting to see which teammates would be staying with you this year to agree upon a schedule, when you noticed Marcus approaching you, he stood in front of you with a wide smile making his adorable dimple appear.

“Hi there.” He greeted while rubbing his hands together, one of his nervous ticks.

“Hi there yourself, everything okay?” It was weird, you could see how tense he was and he kept shifting from foot to foot.

His eyes widened and his head kept moving as he nodded. “Yeah, yes, everything’s alright.”

“Okay.” Now this was a Marcus you didn’t get to see often. Normally he was so self-assured, he always carried himself with confidence, even in the face of danger. “Are you excited to go home and spend a whole day with Missy?”

“Of course, it’s been some time since we’ve had the chance to spend a whole day together.”

“I’m glad you got the chance, she’s been working so hard, you both have, you deserve some time off.”

And so do you. He thought.

“You know, you’re right, you should also take a break.” He frowned. Marcus could see the bags under your eyes. You had also been working harder, pulling more time than the others. You did this every year during this season and it always pained him, while everyone else went home to their families you didn’t even hang your suit and equipment for a night and a day off, no, you made sure to keep everyone safe.

“I don’t know, not many of us volunteer for patrol as it is, and I don’t have any plans for the night or tomorrow so, why not?” You looked down at your feet. It was the truth, why bother taking a break, only to go to a cold empty apartment? You could find a better use of your time like this.

Marcus, swallowed, steeling what little resolve he had, it was now or never.

“You know, we- Missy and I that is. We were wondering if…maybe, if you don’t have any other plans; and of course you can say no, but it’ll be great if you said yes, and it’s nothing formal-” You watched him with amusement as he kept rambling, “It would be just the three of us and well, pizza and movies and junk food, staying up until midnight and opening some presents. Don’t worry, you don’t have to actually bring anything, it’ll be fine with jus-“

Shit, why was he talking so much, and why wouldn’t his hands stop moving!? Something like this hadn’t happened to him in a freaking long while, since he first invited a girl he liked on a date, like twenty or so years ago!

Leave it to you to have this kind of effect on him, only you could reduce him to a babbling idiot, if this kept going on, he wouldn’t be able to actually ask you the question.

~~~~ 

Oh my god! What is he doing!? Missy stared at her dad as he kept talking and moving his hands around while you just looked at him with mirth and confusion.

She had to do everything in this family, didn’t she?

“Would you like to join us tonight and maybe even tomorrow?” Missy interrupted her dad before he could keep on talking.

 Marcus hadn't been so grateful to his little girl than in that moment. “Umm, yeah, would you like to join us?” Marcus looked at you with a smile and hopeful eyes.

“Oh…OH!” You were speechless, you weren’t expecting an invitation this year, least of all an invitation from him. While it wasn’t weird for him to invite you to special occasions, he’s never once tried to invite you to spend Christmas with him. You always thought this time of year was special for him and that he preferred to spend it alone with Missy. “I-I…”

“Please say yes! It’d be fun, we just sit in front of the tv and watch movies while eating junk food!” Missy jumped in hugging you. She wasn’t scared to use her resources, every single one of them, if that meant that y/n agreed to the invite; she’d even use the puppy eyes if she had to, she had to exploit that one before it stopped working.

“I don’t know, we can’t leave the city defenseless…” Puppy eyes it was.

“Pretty please! I’m sure it’ll be fine, you always stay on duty, they can manage one year without you!”

Oh no, not the puppy eyes! You stared at Missy’s brown eyes, they looked so much like her father’s. You shifted your gaze from Missy to look at Marcus only to find him doing almost the same expression. God damn it! Not him too, he’s too old for that face to work, why is it working!?

What the hell, it’s not like you didn’t want to.

“Okay, I’ll join you guys”

“Yes! You’re the best, see ya later!!!” Missy gave your middle a squeeze before running out of the room, leaving you and Marcus staring after her.

“You mister are way too old to be pulling the puppy-eyed look, you should be ashamed.” You turned to see his smug face.

“I’ll keep using it for as long as it keeps working.”

“What a disgrace.”

“So umm, does six work for you?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to let the others know I won’t be a volunteer this year. See you then.” With a smile you gave Marcus a quick hug before approaching one of the members of the Heroics that, much like you, always volunteered and was the one in charge of making the schedule for patrol rounds.

“Yeah, see you.” Marcus said shaking his head, long after you had left his side. He needed to get a grip of himself, if not, he would have a long night waiting for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even if Marcus said not to bring anything, you hated arriving at a friend’s house empty handed, even if it was Marcus, especially if it was Marcus; so you made sure to grab a couple of things on the way to your apartment. Some bags of everyone’s favorite chip flavor and enough ingredients to make some cinnamon rolls.

You took a quick shower once the glaze was done and the cinnamon rolls were in the oven. With one towel around your body and another one around your hair; you stood in front of your dresser debating on what to wear.

It’s not like this was a date; as if. So why worry so much?  Still, you kept on throwing clothes on your bed, you told yourself enough by the time you were seriously contemplating putting on a dress.

You put away the mess you made, leaving out a nice button up shirt and a pair of comfortable dress pants, the ones that had actual pockets, you finished your look with some comfortable boots, you were probably going to end up taking them off at some point so you also put on some cute Christmas themed fuzzy socks.

Satisfied with your choice, you decided to put on a baggy T-shirt to take the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and to prevent the glaze from dirtying your clothes when you poured it on the buns once they were cool enough.

You were fifteen minutes late by the time you got dressed, packed everything up, and grabbed the presents for Marcus and Missy that you had wrapped up a week ago. You send Marcus a message saying that you were on your way.

~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus went into full panic mode when they got home an hour and a half away from the time he told you to arrive, they lost too much time lining up to pay at the supermarket, he insisted on going once he remembered he was out of your favorite candy, he also got a bag of chocolates and some sodas.

For a moment he contemplated getting some beers, but soon dismissed the idea, he wasn’t that much of a drinker and he didn’t like to drink in front of his daughter. Besides this wasn’t a date, of any kind, just his daughter and best friend; who he had been in love with for a long time now, spending some quality time together.

Shit, he forgot about the pizza!

“Missy, go take a shower and change into something more comfortable but nice and then come give me a hand, we need to set everything up in the living room” He said as he dialed the number from the pizza place the three of you loved.

Missy took the grocery bags to the kitchen before doing what her father asked her to do, but in reverse, that way there was a chance that you would arrive while she was still getting ready leaving the two of you alone for a few minutes.

She opened the chocolate and candy bags dumping the contents into two different small bowls, she listened as her father finished ordering the pizza on her way to the living room where they had a slightly bigger tv than the one in front of the breakfast table, she left the bowls on the coffee table in the middle.

“Missy, I thought I asked you to do something else before setting everything up.”

“I know, but we’ll finish faster this way, you need to take a shower too. Can you get the glasses from the cupboard?”

He sighed but went to the kitchen to get the aforementioned glasses.

“Hey, did you order the potato wedges?” Missy asked, taking one of the soda bottles and putting it inside the fridge.

“Yup.” Marcus answered, passing her the second bottle. “Give me a hand with the plates please.” He bumped her with his hip as he passed her.

They inspected their work for a moment before going to their respective rooms to get ready, Missy decided to take her time choosing her clothes, she even contemplated whether it’d be too much to take a bath instead of a shower.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Never before, in his whole life, had he gotten ready for ANYTHING as fast as today. He almost pulled out a suit from his closet before doing a double-take and grabbing a nice shirt, some black denim pants, and his favorite sneakers.

He decided to forgo any kind of hair product and only dabbled a little bit of cologne on his wrist and neck. On his way to the living room, he stopped by Missy’s room to knock on her door.

“Are you ready darling?”

“Not yet!” Was her muffled response.

“Okay, I’ll be in the living room, take your time but remember we’ll have a special guest over.” A special guest? Come on Marcus, she’s been here multiple times before, she’s like part of the family, maybe not in the way he wished her to be but still.

~

“Okay, dad!” A special guest!? Really!? He was hopeless, did he even notice how obvious he was? Why hadn’t he done something about it yet? Y/n could easily slip through his fingers by the time he decided to actually make a move. She needed to up her game.

 Marcus kept staring at the clock as it read five minutes past six, leg bouncing. Maybe his clock was wrong, maybe he didn’t put the right hour, maybe it was forward by a few minutes.

God, he was a mess, he needed to calm down, it was just Y/n, his best friend; she’s hung out with them before, on multiple occasions, except…well she wasn’t JUST Y/n, she never was and never would be.

She was everything, she became everything to him in such a short time that sometimes it scared him. If he had to be truly honest with himself, he needed to admit that he began to fall for her the moment they met, he fought against it for years, he was married with a baby on the way for god’s sake.

He had loved his wife and he would’ve never cheated on her, but he also couldn’t deny the connection he felt with you from day one, he had never felt something even remotely close to it with anyone else.

If things had been different, he would have told you about his feeling’s way sooner, he had been selfish, he knew he couldn’t afford to lose you, he lost his wife, Missy lost her mother, he couldn’t lose you too if you didn’t feel the same, that would’ve destroyed him when Missy needed him more than ever.

So, instead he kept it silent, holding on to the hope that maybe, someday, he’d be able to act upon his feelings for you.

He was startled by his phone chiming in his pocket, the first thing he noticed was the hour, quarter past six; and the second, your message. ‘I’m on my way.’

He sighed, you would be there soon, could he maybe try to hint at something tonight? Well, if he didn’t, maybe he could bring ‘that’ out.

~~~~~

Fifteen more minutes later you were finally ringing Marcus’ house doorbell, not for the first time, you were happy with the proximity of your apartment complex to his house.

“Hey! Why didn’t you use your key?” Marcus' smiling face greeted you. “Oh, I see why.” You were holding a container in one hand, balancing two gift boxes on top and the cloth bag with the chips in the other.

“I kind of couldn’t even if I wanted to.” You laughed.

“I told you, you didn’t have to bring anything but yourself; here, let me help you.” He took the container with the cinnamon rolls from your hands. “Come on in.”

“As if you didn’t know me Marcus, I never come here with empty hands.” You followed Marcus to the kitchen after closing the door behind you.

“This thing is warm, what’s inside?” he had left the bag and the container on the counter, he also put the boxes aside.

“Well, you have two options, you can try to guess or you can open it.” You said with a smile, taking the bags of chips out to fold the bag they were in.

“I know it’s warm, is it something sweet?” so guessing it was, you loved to play this kind of game with him every time you brought baked goods.

“Yes.”

“Can I smell it? Am I allowed to do that?” he asked, eyebrows raised and a big smile on his face.

You faked a thoughtful look before nodding. Marcus lifted the container close to his face and took a deep breath.

“Cinnamon?” His eyes opened wide in delight. “No way, don’t tell me! Are these, you brought cinnamon rolls!? Holy sheesh!”

You laughed at him, you knew he loved cinnamon rolls so you made them as often as you could, you even gave him the recipe but he claimed that they just didn’t taste the same when he made them himself. You thought he was just too impatient to make them and preferred to just eat them.

He opened the container to keep the bread from getting soggy because of the condensation inside it.

“My god! They look delicious, I swear could kiss you right now!” What!?

 FUUUUCK!!! YOU IDIOT! WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!!!! he froze up, there was a moment of silence between the two of you before it was thankfully interrupted by the doorbell.

“The pizza is here! Just in time.” He said with maybe too much enthusiasm. The delivery guy deserved a big tip, he just unknowingly saved his ass.

 Did you hear correctly? Did he say kiss? That’s what he said, right?

No, well yes, he did say it, but he probably didn’t mean it like, well...THAT. It was just an expression, he was overjoyed you brought him food and you were just thinking too much into things. Yeah, that was it, you were thinking too much.

“I heard the pizza arrived! Don’t start without me!” You shook your head, clearing your thoughts as Missy appeared around the corner. “Hi y/n!”

“Hi Missy.” You opened your arms towards her for a hug that she walked right into.

“You got chips, nice. Wait do I smell cinnamon rolls!?” Like father, like daughter.

“Ah-ah-ah! Don’t touch those, little lady. Those are for later.” Marcus said stepping into the kitchen. “Now, come on, I left the pizza on the coffee table.”

“But dad, they’re WARM.” Missy argued, stressing out the last word.

“Don’t you think it also hurts me to leave them there? We can reheat them later in the oven.” Marcus said with his hands on his hips. Missy looked like she wanted to say something more, so you decided to cut in.

“Mis, why don’t you take the gifts I brought and put them under the tree? We’ll be there in a minute.” You said handing her the boxes.

“Okay, but I get to pick the first movie!” Both of you watched as she walked out.

“I swear this girl.” Marcus huffed running a hand through his hair.

“Don’t you dare finish that thought Moreno, you’re just as bad as her when it comes to your precious buns.” You said shaking your head.

You hear him gasp as you walk to the fridge, knowing he probably stashed the drinks there. “You wound me!”

“Uh huh, let’s go before she decides to start eating without us.” You grabbed one of the cold bottles of soda inside the fridge and made your way towards the living room. “Don’t forget to bring the chips.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Together you made your way to the living room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Missy decided to sit on the carpeted floor right in front of the coffee table, that way her dear pining love birds would be forced to share the loveseat.

“What took you so long? I hope the big box is for me, also I already picked a movie.”

“Don’t be impatient, you’ll find out soon.” You said as you ruffled her hair a little, leaving the bottle of soda on the table close to the glasses.

“Oh no. Sweetheart, we forgot to move the couch.”

“It’s okay dad, you two can have the loveseat, besides this way I’ll be closer to the snacks.” Don’t be suspicious Missy, you don’t want to ruin this perfect chance. Phase one, getting them to sit together: complete, phase two is on hold.

“You sure you don’t mind darling?”

“Nope, can I start the movie?”

~~

Oh god, they were going to be really close to one another.

Calm down, Moreno. You’re fine, this is fine. It’s your best friend. He reminded himself for the millionth time that day.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, maybe it was because this was your first Christmas with them and all the domestic stuff was getting to him.

He turned to look at you “After you.” He said gesturing towards the loveseat with his hands.

“Thank you. What are we watching Missy?”

“First Home alone, The Santa Clause, Arthur Christmas; you know, the classics with a touch of new stuff.”

“Let’s begin then.” Everyone sat in their respective places with a plate and a slice of pizza.

As the evening progressed, he found himself using the ‘stretching move’ to put his arm around you, when he noticed you weren’t bothered by it, he willed his body to relax and enjoy the company of his favorite people in the world.

 As the movies kept playing on the screen and the snacks disappeared little by little. You felt yourself get more comfortable.

For a moment you let your imagination run wild; for a moment you let yourself believe this was a normal occurrence, family movie nights, cuddling with Marcus on the loveseat, going to sleep beside him afterward, waking up beside him, help him raise Missy…

You needed to stop this, as wonderful as everything sounded inside your head you knew none of that would become a reality.

“Okay, it’s getting late,” You got startled by Marcus nudging you softly with his shoulder before pausing the movie, you hadn’t even realized you leaned into him “don’t think that I’ll forget about your bedtime just because Y/n is here.”

“But dad!”

“No, come on, let’s open some presents and then I want you to go get ready for bed. I can see your head nodding from here, you’re tired, go on choose one.”

Phase two: Leave the love birds alone, has officially begun. Missy thought, wishing for her dad to finally take the opportunity to climb that last step. Phase three of her plan, officially having you as a mom, depended on it.

“Okay,” Missy said pretending to be disappointed “Y/n, which one is mine? The big one?”

“Sorry Mis, It’s actually the small one.”

“Oh.”

“’Oh’? What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t you have faith in me?”

“I do, but what cool stuff could possibly be wrapped in such a small box?”

“You’ll see once you open it, sweetheart.” Marcus left the remote control on the table and returned to his previous position on the loveseat, arm around you and all.

Both of you watched as Missy broke the wrapping paper and opened the wooden box taking out what looked like a smart watch from inside it.

“Oh! It’s one of those cool watches!” Missy exclaimed with surprise.

“Yes and no.” you said, leaning in towards her.

“what do you mean?”

“This one’s special, see I got Tech-no to make it especially for you. It does work like any other smart watch, but you’ll be able to use this one even if you don’t have a Wifi connection or aren’t close to any phone tower.”

“What!? How!?”

“It’s linked into one of the Heroics main recon satellites, it has a GPS function that’ll show you the map and your location no matter where you are, it also has the emergency button. It’ll alert your dad, me, or the Heroics mission control station. It has many more functions, I think, but that’s all I remember. Tech-no included a manual, you’ll get it once you turn it on. Oh yeah! Almost forgot, aside from being able to use conventional charging cables, I don’t know how but he also included solar panels.”

“OMG! I can’t believe it!! It’s the best gift ever!! Thank you!!!” Missy jumped from her place on the floor to tackle you in a hug.

“You’re welcome, I thought it could come in handy now that you’re in the saving the world business with us.” You said with a laugh.

“Hey, Missy, you still want the big box? We can exchange.” Marcus said with raised eyebrows.

“No way! This is mine, I’m gonna go charge it. Thankyousomuch, goodnight, bye.” With that Missy took off running towards her room.

“Hey, don’t forget to brush your teeth!” He reminded her.

“I won’t!”

You both heard the door to her room slam close.

“Wow Y/n, you didn’t have to.”

“It’s no big deal Marcus, you know how much I love her, and I worry. She’s too much like you.” You said staring at him.

“Wha-what’s that supposed to mean?” He said feigning offense.

“I mean it in a good way! She’s kind and selfless, headstrong, brave, and so intelligent. What we do is dangerous, and now that she's exposed to it, well, knowing her she won’t stay behind anymore. All we can do is give her the tools to keep herself and her team as safe as possible.”

Could you be any more perfect? He knew you loved his daughter, it’s always been clear to him, but could she love him just as much?

“You know now I have to try and top that gift next year, right? There’s no way anything I got her this one is going to top yours.” He said with the most serious face he could muster.

“That was the point.” You answered with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Mala.” he said, squinting his eyes at you.

“You think I’m bad!?” you gasped, “I’ll show you bad mister.” You stand up from your seat, you walk in your Christmas themed socks; boots long forgotten in favor of comfort; towards the tree to take the gift you brought for him. “No present for you, I’m going to keep it.” You said smugly .

“Now that’s not fair.”

“Oh, I think it is.”

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” He apologized.

“What? What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

“I said I’m sorry, oh benevolent woman! Goddess of the amazing Christmas presents! I kneel before you.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You laughed at him.

“The things I have to do for a present.”

“You didn’t really kneel.”

“You serious?” he asked flabbergasted.

“No. Now open your gift before I change my mind.”

Marcus eagerly tore the paper apart, revealing a thinner wooden box than the one Missy received. Inside, Marcus found an old throwing knife.

You stared at him, holding your breath as he opened the gift, it wasn’t some cutting edge piece of tech, but you knew how much that knife meant to him.

He was speechless, he instantly recognized it the moment his eyes laid on the engravings of the blade, this had been one of his father’s throwing knives. While not exactly a superhero, his father had served in the army as part of a special secret division. He had preferred knives instead of guns. And he taught Marcus everything he knew about them, that was the reason he had chosen to fight with swords, in memory of his father.

But how, how could you have gotten hold of one of his knives, they had been lost during his last mission.

“I-I, how-” He swallowed hard “How did you find it?”

“Well, I remembered what you told me, about your dad, what he did and a-about your dad’s last mission and well, remember last time I took some days off a few months ago? I did some research and found the town he had gone to. I asked around and I found this old lady, she treated your father’s wounds at some point during his mission and he tried to pay her by giving her one of his knives, she never sold it. I told her about you and well, she insisted on returning the blade to you.” You finished your tale a little bit breathless, he became really quiet when he opened the box.

He couldn’t believe you remembered that, it’s been so long since he told you about his father.

Had it been a mistake to search for the blade? Did you overstep? Maybe you should have told him before going on that trip.

“Marcus, I’m sorr-” One moment you were trying to apologize to him and the next you were being enveloped in a pair of strong arms.

“Thank you.” He said breathless, leaving a kiss on top of your head. “This means so much to me.” You just smiled and hugged him back.

You stayed like that, relishing in the feeling of his arms around you, holding you tight to his chest.

This woman, this wonderful, amazing, beautiful woman… fuck it, he knew what he had to do.

You felt a pang of sadness and longing as Marcus’ arms began to retreat from around you.

“Wait here. I-I need to go get something.” You watched as he left the box with his gift on the table, stood from his seat and disappeared around a corner.

 Calm down, calm down, it was just a hug. You told yourself.

Marcus came back to sit beside you a minute or so later holding a small baby blue box with a white ribbon on top in his hands.

“I-I’ve been waiting for the right moment to give you this. It’s nothing like what you gave us but…I hope you like it.” He reached for your hands and left the box in your palms.

Upon a closer look, you noticed the box came from a jewelry store, an expensive one at that. You opened it carefully, not wanting to damage the little box. Inside the box, lying on a silky looking piece of fabric, you saw a beautiful heart shaped golden locket, there was a flowery design with some vines on the surface giving it some texture.

“Marcus!” You gasped. “You didn’t have to; this must’ve been really expensive.”

“Go ahead, open it.” You did as he said not lifting the heart from its silky bed. Inside, you found a small picture of Marcus, Missy and you.

You remembered that one was taken during Missy’s birthday last year, in the picture the three of you were laughing, your faces dirty with cake frosting from the small war that took place moments before his mother had taken the picture without them noticing.

“Marcus! This is beautiful, thank you so much!” You were about to hug him when he raised a hand to stop you.

“There’s more.” You were confused, he was acting a bit strange, you noticed he was tense as you looked from him and back to the necklace. “Turn it around.”

Once more you did what he said, closing the locket you took it in your palm noticing something engraved into it. On the back you found that it was indeed engraved. It read:

‘For the holder of my heart~’

It’s now or never. He held his breath as he watched you read the words. He began to worry when you didn’t show any kind of reaction.

“What?” you whispered, it can’t be, could this mean, did he, what?

“I-I was going to wait to give it to you, I had this elaborate plan, I wanted to ask you out, take you to a nice restaurant, then maybe we’d go to a park or something. I also thought of giving it to you on your birthday, but then we got kidnapped by aliens and I lost the courage, because what if I ruined everything? What if I ruined our friendship just because I fell in love and you didn’t feel the same? Then things would’ve become awkward and we’d stop hanging out and eventually we would’ve become strangers and I never want that to happen, I want you, I want you in my life, in our lives and I can’t imagi-”

“Marcus.” You interrupted him. “You love me?”

“More than anything.”

“How long?”

“Long time now.” You nodded slowly. Your brain still trying to process everything he just said, but mainly repeating ‘he loves me!’ over and over again.

“Can you... help me put it on?” you gesture to the necklace still in your hands.

He nodded, taking it in his hands as you turned around for him. He didn’t understand what was happening, you were still here, you asked him for his help to put his gift on, so that was something good, right?

“Done.” He said stunned as you turned around to face him with the biggest most beautiful smile he’s ever seen.

“You love me?” You asked again. Your voice, now full of emotion, a stark contrast from the flat one you used a moment ago.

“Yes.”

“You really, really love me?” now he was getting confused.

“Yes Y/n, I love you, you and only you.”

“Good. Because I love you too.” He barely had time to react before your lips were on his and just like that, time stopped, right there, in that moment, there was only you, the feeling of your lips on his, the pounding of his heart, the feeling of your hands, your fingers as they carded through his hair.  

He couldn’t get enough of you. He pulled you closer to him until you ended up straddling his lap, his hands on your hips, your lips moving in perfect sync with his as if it wasn’t the first time you kissed. His senses overwhelmed by you and how you made him feel.

Suddenly, you leaned back, ending the kiss with a smack; much too soon for his liking; leaving you both a panting mess.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of you saying that, of you feeling the same way.” You said breathless, giving him a small peck when you finished talking. 

“Oh, honey-is, is it okay if I call you that?”

“It’s more than ‘okay’ Marcus.” You said laughing.

“I’m glad, because I’ve been dying to call you all kinds of beautiful names. And me too, honey; I’ve imagined countless times telling you how I feel about you. I’m so sorry it took me this long to tell you.” He pulled you in, claiming your mouth again, in a kiss more intense than the first one making you moan. You felt his tongue lick your lips, silently asking for entrance, letting go of your inhibitions you let him explore the insides of your mouth, your own tongue tangling with his.

This time he ended the kiss, making you whine from the loss of contact.

“I want you, but tell me to stop, and I will.” He whispered in your ear, “Tell me if it’s too soon and I’ll stop.” he sucked on your earlobe before leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin there.

“Don’t you dare stop Marcus.” you gasped, “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?” you asked as you ground your hips against his earning a groan in response.

He returned to your lips for one more hungry kiss before outright growling “Hold on tight, honey. Let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.” His hands slid from your hips to your ass, supporting you as he stood from the cushions making you squeal in surprise. Your arms went around his neck as you tried not to fall backward.

“Marcus! Warn me next time.” You admonished him “What about Missy? What if she hears us?” You ask as he begins to walk towards the part of the house you knew led to the bedrooms.

“That’s why we’re going to my room, so we don’t have to worry, it’s soundproofed. Now like you said, we’ve waited long enough.” He squeezed your ass before latching his lips on your neck again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

He stirred awake, with the feeling of your hand drawing mindless patterns on his naked chest. With a smile, he remembered what happened last night when he finally confessed to you, and what happened after as well.

He let his eyes open, slowly, letting them adjust to the little morning light that managed to seep through the curtains. He turned his head to look at you, your head resting on the hand that wasn’t drawing shapes on his chest.

He smiled at you, lifting one of his hands to hold yours, lifting it from his chest to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“Hey. Merry Christmas.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Merry Christmas indeed. Did you sleep well, honey?” he asked, lowering your hand in his and resting it on his chest right over his heart.

“Better than ever.” You gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment before leaning in at the same time to share a sweet, slow kiss.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Who would save the world if we did?” You managed to ask between little pecks to his lips.

“I bet the others can do it just fine.”

“Okay, well, who would keep Missy out of trouble?”

“Yeah, I don’t think either of us can keep her from that.” he stared at you, before saying your name. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Marcus.”

You stayed in bed, in each other’s arms, until one of you remembered that neither of you turned off the tv last night, and he remembered the cinnamon rolls had been left on the counter in the kitchen.

Once dressed, Marcus in his pajamas and you in one of his shirts (that almost made the both of you stay in bed longer) and a pair of pants that he let you borrow to keep you comfortable, you set out to clean the living room.

When that was done, you set to work together inside the kitchen preparing breakfast for everyone, reheating the cinnamon rolls and making fresh coffee.

The two of you were soon joined by Missy, whose only reaction to the two of you being now together-together was a very happy, very exasperated ‘Finally!’.

He looked at his little family with a smile on his face as he sat down on the table. He could finally say that this Christmas he finally received what he’s always wished for, what he’s been yearning to have for years.

Your heart.

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