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#marcus moreno x f!reader
morallyinept · 2 months
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Heyday Hero! - A Marcus Moreno One Shot
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Summary: Retired from his role as leader of the Heroics, Marcus finds that his life is missing something he never really slowed down to notice before, and soon the prospect of growing older and grey alone suddenly doesn't seem like such a super thought.
Pairing: Mature!Marcus Moreno x Mature/CurvyF!Reader (No name of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader is of a similar age to Marcus, who I have made 52 in this story, and Reader is more on the curvier side in body type. Otherwise a blank slate.)
Word Count: 12.5k. I'm not sorry. Settle in, it's a long one.
Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/Triggers: Some angst/very slight mentions of body confidence/both Marcus & Reader have REAL bodies, and very real middle age spread/coming to terms with ageing & feeling obsolete.
Explicit: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering - Marcus has superpower hands⚡️/lots of kissing/schmaltzy romance/Marcus doesn't fuck, he makes love.
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: After seeing how distinguished and incredibly handsome Pedro looked at the Emmy's recently (and remarkably like an older version of gorgeous Marcus Moreno) this idea came to me. And I had to write it down... It's long for a one shot, but I didn't want to cut too much out as I wanted to really get inside of Marcus's head. 🧠
MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST
Enjoy! 🖤
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In the dimly lit restaurant, Marcus fiddles anxiously with the menu as he waits for your arrival.
Sat in the swanky establishment, chosen meticulously for it’s luxurious, yet modest selection of incredibly tasty fare, the ambiance around him is a blend of soft lighting and muted colours that exude an air of quaint sophistication.
The walls are adorned with contemporary art pieces, which he can sometimes get lost inside between courses, creating an elegant backdrop to the gentle hum of conversations weaving around him like a ribbon in the background.
To his left, a couple engage in animated laughter, their cheery faces illuminated by the warm glow of soft candlelight. Across the room, a group of friends celebrate a special occasion, clinking glasses in animated jubilation.
The soft jazz music playing in the background adds a touch of romance, and the scraping of cutlery against fine china creates a comforting sense of familiarity in a place Marcus has favoured from time to time, bringing his daughter as his usual date.
The waitstaff, dressed in crisp uniforms, move gracefully between tables, ensuring that each patron experiences the epitome of culinary indulgence with a first class service.
Grateful that he chose to don his spectacles, he opens the menu and skims the appetizers and main courses, inwardly cursing his exceptional time keeping skills at arriving thirty minutes earlier than he needs to be.
He’s acutely aware of being on his own; standing out as a single amongst a sea of tables where numbers around them are even, and it crawls onto his shoulders to sit there like a heavy, unwanted companion settling in.
Despite the refined atmosphere, Marcus feels a tinge of nervousness swell in his belly. As he catches glimpses of couples sharing intimate moments and friends engaged in lively cahoots, Marcus can't help but feel like an outsider peering into a world that has become somewhat unfamiliar during his retirement.
As he sits in contemplation, considering the Filet Mignon with a Cabernet Demi-Glace alongside a glass of Malbec, or maybe the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, that would go down nicely, the restaurant serves as a swamping microcosm of the world he’s retreated into - a world filled with ordinary moments and the promise of new connections, despite the cocoon of abject terror woven tightly around them.
He wonders briefly for a moment what you will choose to eat as he skims down the list. Then he wonders if you'll actually have the courage to show; his own hesitations and fears trying to toy with him with their insidious little voices hissing in his ear.
His once steady hands now convey a subtle tremor, a physical manifestation of the nerves that have gripped him tightly ever since the idea of this date had taken root and grown limbs of its own.
A journey that still confused him, unable to believe it all started with a simple swipe over his face and a digital message shared between you...
His daughter, Missy, had perched on the armrest of the couch only a mere fortnight ago, a mischievous glint in her deep chocolate eyes that matched his own set of peepers.
"Alright, Dad, let's make you the perfect dating profile. You've got to be enticing, mysterious, yet approachable," Missy had declared with a buoyant smirk.
Marcus nodded, still getting accustomed to the concept of online dating and his acceptance to it after months of Missy berating him about putting himself out there more.
He finally caved when he realised she was right. She usually was about these things, although hardly an example to live by. Several failed relationships later, including an engagement that never led to Marcus actually walking her down the aisle proudly on his arm, and she'd thrown in the towel and embraced single life.
She'd grown in age for a thirty-something rambunctious young woman, but evidently not in maturity.
"Right, right. Enticing and approachable. Got it.” Marcus nodded. “How do I do that?"
“You’re a lost cause, jeez,” she snorted, as her fingers danced across the keyboard on the phone screen. “Luckily, you have me to help you out.”
“What are you writing in there?” Marcus asked curiously, trying to take a peek.
"I’m making you sound like a catch. Because you are.”
“I don’t know about that.” He mumbled bashfully. “I’m old.”
“Being in your fifties is not old. Trust me. You’re what, 56?”
“52.” Marcus frowned.
“Exactly. Young. Now, for the headline. How about 'retired hero seeking sidekick for life's next adventure'?"
Marcus nodded. “Mm, I sound like a sales pamphlet.” He chuckled.
With a teasing grin, Missy continued typing. "Let's highlight your strengths. 'A man of action, but also enjoys long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners.'"
Marcus scratched under his greying beard. "Look at that, I've been upgraded from sales pamphlet to walking cliché."
Missy laughed, "fine, we'll skip the beach walks, then. How about we mention your cooking skills? 'Can whip up a mean lasagna, tower of pancakes and save the day - a triple threat.'"
Marcus nodded in approval. "That's not bad. Cooking is a superpower in its own right. And one that I excel at, if I do say so myself."
"You always say so."
"Quit complaining. You eat here for free." He quipped.
As they navigated through the intricacies of the dating profile, Marcus's naivety about online dating emerged. "Do people really swipe left or right on this thing?”
“Yep. You swipe right if you like the look of them, or left if you don’t.”
“How fickle.” He wrinkled his nose at such a thought.
“Eh, it's what all the cool kids do these days.” Missy shrugged.
“Maybe that’s too cool for me. What about one where I can meet someone like me?”
“Dating specifically for retired Heroics?”
“No. Dating for… something other than a one night stand.” He cleared his throat.
“You mean you don’t want to slut around?” Missy teased. "These are your hoe years, Dad!"
“Hey! Potty mouth.” He frowned again. “And no. I-I want to meet someone who’s serious.”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Dad, this isn’t Tinder I'm setting you up on, don’t worry.” She reassured. “This is a serious dating site for old, uh, mature people who want to find something real. It just has a similar algorithm to Tinder in matching you up.”
“Well, good.” He nodded. “What’s Tinder?”
“Slut central.” Missy smirked.
“Oh.” Marcus chuckled again. “And what's with all the emojis? Ooh, is there a superhero emoji?"
Missy tittered, guiding him through the nuances. "Yes, there's a superhero emoji, we can add that, or a heart to jazz it up a bit."
“I like the purple heart. Can you put that one?”
“Purple? Why not the green one?”
“I don’t like green, purple is my favourite colour. Why would I use the green one?” Marcus questioned, wrinkling his nose.
"I don't know, green is cool. Different."
"I'm not cool. Just put the purple one."
“Purple it is.” Missy said, smiling down at him and how curiously receptive he was to it all. She had assumed he would have put up a bit of a fight and insisted he was perfectly fine on his own. But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
As she finalised the profile, Missy held up the phone to snap a picture of him.
“Oh no, let me just-”
“Dad, you look fine.” She groaned as he ran his hand over his head tidying his already neat hair.
“Well, let me take my glasses off.”
“No way. They’re a part of you. Now, say cheese, you uncool old man.” She snapped a few pics as he smiled awkwardly, and chose the best one to upload.
"And there we have it - the profile of a retired superhero ready to conquer the world of online dating. You're a niche in the market."
Marcus simply scoffed.
"Now, brace yourself for the flood of admirers, Dad. Your inbox is gonna be lit."
Marcus looked at the screen, a mix of nervousness and amusement on his face.
"Flood of admirers, huh? I never thought finding a date would be this... complicated."
As Missy finalised and submitted the online dating profile, a moment of hesitation gripped him. He looked at the screen, the upbeat words that described him echoed in his mind, and a pang of guilt tugged at his ventricles making him sigh heavily.
The prospect of moving forward felt like a betrayal, a step into an unknown territory where memories of his late wife still lingered, clinging on. He fiddled with the platinum band around his finger absentmindedly.
But Missy sensed her father's inner turmoil, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding as if she could read every silent thought that churned through him.
She gently placed a hand on his broad shoulder.
"Dad, it's okay. Mom will always be a part of us, no matter what. This doesn't mean you're leaving her behind."
Marcus nodded, his gratitude evident in his misty eyes. "I know. It's just... it feels strange, you know? To be potentially opening up to someone new. I feel so out of the loop."
“But that’s the fun in dating.” Missy squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and he placed his hand on top of hers. "You meet all kinds of weirdos before you find one that's the right kind of weird."
"You're a weirdo." He smirked.
"Takes one to know one," she mused. "Besides, mom would want you to be happy. And I want that too. You deserve it. There’s someone out there that's just as uncool as you are, I guarantee it."
"Thanks," he chuckled.
"I mean it. Whoever they are, they're going to fall madly in love with you. You really are a hero, Dad."
Marcus smiled up at her with rosy cheeks and a warming smile. “Love you, kiddo.”
“I’m not eleven anymore. I’m a grown woman.” She rolled her eyes at the pet name that had stuck, although secretly she loved it.
“You’ll always be my kiddo regardless of how old you get. That'a just the deal.” He confirmed with a singular nod.
With a soft smile, Marcus returned his focus to the dating profile. The words on the screen transforming slowly from potential betrayal to a blooming eagerness through some determined resilience and the capacity to allow himself to embrace a new beginning in his long absent love life with some appeasement.
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Weeks had passed since Marcus and Missy created the dating profile.
Admittedly Marcus hadn’t spent a lot of time on the app, finding it tricky to navigate and the constant swiping made his thumbs ache after scrolling through reams of attractive faces that it began to overwhelm.
But he dipped in now and again to check any matches, and didn’t really expect much.
Marcus was the kind of man who harboured that dreamy infatuation of falling in love naturally in an environment reminiscent of his favourite rom coms.
Like bumping into his soulmate in a coffee shop over a foamy latte, or locking eyes through the stacks in an old dusty bookstore, or between the exotic blooms of the local botanical gardens where he liked to sit and have lunch sometimes.
But of course, life isn’t a rom com, and Marcus was convinced his had always been a gritty action adventure with no time for the romantic story line to be weaved into the dangerous plot.
One evening, as Marcus checked his phone, he discovered a notification from the dating app. His heart skipped a beat as he opened the message, revealing a match with you.
A mixture of excitement and nervousness washed over him. He read through your profile, discovering shared interests and a warmth that resonated through your words about seeking a life partner with whom you could share your zest for life with.
Your photo captivated him, namely your smile, and Marcus found he spent several minutes just trying to envision what you were like in person with those gorgeous eyes of yours staring back at him.
The room seemed to brighten as he absorbed the realisation that someone out there was potentially interested in getting to know him beyond the superhero persona.
"Hey, I got a match!" He called out to Missy, who was folding laundry in the next room.
Despite how domesticated her father was, he still loathed ironing and wasn’t really that skilled at it, so it was left for Missy when she visited, which was an almost daily occurrence. Moving out some years ago into her own place across town, she still spent more of her time at her childhood home hanging with her father when she wasn’t saving the world.
Loneliness, it seemed, was hereditary.
She rushed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Really? Let me see!"
As they huddled around the phone, Marcus navigated through your profile.
“Oh, she’s gorgeous, Dad.”
“Right? Far too gorgeous for me.” His voice dipped.
Missy frowned up at him. “Don’t say that, she likes you, look. And look, she loves flowers, you love your garden! Ooh, and she’s a foodie! Perfect match!"
"You think so?" He asked.
"You're officially in the dating game, Dad!" She grinned excitedly.
Marcus couldn't help but smile, a blend of gratitude and anticipation in his eyes.
“Send her a message back.”
“What do I say?”
Missy rolled her eyes. “Just talk to her, dummy.”
He nodded. "I never thought I'd be doing this at my age. But here goes nothing."
Missy playfully nudged him. “You say it like you’re on your last legs.”
“I’m so nervous. Do you think she could really find me interesting?”
Missy's face softened. "Absolutely. You’ve got so much to offer. Remember, just be yourself. And if all else fails, maybe tell her about the pancake towers… That seemed to work for you before."
The father-daughter duo laughed and then she left him to it. As Marcus prepared to message you, he felt a sense of hope blooming within him, seeding with delicate tendrils of what-if scenarios through the soil of his being.
The dating app, once an intimidating frontier, now represented a chance for connection in the palm of his hand, and the possibility of a second chapter in his life.
In the soft glow of the phone screen, Marcus typed his first message to you; a simple yet sincere greeting, with thoughtful follow up questions to get to know you.
As he pressed send, the room seemed to hold its breath with him; floundering in the uncharted territory and all the terrifying pitfalls of online dating opening up in seemingly unconquerable chasms before him.
He could feel his fingers buzz and crackle in giddy excitement, and he shook the pulsing from them as he waited anxiously.
Marcus smiled as wide as his mouth would stretch when moments later your reply came, followed with a purple heart emoji of your own at the end.
The pair of you spent the reminder of that night messaging back and forth until the early hours of the morning, both of you seeming reluctant to halt the texting for the inconvinience of sleep.
You questioned him about his previous career as leader of the Heroics, something that he made no effort in hiding from you, but he was more surprised when you brushed over it and asked him more personal questions about him and his life now.
It warmed him to know that you were keen on getting to know the man underneath the padded out suit and katanas.
As Marcus delved into the conversations that flowed eagerly across the screen, he eagerly shared those glimpses of his life beyond the Heroics. In his messages to you, he found himself excitedly revealing the most cherished aspects of his retired life - his culinary prowess and his love for gardening namely.
Through his words, never abbreviated to modern day text slang, he painted vivid pictures of his kitchen as a canvas where he crafted tasty and experimental delights, contributing to his now less-than-trim waistline.
The tales of him donning an apron and concocting flavours with pots and pans were woven into the giddy narrative - like creating his legendary lasagna and towering pancake stacks - and held a touch of pride and a hint of self-deprecating humour.
Perhaps you'll be the lucky one to experience my famous lasagna one day. I warn you though, it comes with a side of terrible superhero puns and far too much garlic bread.💜
Your response made his cheeks ache from grinning so much:
Well, lucky for you I love far too much garlic bread. And terrible puns.💜
He spoke of mornings spent tending to the plants in his back yard, nurturing them as if they were his wards. The garden, once a therapeutic escape from the demands of heroism, now became a space where he cultivated not just flowers and vegetables, but a sense of ongoing tranquillity.
As he shared these aspects of his life, Marcus was ecstatic that you saw beyond the retired hero and glimpsed the man who found joy in the beautiful ordinary.
You both spoke morning, noon and night until only a few days into your chatting, Marcus offered you his phone number and he called you, engaging in a video call conversation that lasted late into the night and curated a dinner date arranged for just a few evenings later.
And now, sitting in the restaurant waiting patiently for you, his phone buzzes in his pocket at the table and Missy’s name flashes up.
Stay away from anything garlicky 2nite, no matter how much u want it. Good luck! Love u x
He smiles at his daughter’s sage advice after responding with a thumbs up emoji, and he puts his phone back in his pocket and glances out the window.
Outside the restaurant, the early night casts its enchantment over the cityscape of downtown Austin, turning the bustling streets into a reflective mosaic of city lights. The glow of the street lamps create warm halos diffused by the previous cascading rain, warm in the Texas summer.
The restaurant, with its polished veneer and the subtle drama of its patrons all around seem to suddenly cave in on Marcus, and the nerves begin to convince him that you might feel out of place here.
He’s starting to, as he glances down at himself; his once-strong hands now showing signs of a subtle tremble and wear. He smooths down his soft cashmere sweater nervously.
Agonising on what to wear, Missy came to the rescue after his attempts at some mismatched disaster left her looking at him as though he'd completely lost his mind.
And perhaps he had for even entertaining the idea that someone could find him desirable and attractive now at the gates of a later stage in life.
After a brief fashion show of potential date outfits, they settled on a classic and sophisticated choice of a black cashmere sweater, paired with a white pressed shirt and a sleek black tie underneath, teamed with black pants and smart dress shoes that seemed to strike the right balance between the refined and approachable.
Much smarter than his grey denim that was scuffed at the knees.
"Very James Bond, Dad," Missy had remarked, a playful grin on her face.
"James Bond is incredibly smooth with the ladies. I'm more like Jack Lemon." Marcus snorted. "Got that nervous, twitchy energy down to a T... How do I look?"
With a final nod of approval, they exchanged their trademark father-daughter grin; a silent acknowledgment of the bond that went beyond snappy wardrobe choices.
Missy, ever the supportive sidekick, had not only helped pick an outfit, but infused the process with laughter and adoration, quelling his aforementioned nervous, twitchy energy. The ensemble was nothing too fussy, but equally comfortable and smart.
But now he wonders if the sweater accentuates the stomach he’s allowed to grow out of him through not working out on the daily anymore, and he inadvertently sucks it in.
As Marcus browses the menu, his mind wanders aimlessly to the days when the government relied on him and his team to protect the city. Now that gratitude seems to have faded, replaced by a forgotten indifference.
The retirement party was a mere formality, a token of appreciation for a job well done over the years, and soon he was swallowed up in the anonymity of regular civilian life.
But in the quiet solitude of his home, Marcus often found himself grappling with the stark void that retirement had suddenly left behind. The absence of the daily camaraderie of a team, and a mission, left him with a sense of purposelessness that was hard to ignore.
Days stretched before him like an uncertain horizon and weighed heavily on his shoulders. The routines that once defined his life had dissolved, leaving behind a disorienting stillness and quietness that seemed perpetually louder as the days wore on where he was left floundering. And immensely bored.
His daughter watched with concern as her father navigated this unfamiliar terrain cautiously - and somewhat alone.
The strong, confident superhero who had once faced down villains and alien entities alike, and saved the day countless times without so much as a thanks from the general public most of the time, but bore the scars and wounds that weren't just physical, now faced the formidable challenge of figuring out what came next.
In the midst of his internal battles, loneliness became an unexpected companion that walked beside Marcus; its presence more pronounced as the passage of solitude had unfolded.
In the darkest corners of his mind, Marcus grappled with the harsh reality of ageing. The once-vibrant hero who was in super shape, whose every step echoed with the assurance of a Titan-esque strength, now found himself facing the inevitability of a body that carried the pudgy weight of his advancing years and one too many lasagnes.
The grey in his beard and the subtle signs of time etched around his tired eyes, served as visual markers of a journey that had traversed the highest peaks of heroism and now meandered through the sludgey valleys of introspection.
A sense of nostalgia lingered for the days when his strength seemed boundless, and the world bowed in acknowledgment of his achievements and saviour duty.
Yet, beneath the surface, there was also a quiet, yet slow acceptance; a recognition that each new wrinkle and grey strand bore witness to a life well-lived. Overall, he was happy, accomplished; he had what he needed to be content.
But there was still a hole where a hole ought not to be. And it was starting to gape.
The memories of his late wife visited him in unguarded moments. Especially at night when the world was still and peaceful, yet his yearning was abominably loud.
Marcus missed the warmth of her presence, her body wrapped around his, the shared laughter, and the quiet intimacy that had defined their mere few years together.
He would fall asleep glancing at the tarnished gleam of his wedding band that he still wore around his finger, up until his impending date.
A metallic fragment still clinging on with her memory despite its haze, and popping it safely away inside the drawer came with a sense of unyielding sadness as it did with something excitedly eager to pursue a new chapter.
The transition from active duty to retirement weighed heavily on Marcus. The once effable hero, accustomed to the exhilaration of fighting crime and saving lives, found himself facing the stark reality of now being cast aside, overshadowed by the emergence of a new, younger fleet of heroes; his own daughter taking up the position that he once held proudly as leader of the Heroics.
Retirement, in its initial stages, felt like a forced departure from a life that had defined him. The government's decision to make way for the next generation of heroes left Marcus grappling with a sense of displacement.
The outfit, which had been a symbol of strength and purpose, now hung in the closet faded and moth-eaten; a silent reminder of a bygone era, no longer fitting him where he’d allowed himself to fill out a little.
The katanas were sheathed and stored away at the back of the furthest shelf out of reach, and out of sight, and no longer needed to be called into his grip by his own will.
And despite him still feeling that magnetised, crackly buzz in his fingers, it became less noticeable as time wore on.
His team, once a tight knit band of clashing personalities in lurid coloured suits alike, were now strangers in his phone book whom he barely heard from.
There was an inherent loneliness attached to retirement, a solitude that stemmed not just from the absence of battles, but from the realisation that the world had moved on and left him forever encased inside his heyday.
Marcus recognized that the cycle of heroism demanded the emergence of new champions; each generation contributing to the ebb and flow of the greater narrative. He knew and understood he would never be able to keep going forever, nor did he want to.
The challenge, however, lay in reconciling his sense of self-worth with a society that often failed to appreciate the depth of experience that came with age.
It was as if he had become invisible overnight.
Marcus yearned for a companion, a lover who could fill the void left by the passing of his wife. The longing for romance, for someone to share the mundane and extraordinary moments alike, for the feel of someone's bare skin writhing and cupping against his own filled his waking thoughts.
The world, once a carnival of action, now seemed incomplete without the shared tenderness of someone to enjoy it with. The quiet dinners, the walks hand-in-hand, and the simple pleasure of having a partner to confide in rooted a growing hunger within him.
The desire for companionship wasn’t just a fleeting wish; it was a profound ache that echoed through the vacant chambers of his heart, a reminder that heroism, while noble, did not shield him from the vulnerabilities of basic human need.
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For your date with Marcus tonight, you'd carefully selected a dress that effortlessly blended elegance with a touch of modern flair.
The dress was a knee-length, A-line silhouette in a shade of deep midnight blue, shimmering with some well placed sequins.
The rich hue complimented your complexion, enhancing the natural tones of your skin, along with a subtle dusting of make-up to accentuate your best features.
The fabric, a luxurious blend of silk and satin, cascaded down in gentle folds, creating a silhouette that was both graceful and sophisticated and hid a multitude of sins that you felt knocking your confidence about a little.
The moment you step into the restaurant your eyes are eagerly searching for him, and you spot him at a table by the window, his eyes equally searching for you.
And it's as if time itself has stopped, and there is only him and you.
Your dress is incredible, hugging your curves and emphasising them in all the right places. He can’t help but let his eyes roam over the fullness of your behind as you turn to give your coat to the host when you walk in.
Marcus can feel his mouth salivate; a small hint of your swelling cleavage is exposed as you walk towards him, rendering his pants feeling a little tighter.
But what captivates him the most is your smile; it lights up your whole face when you dazzle him with the beam of it.
“Holy ssh…” He trails off to himself as he loses his breath.
Of course, he already thinks you're attractive; he's seen you already through your picture and your video calls that have been on his mind constantly. He’d be bashful to admit that he’s looked at your dating profile picture probably far more than he should.
(He’ll never reveal to you that he’s also used it as inspiration to chase his own pleasure as he wrapped his hand around his thick cock to impure thoughts of you whilst he looked at your smiling face. Well, he won’t tell you that just yet, anyway.)
But seeing you finally in the flesh is something else entirely.
As you approach the table, the air pulses with a blend of eager excitement, and that familiar nervous, twitchy energy.
Marcus rises to his jellied feet, a courteous smile on his tanned, weathered face; his mind racing with the age-old question of whether to extend a hand for a shake, lean in for a kiss on the cheek, or open his arms for a hug. He fears he might not let you go at the latter.
All options make him giddy; the thought of finally touching you, even for a polite greeting, makes his legs buckle.
Your eyes meet, and a moment of charming awkwardness ensues. Unsure of the social cues, Marcus hesitates for a split second, caught between the realms of old-school gentlemanly grandeur and the nuances of modern dating etiquette.
In a playful attempt to navigate the greeting, he extends a hand for a shake just as you move in for a friendly hug. The result is a momentary dance of uncertainty - a handshake that morphs into an unexpected half-hug, odd dance. Laughter bubbles up between you both, diffusing the tension of your awkward limbs, as you share an amused, bashful glance.
"Well, that was smooth," Marcus quips, a twinkle in his eye.
"Some of my best moves," you agree, chuckling in agreement.
“You look absolutely beautiful,” Marcus compliments. He pulls your chair out for you and you smile as you sit whilst he tucks you in, then takes his own seat opposite you.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, feeling warm all over. “Very handsome.”
“Thanks,” he says, smoothing his hands down over his broad chest. “I had some help.” He admits, his eyes crinkling in the corners behind his specs as he chuckles. “My daughter saved the day.”
“Well, she has great taste. You look amazing. You smell really good too.” You say as your nose still twitches with the heady oaky notes.
"Thanks." He smiles and finds he can't stop.
He drifts off for a moment, lost in your eyes as they observe him fondly. It takes a moment for his composure to return and his brain to remember words coherently.
“Oh, I almost forgot, these are for you,” Marcus says, pointing to the vase of extravagant flowers resting beside the table on the windowsill.
The florals are incredible, a cluster of bulbous-headed peonies and fluffy garden roses, topped with curled calla lilies; their trumpet-shaped blooms standing out amongst their companions, adding a contemporary flair to the bouquet.
A soft hue of pinks and corals greet you, and the scent wafting from them makes your head swim with their delightfully wafting fragrance.
“These are stunning, Marcus. Wow, they must have cost a fortune... you shouldn't have.” But you're glad he did as you reach forward to smell them and run your fingers over their velvety petals in awe.
“Actually, they’re from my garden.”
“You grow these?” You baulk.
“Yeah. I know you said you love the lilies; they’re some of my favourites too.”
“That’s so thoughtful... I really do love them. Thank you.” You’re stunned at the fact this incredibly adept man knows how to cultivate something so beautiful into existence from a tiny seed. “Flowers just make me so happy, you know?”
“I get that. They make me happy too.” He agrees. “Would you like some wine, are you a wine drinker?” Marcus enquires.
Despite your long conversations laughing like teenagers breaking parental curfew well into the night, there are still things you're both yet to uncover about each other.
You nod. “I'd love some.”
The waiter takes your orders and you choose the pan-seared sea bass, drawn to the delicate and flaky texture of the fish, served on a bed of lemon risotto with roasted cherry tomatoes and asparagus.
Something light that won’t aggravate your stomach with your own nerves so much throughout the evening.
But his soft, inviting smile revealing a dimple as he gazes at you whilst you talk, puts you at ease. He really is incredibly handsome in the flesh, to the point it leaves you unable to speak for a few moments in between the engrossing conversations.
But the silences are never awkward between you both.
The dark-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose adds a touch of intellectual charm to his appearance, framing deep cocoa eyes that hold the wisdom of years spent in both heroism and now the quieter, reflective moments of life.
His greying beard and moustache add a rugged yet refined quality to the sun-kissed countenance of his complexion. The salt-and-pepper tones speak of a life rich with experience, the threads of grey weaving through the tapestry of a man who has weathered both storms and serenity.
He made no attempt of keeping his heroic qualities a secret from you - his face was known for saving the world time and time over - and despite it, it wasn’t something that put you off when you learned he was a former Heroic, and that people would sometimes recognise him like a celebrity when he were out doing mundane things like grocery shopping.
If anything, it flattered you that someone of his calibre would find you attractive in any kind of way. Compared to Marcus, your life in contrast was humdrum at best with a simple, yet modest job and a simple, yet modest home.
He could have a limber woman with a body sculpted to perfection in tight spandex, but instead it impressed you at how humble, and seemingly reserved and shy he was.
And how keenly interested he was in you and everything you had to say.
“Oh, this is delicious.” You sigh after the waiter brings your food a while later.
Conversation has flowed easily between you both and he makes you laugh a lot; something that he selfishly enjoys when he sees you throw you head back and titter, making you look more beautiful than ever, and filling his head with wayward thoughts of kissing down your neck.
That tight feeling in his pants hasn’t gone away yet and he revels in the throbbing ache hanging heavy despite the discomfort, because it’s been so long since someone made his body react like this.
“You wanna try some of mine too? The meat's really good.” Marcus offers, and holds his fork out to you when you nod.
You notice he bites his bottom, plush lip as he watches you take it in your mouth.
“Mmm, that is good. So tender. This was such a good choice of restaurant.” You say.
“Thank you. I love food and kinda pride myself in finding the best places to eat.” He says with a slight flush creeping over his nose. “That probably comes off as rather arrogant-”
“Not at all. I love it that you love food so much. I do too, it’s probably why I’m more on the heavy side these days.” You chuckle as you reach for your wine glass.
Marcus shakes his head. “I think you look amazing.” He smiles and you notice the rosy blush settle in his cheeks again.
“I never knew this place was here. It’s funny, you can spend your whole life in one place and not realise what’s right under your nose, right?” You say, and Marcus can’t help but agree in more ways than one.
The meal is delicious, the wine flows between you both. Finishing the bottle, he offers you dessert with a tempting smile and arched brow, that ignites something over your skin and leaves you tingly and squeezing your thighs together.
Your mutual sweet teeth lead you both to agree on the tiramisu to share between you. Layers of coffee-soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone cream, dusted with cocoa powder, promises a delightful conclusion to the meal, to which you both indulge in as you speak more.
As you discuss your favourite movies and share anecdotes, the conversation takes on a flirtatious undertone as he leaves the last creamy bite on the plate just for you.
Wholly engaged in your words, Marcus leans in slightly over the table on his crossed arms; a hint of intimacy in his gesture, and a reassuring sincerity in his eyes that convince you that he’s enjoyed this evening and your company so much.
And when you look back at him, leaning in a little closer on your elbows across the table too, watching and shuddering as his fingertips soon brush against yours, you confirm the same to him in your own eyes that glitter and beguile him to his knees in subjugation of you.
"You know, they say the best movies are the ones that leave you wanting more... I can't help but feel the same about our date. I've had a really wonderful time with you tonight," he concludes, his dark-rimmed spectacles adding a touch of earnestness to his gaze.
He watches you smile and the world outside implodes.
"I was thinking... w-would you be interested in doing this again? Maybe something a bit less formal - like maybe a walk through the city or maybe a picnic or something?"
You chuckle, your eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “I’d absolutely love that, Marcus.”
“Yeah?” He beams, all teeth and pink grinning lips.
“I’d love to spend more time with you, definitely. I’ve really enjoyed tonight too. Almost don’t want it to end.” You say as your fingers glide over his knuckles.
“Well, it doesn’t have to… I-I mean, the night is still young, perhaps we could go for that walk? Or get another drink elsewhere? I know a good cocktail lounge in town, if you're feeling fruity?” Marcus suggests.
He’s careful not to sully the line between polite etiquette and implied impropriety. But you both chuckle at his choice of words.
“Sounds good.” You agree, all twinkly at him, and he can feel his heart soar.
He fetches your coat and holds it open for you as you slip it on. He carries the vase of flowers out towards the parking lot, suggesting he puts them in the car so he can hold your hand freely as you walk together somewhere, anywhere.
But you both don’t make it on that walk, or to the cocktail lounge, as instead you turn to him and go to kiss him, taking him by surprise that he almost drops the vase of flowers as your lips barely graze his cheek.
“I’m sorry, I just had to,” you say, a little flustered and giggly.
“Wait,” he says, and you watch him plonk the vase on the ground safely, and his arms pull you towards him. “Okay, let’s try that again.”
Smiling, Marcus leans in as you tiptoe up and your lips finally meet; soft, inviting and delicate.
A smooch that lasts and morphs slowly into something more passionate, more desired. And confirms everything you hoped and imagined about him from the moment you laid eyes on him this evening: Marcus Moreno knows how to damn well kiss.
You trace the line of his bottom lip with yours, nipping it gently and it elicits a moan from deep within him that warms your bone marrow.
His hands traverse the length of your back pulling you in closer to him as he gently slips his tongue into your wanting mouth.
Your fingers trace the soft silk of his beard; his moustache gently tickling your top lip deliciously. It’s a tender, unhurried exploration, one that sparks fireworks inside your veins.
His thick fingers, calloused by the harsh realities of his journey, find their way into your hand, stroking gently, and you can feel something crackle between them.
You eventually part and draw in much needed breaths from where he’s inhaled all of you deep into his chest cavity.
“Wow, t-that was-” He begins with a bewildered stutter.
“It was,” you agree, smiling into his face as he nuzzles his nose against yours.
“You taste so good,” he groans, placing his hands on your waist gently, respectfully, as you stroke up his thick arms.
You're so close, pressed into him and you can feel the swell of him against you making you smirk.
“It’s the tiramisu,” you chuckle.
“No, it's all you.” He whispers softly shaking his head. “Would you… would you like to come back to mine for some coffee?”
“Coffee you say?” You smile with raised eyebrows. “You know that's code, right?” You tease.
He laughs. “I’m not being presumptuous, I just… I kinda don’t want the night to end. And I’d really like to kiss you some more.”
“I know what you mean. And I’d love some. Both coffee and kissing.”
Marcus opens the passenger side door for you as you seat yourself in, and he smiles warmly with glittery peepers that render you speechless.
Leaning in, he kisses you again, bent in through the door and unable to abnegate himself away from you.
With the flowers secured in your lap, he sets off and you admire the clean interior of his Camry and watch him drive as he turns to smile at you through the shadows.
He takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth to kiss over it gently as he drives.
Pulling into the driveway at Marcus’s home a short ride later, you unclick your seatbelt as he turns off the engine.
“I can drive you home at any point. Just say the word and we’ll go. I’m not expecting anything more from-”
“Marcus. Take me inside and make me some coffee.” You reassure him by squeezing his thigh gently.
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Marcus’s home is large and spacious, but homely in all the right ways with subtle Hispanic influences woven through the decor, and incredibly neat and tidy than what you would expect from a bachelor living alone.
“Is this your garden?” You query as you glance out the french doors keenly whilst he makes coffee in the kitchen.
The vase of flowers is perched on the counter top, and your eyes recognise the blooms swaying in clusters the gentle breeze around the garden where he cut them from, despite the darkness of the evening.
“Yeah,” he says proudly, as he brings over the mugs.
“It looks beautiful. Can we sit out there?”
“Sure.” He opens the door for you and you step out onto the patio.
Lit by the soft glow of ambient solar lights, the garden unfolds like a hidden oasis. The centrepiece is a small, pristine pool, its turquoise waters reflecting the moonlight as if inviting a tempting midnight swim.
Your body clenches deliciously at the thought of seeing him undress to join you naked in the water - two water nymphs wet and writhing against each other.
Surrounding the pool, an array of vibrant flowers and lush greenery embraces the space. Potted plants adorn the periphery in terracotta homes, showcasing an array of herbs that hint at the culinary adventures Marcus enjoys embarking on in his kitchen.
The scent of lavender and rosemary lingers in the air, adding a fragrant dimension to the balmy Texan night that awaits you both.
As you settle by the pool at the small metal table and chairs under a large, sun-faded parasol, coffee cups in hand, Marcus shares more stories of his connection to the garden - his mother shaping his green fingered talent.
Inspiring him with a sanctuary of her own that blended the influence of his Latino heritage within the serenity of nature growing up as a boy. He also lets slip a little more about his life as a Heroic, and the fact his mother was his mentor and trainer.
“Was?” You query gently.
He nods with a dipped smile. “She passed just before I fully retired. Unexpected, but peaceful at least.” He summises quietly.
“I’m so sorry. She sounds like an incredibly formidable woman.”
“She was. She would’ve liked you.” He says with a pricking smile.
You smile under your eyelashes as you drink more of your velvety coffee.
The night unfolds under the bokeh stars, the inky expanse above causing you both to question and ponder jointly on some of life’s bigger questions and philosophies. Sharing a profound connection that transcends cultures and backgrounds to agree on more common threads that weave around you both, tethering you together further still.
Marcus, his dark-rimmed spectacles reflecting the glow of the night in the lenses, looks at you with a warmth that's far from the ordinary, what feels like hours later.
"You know, it's getting late. I could drive you home if you'd like?" He queries tentatively.
“Trying to get rid of me already, hmm?” You tease.
“God no.” He shakes his head vehemently. “Far from it.”
“I mean, I don’t wanna impose or anything.” You’re quick to add, realising that you’re probably keeping him up.
“No, no imposition at all.” Marcus assures. He reaches for your hand, slotting his fingers in yours.
“Good, because I believe I was promised more kisses, Mr Moreno.” You smile.
At that, he instantly pulls you closer to him by your seat; it scrapes across the patio and he engulfs your face in his giant hands.
“I never do this.” He says, panting after breaking the intense kiss. A kiss that he can feel igniting his whole body.
“You never kiss on a first date?” You gasp as you feel a flurry in your core.
“I mean, you’re my first date since… my wife.” He clarifies.
“I’d love for you to tell me about her some time.”
He nods. “I’d like that.”
"And it's okay. I don't usually do this either." You reassure. "But I really like it..."
"Me too," he smiles leaning in to kiss you some more.
As you sit by the pool, occasionally pressing your lips to one another for periods of time that wash away in a dreamy, pastel haze, the unspoken desire to extend the evening lingers in the air.
Marcus hesitates, a wibble of vulnerability in his voice as he clears his throat.
"Would you... consider staying? I’m really enjoying your company. I-I have a guest room, and you're more than welcome to use it." He tries not to physically wince as he lays it out bare. “I mean, I’m just enjoying your-”
“Would you like me to stay?” You question with your smile widening.
Marcus nods. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to. We don’t have to do anything, nothing’s expected. Just kissing you like this is really nice.”
“Yeah, it really does. You’re a really good kisser, Marcus.” You suck his bottom lip gently and he moans.
“Well, I really like to kiss. Feels good to have someone to kiss again.”
“I don’t want to stop kissing you all night.” You agree as he brushes his lips against yours, his moustache tickling.
“Stay? Let me hold you?” Marcus questions, although it sounds like he’s pleading with you through those strangled gasps as he tastes your tongue again.
You nod, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his strong arms all night and to wake up in them. "Okay."
It feels right, natural between you. Two strangers who feel like they know one another inside out already - it’s easy with him.
And your attraction to him knows no bounds as you’re greedy for his presence and touch alike, and allow him to take your hand and lead you back inside.
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Marcus listens.
Listens to every small gasp that ebbs out of you as his fingers stroke over your skin, tracing over the areas that make you shudder and hitch your breath in anticipation.
He learns that you hiss a little when he kisses your neck, when he sucks your earlobe into his mouth and nibbles gently on it with his teeth.
He learns that you’re ticklish on your hips and you giggle into his mouth uncontrollably, snorting ungraciously a little, when he does it again, making him laugh in turn.
He respectfully traverses the route of your body, mapping it out with his fingers stroking the length of your arms, his lips pressed at the juncture of your throat.
He listens to recall and remember and to please you. God, he just wants to please you and leave you satisfied.
But he also wants to leave you wanting, craving more of him. Begging even… He takes his time kissing you, tasting you and touching you. Letting you unfurl in his hands like a tiny bud, blooming into something spectacular and colourful as he waters you.
The both of you are soon in his bedroom, unable to resist being parted from one another.
His fingers feel like tingly electricity zapping through your skin layers, and he explains that he can’t seem to control it around you as your lips peck at him under his jaw rendering him a quivering mess in your own hands.
It's a curious sensation, a subtle vibration with a pinch of static as the pads of his fingers graze your cheeks gently; it makes your blood fizz through your veins as you feel it pulse into your epidermis and pores.
“What other powers do you have?” You query, lost in the richness of his eyes, as he winds strands of your hair around his digits.
“Just this." He runs his pads over your lips and you feel that soft, gently muted vibration sink into the meat of them that makes you groan as it tingles into the depth of your jaw. "I’m pretty good with a katana too.”
"Are you boasting, Marcus?" You tease.
"I'll be happy to show you my sword wielding skills anytime."
You both laugh as he realises what he just insinuated.
“So you can’t fly?” You query, stroking under his chin. Your fingers trace a small, uniquely heart-shaped patch where no hair seems to grow on the left side. You watch as he closes his eyes and pushes his jaw into your hand further.
“No, I can. But with the help of a flight device.”
“A flight device?”
“Maybe I’ll show you. Take you up. In the sky.” Marcus muses.
“You’re going to take me to new heights, hmm?” You smirk.
“Well, I’ll certainly try,” he says, rubbing his nose against yours.
He grazes gentle, languid kisses down your neck, settling on the curve where your shoulder hilts.
He runs his aquiline nose there delicately, inhaling the faint remnants of your perfume with vanilla and coconut notes that makes him salivate.
"I'm scared of heights," you murmur dreamily.
"Well, I'll be sure to hold onto you extra tight." Marcus takes a hold of you, pulling you fully into his arms.
"Like this?" You whisper.
"Just like this." He says as he wraps them around your back.
"You won't let me go?"
He shakes his head. "Never."
You find yourself straddling his lap; your bodies simply moving of their own rhythmic volition as they slot into place effortlessly and without instruction or hesitation; his large hands sweep up your back as you kiss him deeply.
Your fingers roam in the softness of the greying silk of his bearded scruff. You explore the broadness of his shoulders, the tightness of his biceps over the soft cashmere, journeying over the wide expanse of him as he pulls you closer in his protective embrace.
"I don't want this to end," he murmurs into your shoulder.
"Me either," you sigh with a smile. “This might sound incredibly forward, but... I want you, Marcus,” you whisper into his mouth.
You can feel him pressed against you, hard and swollen in his pants and it’s difficult to ignore his desire when it so brazenly taunts your own.
“You’re sitting in my lap on my bed, I think we're past being forward,” he chuckles.
“True,” you giggle.
“Are you sure that’s what you want? There’s no pressure at all. I didn’t invite you here with an agenda.”
You nod with a keen smile. “I know. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am right now. Do you want me, too?”
“I’ve never wanted someone so much.” He says with glistening eyes. “It’s been so long though. I-I don’t even know if I’ll be any good.” He gulps heavily and it wrenches your heart a little.
You press your fingers to his kiss-bruised lips and he can’t help but mouth against them. “Marcus, you're perfect.”
“Kiss me again,” he whines as he presses himself even closer to you.
Attaching yourself to his lips once more, he sighs contentedly into your mouth, tongue swirling gently around yours and sucking on your lips.
He holds his arms up as you lift up the hem of his sweater. Your fingers slide over the silk knot of his tie, undoing it. He loves that when you loosen it, you use it to yank him forward to kiss you deeper still, guiding him closer to your body to be tangled up with you.
You undo the buttons slowly on his shirt to reveal tanned skin and the broadest shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man.
A couple of scars dapple over them and his sternum, like white lightning streaks against the gold shimmer of his skin, and he shudders as you trail your fingertips over them delicately.
“I wanna know all about these.” You say beholding him. “You must have some incredible battle stories from your time in the Heroics.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He promises.
“I wanna know everything about you.” You breathe as you feel him nibble at your collarbone.
“The feeling is incredibly mutual,” he replies softly as he brushes your hair from your face. “Can I take this off?” Marcus asks, running his fingers along the silken hem of your dress that’s ridden up your thighs.
“Yes,” you smile at his politeness despite the carnal heat running through the both of you.
He pulls it up over your head and audibly groans at your choice of matching underwear, lacy and delicate.
His eyes trail hungrily over your body and you don’t feel the need to cover up the lumps, bumps and stretch marks; the way he looks at you burns in your core.
“You're just…” words fail him as you smile softly. “Wow.”
“It’s been a long time since a man saw me like this.” You admit, a little shy. "My body isn't what it used to be."
“You’re stunning. I’m lucky that it’s me who gets to enjoy you. Besides, I'm not exactly in my best shape." He grimaces looking down at the small swell of his tum puffing over his slacks.
"I think you're sexy." You say.
"Yeah?" He queries with raised eyebrows.
"Mm, really sexy." You confirm, stroking over the soft fat of him.
"Is this okay? We’re not going too fast? I wouldn’t want you to feel like I'm only after one thing.” He checks.
“I don’t think that at all.”
“Good, because I really like you. I want to see you again.” He says earnestly.
“Me too.” You agree nodding.
“Is it too early to presume this might be the start of something really special?” Marcus asks with a crooked grin. "I dunno, I just feel it."
You shake your head. “I feel it too.” You agree.
He kisses you again and you taste the truth of his words.
“I wanna feel you too. You can touch me, Marcus.” You whisper to him. “I want you to touch me everywhere with those magic hands...”
He grins, and his hands, albeit shaky, massage over your mounds, trailing around to your back where he hesitates at the clasp.
“Take it off,” you murmur as he unhooks your bra and licks his lips as your nipples are revealed to him.
Leaning forward, he trails kisses across your collarbone until his lips find your nipple and he sucks gently whilst you rake through his subtlety greying hair.
A pink wet tongue teases over your skin as he licks, causing your back to arch, pushing your breasts further into his mouth.
“Mmm,” you whine as the pull of your nipple between his lips is felt buzzing on your clit in response.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he trembles, but his voice seems deeper somehow, with more of a heavy graze inside his cheeks. “I wanna make love to you all night. Discover all the ways to please you."
He kisses down your sternum just under your breasts. "I wanna make you come all over me…” He says between rasped breaths. “God, I want you screaming my name.”
“I want you inside me, Marcus." You gasp.
He groans at that. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Me either. But it feels so good.” You say, smiling at him.
You help him remove his pants until he’s in his boxers and lying back as you climb over him, leaning down to kiss him as his hands pull you closer to him.
The hairs on your body stand tall as his hands create that wonderful tingle to curl your spine out and your nipples to tighten.
The bulge in his boxers is unignorably prominent and you can’t abnegate yourself away from reaching down in between your bodies to feel him, squeezing over him gently as he grunts into your mouth.
“You feel amazing,” you whisper as he blushes. “I wanna taste you, will you let me?”
“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, “that’s not how we do things in my house. Ladies come first.” Marcus smirks.
He rolls with you and you giggle as he kisses down your body to the thin hemline of your panties. He runs his hands up and down your hips and stomach, and you feel those tingly crackles from his fingertips ignite your skin once more.
He kisses and lavishes gentle nuzzles against your tummy, and you hum out feeling the soft tickle of his facial hair across it.
You lift your hips as he gently pulls down your panties, watching keenly as he kisses down your legs. He takes your ankle and rests your foot on his shoulder as he lays between your thighs.
And then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Marcus transforms from hero to villain as he licks a long, lingering stripe up your pussy.
“Oh my God, yes…” You whine.
He looks up at you with molten brown eyes as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit and you sonic boom inside at the sight and feel of it.
He massages and strokes your inner thigh as he tastes you, running his tongue in and around your soaked lips and murmuring in keen delight.
The softness of his beard feels like liquid silk against your skin as his nose grazes and nudges your clit whilst he teases your hole, pushing his tongue inside you.
You reach down and pull off his glasses, giggling as the lenses are smeared with your slick already.
“You taste delicious.” Marcus husks before going back in for more, hungry for your as he laps and licks.
"Mmm, Marcus..." You whine, arching your back as you keen for more of his tongue. He presses it against your clit, sucks gently on the nub and licks and sucks through your drenched folds.
He makes you come with just his mouth, sucking expertly on your clit before he slips his fingers in, coming up to suckle on your nipple again as he pumps them in and out of you.
He’s astonished how wet you are for him; his fingers squelching and the sounds are lewd as he whelves.
“God, you’re so perfect,” Marcus says as he leans in to kiss you again: his beard his damp from your secretions. “So wet and tight. Does that feel good?”
“So good.” You groan.
“More?”
“More.”
He speeds up, fingers deep to the hilt of his knuckles. “Harder?”
“Yes!” You cry as you feel it overtake you, a mesh veil cast over your sight as the room fills with gold glitter.
“Marcus! Your fingers! Oh my God!” You gasp as you can feel those crackles again, only inside you now; deep in the pit of your core right on your spot, and your thighs shake uncontrollably.
He circles your clit with his thumb and the sensation completely overwhelms as you feel it there too, buzzing all the way deep into that fleshy hub.
Your eyes catch him smirking at you as he applies the perfect amount of tingly pressure. And that look in his eye tells you he knows exactly what he's doing to you.
You’re coming quicker than you can fathom, dizzy from the pulsing shocks and giggling uncontrollably at the delicious buzzing it creates.
“Jesus!” You yelp at him as he grins devilishly. “How do you even do that?!” You gasp as he pulls his fingers out and you watch, wholly spellbound, as he sucks them clean.
“Benefits of having a superpower, I guess. I used to think it was weird... having magnetised hands.” He remarks casually, as if he didn’t just rock your world with those digits of his.
“I don’t know how I’ll compete,” you say, pushing him onto his back as he kisses you.
“You’re perfect as you are, trust me,” he breathes, watching as you slide down his body.
You kiss over the soft swell of his tummy, lavishing it with wet kisses over and over as he gathers your hair inside his hands to watch you. You look up at him as your fingers slip into the fold of his waistband.
He nods, too dumbstruck to comment verbally as he watches you slip down between his legs and pull off his boxers.
He’s big - bigger than you anticipated, and so thick. You’re unsure how he kept it hidden in his pants all night. He’s perfectly uncut with a flush pink head that’s positively dripping for you.
You make out with his cock gently, barely mouthing over him with the gooey strings of his precum sticking to your lips like gloss, and making him hiss and gasp.
He’s well groomed and the subtle greys in the thatch of neatly trimmed hairs there at the base of him are just as soft as his beard.
You tongue his head, flicking back and forth over that drooling slit and taste the salt of him before teasing his frenulum that makes his hips buck involuntarily.
"Y-yeah," he chokes on a ragged whisper.
You take him in your mouth fully, and he groans long and deep, head lolling back as he feels your hot, wet mouth encase him and suck slowly down his length.
You can take him about three-quarters of the way before you feel him prod at the back of your throat, and although you're tempted to see if you can swallow him fully and press your nose against his soft belly, tonight’s not the night for ungraceful choking.
Although, your body flares at the thought of how uncouth and dirty he could be with you; imagining his usual politeness being traded for filthy demands as his huge hands press on the back of your head, forcing you to take him all the way down your throat.
You whimper around his cock at the thought, feeling your cunt contract and drip.
“You’re so good at that,” Marcus keens as he glances down at you.
Your eyes flick up at him as you smirk around your mouthful of him and it’s not long before he’s pulling you back up and kissing you with an intense hunger that steals the breath from your lungs.
He rolls you onto your back, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he grinds against your centre.
You whine as the length of him slides back and forth against your slit, soaking and greasing him up in your slick. The ridge of his head knocking against your clit builds you up again as you bite your lip staring up into his chocolaty eyes.
"Feels so good," you whisper, clutching onto him.
“Yeah? I don’t wanna hurt you, so I'll go slow, okay?” Marcus whispers as you reach for his thick cock and swipe him through your pussy lips.
You both shudder as you do it.
“You won’t.” You reassure him as you stroke him and he groans. “I want you inside me.”
He lines up, his swollen head dipping slowly into your fleshy folds as he lingers there, pushing gently and barely against your hole.
You’re so wet he could easily slide all the way in with one flex of his hips, but it feels too damn good already, and he’s apprehensive to finish so quickly before he’s even started.
“The things I wanna do to you...” Marcus murmurs bashfully.
“Sounds intriguing,” you smirk as he pushes in a little more. "Tell me, I-oh!"
You gasp as you feel yourself opening around him, stretching as his thick head pushes in further.
“We’ve got all t-the time in the... ahhh, world,” he breathes. “All the time to find... hmmm, new ways to pull you apart on my cock. My fingers, my tongue…” He grunts as he slides in.
“Mmm, fuck," you let slip in his ear and he groans.
“Fuck indeed,” he grizzles as he pulls back a little and slides in again, and hearing him finally curse makes your body shudder.
"You're so perfectly tight around me," he puffs.
“You feel so big,” you say, nodding in encouragement. “I want you to fill me up, Marcus.”
“Yeah?” He breathes as he slides in further. “Stop me if it's too much.”
“It’s not too much. It's perfect... you're perfect. Ohhh. More.” You pant. “Please, I wanna feel all of you. I need you.”
“You need me? You need my cock, hmm?” He teases with a grin.
“Mmm, I want it so badly.”
"I want you so badly."
You look down between you as he breaches fully, hips flushed tight against you as he bottoms out and you both groan, eyes pulled back to one another.
You grapple for him, desperate for him to kiss you again as he works his hips. Soft breathy pants fill your ears as he finds satisfaction and a steady rhythm within your wet warmth.
He’s gentle, but powerful; winding slowly, and buried so deep inside you. It feels like it’s too much, but not enough and you claw at his back desperately each time he withdraws and thrusts back in.
“Mmm, you’re so deep…” You murmur into his lips.
“It’s not too much?”
“No, you feel incredible.”
“You take me so well, hermosa.” Marcus praises.
“Oh, I forgot you speak Spanish…” You smirk, all glistening teeth at him.
“¿Quieres que te hable sucio en Español?” (Do you want me to talk dirty in Spanish to you?)
You chuckle, utterly beside yourself. “I have no idea what you just said, but yes. God, yes!”
He smirks into your lips as he kisses you again, his hips doing all the work with each, deep languid stroke.
“I love feeling every inch of you.” You pant as he speeds up a little.
“All of me... Every. Inch. Of. Me.” He thrusts on every syllable, deliberately making you gasp.
“You feel so good, Marcus. I’m gonna come soon.” You sigh, feeling it build behind your core muscles, cinching and tightening in that delicious wind before you snap back on yourself.
“I can feel you squeezing me. I bet you’ll look so beautiful when you come all over my cock. Come for me. Let me see you.”
He feels your fingers bruising in his skin, tastes your pants fizzing on his tongue like sherbet.
Sitting upright, he pulls your hips right up off the bed as he slips back inside you, fucking deep into you on his knees.
He hits all the right spots at this angle and your whimpers soon become loud hollers and yelps as he pushes against your spot relentlessly and tosses you into oblivion once more.
"Come for me," he pants.
You claw at the sheets; your eyes rolled so far back that you swear you can see the inside of your skull and all the swampy lilac clouds floating around in there. Your body sheens with sweat already, as does his; mercury drizzle, shimmering in the pale light of his bedroom lamps.
You’re almost there; a flutter in your chest as your heart flies away to be gifted to him with metallic ribbon curls wrapped around it. A building warmth, igniting from within, growing more wild like fire consuming and burning everything up in its path, scorches your skin.
An electric charge of anticipation, spurred on by the crackled pulses from his fingers around your hips, pulls your orgasm right out of you like ridding you of a hostile possession.
You screech as it leaves your bones.
“That’s it, hermosa. Come for me!” Marcus pleads with a hiss as you shake and gasp as he turns you inside out.
Pulling you upright against his chest, he’s stunned at you. “You look so beautiful.” He says, almost choking as your bonelessness.
“M-Marcus!” You wail, his cock buried deeper.
“Yeah, keep coming for me,” he encourages as he watches you wind and bounce on top of him.
You groan, throwing your head back and losing count of the number of times he’s made you come already.
You slow and grind on him as iridescent bubbles flow and burst around you; your thighs never-ending in their shaking, and he watches in rapture as you take his breath away.
“From behind?” You suggest breathlessly after a few moments of coming down from that tremendous high he throws you up to so easily.
“Anything you want, beautiful.”
He slides down your body, kissing the length of your back and all over your butt cheeks before spreading you open and tasting your pussy again with his tongue.
His lips never leave your skin, even when you turn around and bend forward with your ass up in his face.
He reaches down between your legs to stroke your clit. You feel him kissing the side of your head, nuzzling into you as he pushes himself back into you slowly. And the feel of him at this angle, this depth, makes you mewl as he hits deeper than before.
He stops for a moment when he sees you backing up and gyrating on the end of his cock, reaching round to grab the meat of his thigh and moaning incoherently at how good it feels.
“You look amazing doing that,” he drawls before holding onto your hips and drawing deep into you with slow, measured thrusts shunting through your body. “That feel good, like this?”
“Yeah… so good.”
“Mmm, I-I can barely stand it,” he pants. "I'm close."
“Come for me, Marcus.” You whisper to him as he fucks you faster.
“Mmm, oh God.” He whines as his hips start to snap harder, his grip around your hips squeezes tighter.
He's marvelling and gasping as he watches you shake again, shake for him. That he still has the power to make someone feel this damn good after all this time.
That he could fathom such a thought of making love to a woman again when he had convinced himself for so long he would endure his remaining years alone, his left fist as his only release.
But then you showed up, careening into his life through a device he held in the palm of his hand; laughing at his humour, smiling that incredible smile at him. Wanting to know more about him and just... wanting him.
And here he is, deep inside of you now and not able to get enough of how you squeeze around his cock bringing him to the brink of his own annihilation. You kill him and resurrect him, to do it all over again.
“I’m gonna come!” Marcus pants, cheeks and chest flushed a glorious pink amongst the natural bronze.
“So am I. Don't stop!” You wail.
“Where? I’m so close! Tell me where you want it...” He can feel it building and rushing towards the end of his cock.
“Inside me, come inside me.” You pant.
“You sure?”
“Fill me up until it’s all dripping out of me.”
“Fuck!” He yells. "Oh fuck!"
Marcus growls out that sweet blasphemy that makes your toes curl and your cunt clench as he comes, filling you up as you so coveted, as he spurts out inside you - warm, thick and plentiful.
A brief moment of his weight against your back crushes you into the bed as he flops down over you, panting and groaning in your ear.
Smiling, you turn and kiss the side of his face buried in the crook of your sweaty neck.
“That was incredible, you're incredible.” He whimpers, voice all muffled in your skin and hair a few minutes later.
He rolls with you, pulling you into his arms against his clammy chest as you both catch your breath.
“I can’t take all the credit, you were pretty incredible yourself there, Mr Moreno.” You grin.
“Yeah. Looks like I’ve still got it after all.” He puffs with a bewildered chuckle.
“No doubt about that.” You giggle and laugh with him, as Marcus wraps the comforter around you both.
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The soft hum of the morning unfolds around you.
Eyelids opening and lashes fluttering against his chest, you're accompanied by the distant sounds of nature awakening outside.
Marcus, still in the relaxed embrace of slumber, seems to embody the tranquillity of the dawn as you gaze up at him longingly.
His rhythmic breathing through soft snuffles, his heartbeat in your ear, resonates with the peaceful serenity that surrounds you in his downy sheets that smell faintly of his lingering cologne and your heady sex.
As you lay in Marcus's arms, you spend a few minutes contemplating the next exciting steps between you, when the prominent ache registers between your legs, which makes you smile as you recall the moment he first sheathed himself inside you.
It makes you clench around nothing and you moan softly in want, squeezing your thighs together at the vivid memory.
You’re compelled to kiss him, planting tender smooches across his chest and up to his neck, when he stirs and his lips find yours and latch on again.
Your hand slides down his sternum, over the warm, smooth swell of his stomach, and you find him stiff and weeping for your touch.
He grunts into your mouth as you pump him, fingers wrapped around his length as he hardens fully. His own digits course those pinpricking tingles down your spine again as you shudder and arch.
He bites his lip, eyes closing in satisfaction as you work his cock and feel it throb with need in your hand.
Soon Marcus slips in behind you, clutching you close to his chest; his fingers entwining in tight knots with your own. He fills you again, your moans surrounding him as he kisses and nips on the back of your neck, and it feels like a dream you don't ever want to wake from.
You’re full of him, sticky and drenched from the night of intense love making that never seemed like it would relent. His stamina surprised you both, but was incredibly welcome, alongside the equally surprising refractory period that will leave you aching for days.
You lost count of the number of times he was inside you. Unable to get enough of each other, wanting more, more, more and giving more, more, more.
“You’re so beautiful in the morning,” Marcus cants into your ear as he fills you to the brim, fucking softly into you from behind. “What did I do to deserve you?”
He wraps his arms tighter around you as you squeeze around his cock.
“Trust me, I'm the lucky one,” you whine as his fingers slip down and stroke over your clit bringing about another orgasm that prickles and tingles under his expert ministrations.
You soon sit in his lap, rocking back and forth on his solid cock buried deep inside you as Marcus nuzzles into your face. You work your hips riding him, his shoulders banging gently into the headboard.
His hair is a sleepy, wild mess with streaks of grey running through short curls you never knew he had under that tamed back style he had for your date, and he’s never looked more beautiful as they fall into face.
The way he looks at you makes you come again, with something so warm and so sincere swimming inside his lust blown eyes at you.
"So beautiful, hermosa," he murmurs with a smile at you.
He leans back on his hand, his other squeezing around your butt as you ride you both to a mutual intense finale of whimpers and names called out in desire and want.
After you still, feeling him seep out of you whilst he remains plugged inside until he softens, fawning and kissing over your face, you smile gently as you plant kisses along his silky jaw.
“Good morning,” Marcus smiles as you feel his lashes against your cheeks.
“Morning handsome.” You sigh dreamily.
“How did you sleep?” He enquires.
“Terribly. I had an incredibly attractive man between my legs for most of the night keeping me up.”
“That sounds awful.” He smirks as you kiss him again, and Marcus determines he never wants to stop kissing you or hearing your breathy giggles.
“Sleep is for the weak. It was amazing.” You say and he’s inclined to agree, on both counts.
“You hungry? You wanna stay for some breakfast?”
“I’d love to.” You smile.
“What are you doing later this afternoon?”
“Hmm, not much planned, will probably be thinking about you.”
“Is that so?” He enquires with a smirk.
“Mmhm. I have a feeling you'll be hard to forget.”
“Want some company whilst you think about that, maybe some lunch, too?”
“Sounds perfect. Perhaps we can drag ourselves away from each other long enough to go for that walk.”
“Doubtful,” he concedes and you giggle nodding in agreement. “But we’ll give it a shot.”
“You’re incredible.” You whisper to him and his eyes soften as you regard up at him.
It's been a long time since a woman looked at him like you are now.
“No, it's all you, hermosa, trust me.” He smiles into your mouth.
"I like that, that thing you say."
"Hermosa?"
"Yeah." You smile.
“Good." He kisses your temple. "Stay here, relax. I’ll make you some breakfast in bed. Then I’ll drive you home, okay?”
He winks as you watch him pull on his boxers and reach for a pair of grey sweatpants hanging out of the hamper.
“You spoil me, Mr Moreno.” You say, watching him pull them up his thick, muscular thighs.
“Mmm, I intend to. How do you feel about pancakes?”
“Ugh, my hero.” You swoon.
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“Dad?” Missy calls as he hears the front door open around twenty minutes or so after he’s arrived back from dropping you home.
Admittedly it was hard parting from you; kissing you with soft whimpers in the car outside your place, and basking in that post first date glow.
Marcus is hesitant to wash the scent of you off of his skin, convinced that if he does he’ll wake from this wonderful dream to find you’re not real.
A text from you, complete with an emoji purple heart, convinces him to stop being silly and that you are real, and last night and this morning was wanted and reciprocated in equal yearning.
He can't stop thinking about it, about you. His cock aches again as the images of you both wrapped up in one another flash behind his glasses.
Your message confirms the time for him to pick you up later and he smiles reading that you can’t wait to see him again. And to kiss him.
And to feel him inside you again...
“Hey,” he calls out from the kitchen, feeling heated as he tucks his phone away in his pocket.
"How was the date? Don't leave out any details!" Missy warns as she makes her way down the hall.
She comes in, putting down her bag and immediately spots the coffee cups and plates as he gathers them to wash up; clear evidence that he’s had some company this morning.
Then she spies his dishevelled appearance, clad still in the creased t-shirt and sweatpants he drove you home in, and hair that hasn’t been combed as he quickly rakes his fingers through it almost desperately.
She grins up at him as he tries not to blush, but fails. “I might omit some details.” Marcus says sheepishly.
“Must have been a hell of a date.” Missy mirths, perching on the breakfast bar stool.
“Well, she’s a hell of a woman.” He says, smiling behind his spectacles. "It was really... wonderful. She looked stunning, and we had a really great time together."
"Yeah, I bet you did." She remarks with a widening grin.
"Stop it." He groans, flushed.
“You’re glowing.”
“Shut up.” Marcus mumbles and fails to stifle a wayward grin.
Beaming, Missy watches him as he fills the sink with soapy water.
“What?” He asks after he can still feel her eyes on him.
“Are you seeing her again?”
“Yeah, later this afternoon for lunch.” He smiles.
“Good.” She chirps.
She comes up beside him, picking up a dish cloth and dries the dishes as he places them in the rack.
They both complete the task in silence, both trying to stifle their grins at one another.
Once done, she turns to him.
“I’m really happy for you, Dad.” Missy says, as she wraps her arms around him. He rests his chin on top of her head and smiles.
“Thanks, kiddo.”
“Go and shower. You smell like a slut.” Missy remarks.
"Potty mouth," he points at her with a mock-frown.
"At least I know where mine's been..." She grins.
Shaking his head in defeat, Marcus chuckles, blushing beet red, as he pads out of the kitchen and up the stairs, feeling more invincible than he’s ever felt before.
💜
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Thank you so much for reading my Marcus Moreno story (if you made it to the end, hopefully you did!) and I really hope you enjoyed it. I'd love to hear your thoughts about my version of him. Thanks so much! 🖤
MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST
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magpiepills · 2 months
Text
Same Time Next Week
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Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f! Massage therapist reader
Word count: 4.5k
Summary: Marcus is lonely and burnt out and visits a spa that offers more than the usual services to help him relax.
Warnings: smut. pegging, anal, tit job, hand job, pussy job, sumata, prostate stimulation, anal fingering, sex work, coming untouched, praise kink, slight sub/dom vibes, subspace kind of, erotic massage, pining?? In my fic?? writer knows nothing about massages, many liberties taken.
A word from the author: Here is my contribution to the Peg That Middle Aged Man Campaign! This has been so much fun. This was a challenge and I ended up writing something so much softer and more tender than I usually write. I spent a lot of time thinking about Marcus and his life and his wants and needs and obviously, he needed to get pegged, but I think he needed some TLC too so that’s what I gave him. Thank you most of all to @wannab-urs for organizing this project and for the fantastic graphics. You’re incredible! Extremely big thanks to @for-a-longlongtime for being my sounding board as I figured out how this story needed to go.
Marcus’s body is sore. A week of wielding his swords, running, jumping, and grappling with foes left him feeling tight and tense. His muscles burnt with every effort, his neck was stiff, his mind was heavy with the weight of the world’s expectations and his team’s reliance on him to lead them. It wore on him. It broke him down, it took everything he had both physically and mentally. That’s without considering the unique stress of being a single parent and a widow. It takes a toll being pulled in so many different directions.
Reaching for a bottle of Aleve, he knew it wasn’t enough to fix him. It would take off the edge and he would take up the yoke of being the leader of the Heroics again tomorrow. He sank back on his bed and swam in self pity. He needed to be touched, needed the gentle hand of someone who understood him, cared for him, loved him. He wanted to come home to a woman again. Wanted someone warm and soft in his bed at the end of a long day to rub his back and take his cock. He ached there, too. Never having the time to meet anyone. Relationships and connections take time and care and Marcus didn’t have that. He gave that up when his wife was taken from him. With her gone, he took the promotion at work and began his life of lonely servitude. His body was no more for love, he decided, just a utility. He reminded himself every time he was awake in his bed, fucking his fist to thoughts of a warm, wet someone.
He carried on, focused on his primary roles as father and hero, head held high, no crack in his strong exterior. Passionate, but opaque.
He must have let it slip, though. In the car, driving back to HQ in the dark, battered and exhausted from defeating yet another malevolent alien invader, he rubbed his palms into his eyes and loosened his tactical vest.
Miracle Guy nodded at him from the other side of the car.
“You look like you need to relax.”
Marcus huffed a dry laugh, “Yeah. Maybe one day.”
“Maybe you need some help. I know somebody really good at it.” His tone was light, but the implication was heavy, the glint in his eye saying plenty.
Opening his wallet, he held out a slip of creased paper between two fingers. Just an email address and the word ”spa” scribbled next to it. Marcus scowled, but tucked it into his wallet and looked out the window, watching the city lights, ignoring the flutter in his chest.
Two weeks passed before he had the nerve to send a note to the address. It took some convincing. He rolled it around in his mind while he made dinner for Missy, and later in the shower. Finally, that night as he held a heating pad to his back he made up his mind to stop thinking and just act. He felt forward and strange, unsure of what he was getting into. Miracle Guy got into some questionable things, but he was also always pretty content. Nothing to lose. Marcus reminded himself before typing out a message- “My friend says you can help me relax.”
•••••
Tucked in the back corner of a mostly empty parking lot, where the street lights glow yellow and reflect in the puddles left by late summer rain - if they work at all, sat a dilapidated strip mall. Once bustling, now it housed a peddler’s mall, a vape shop, a nail salon, a pawn shop, and your own little business. It was the kind of place people avoided and that was fine by you. You didn’t need to hang a shingle to attract your clientele. You weren’t listed in the phone book. Your scant social media presence was an Instagram account featuring pictures of the waiting room, the massage room, and some generic pictures of flowers and stacked stones. You listed no address or business hours. Fontaine Day Spa. Email for pricing. The right people would find you.
The only indication that your storefront was occupied was a flickering pink and red neon sign reading “SPA” between the plate glass and the thick curtains that offered privacy as well as sanctuary. You worked hard to create an oasis, a place of peace and rejuvenation, a place of relief, a place for minds and bodies to be centered under your guidance and touch. Massage, salt therapy, facials and guided stretching to help your clients feel present in their bodies.
“I’m ready for you, Mr. Moreno.”
One of your favorite regular clients sat placidly in your waiting room. Soft ambient sounds and a plush rug set the mood for your time together. Marcus has been a client for the last few months, coming in for help unwinding. Your services gave him what he couldn’t find on his own. Peace, relaxation, release. By now Marcus was familiar with the routine. He entered, removed his shoes and placed them on the shelf by the curtained alcove where he undressed, showered using your rosemary and mint soap, hen slipped on a soft cotton robe. His clothes took their place by his shoes, thick framed glasses perched on top, and he waited, breathing deep, cleansing breaths to begin his scheduled escape from duty.
Marcus first showed up a few months back, wide-eyed and skittish, handsome and familiar, like you’d seen him before. He was handsome. He stood in your lobby fidgeting with his keys, looking at the floor, looking for a quick escape. He didn’t ask for water, but he accepted the glass you brought him, sipping it gratefully, before setting it aside to fill out the form you’d given him.
He couldn’t deny the disappointment of finding that the spa really was just a spa, and the form asked about problem areas, services he wanted, and massage preferences. Of course this wasn’t that kind of spa. He felt guilty for even considering this could be anything like a seedy rub and tug happy ending massage parlor. Sure you were a beautiful woman in a tank top that skimmed your tits and stomach and leggings that he swore he could see the cleft of your pussy through, but you probably just do yoga here too and wear what is comfortable. He was ashamed of where he had let his mind wander. How flexible he thought you might be. He shook the thought from his head.
He finished the form and handed it back, feeling sheepish.
His polite and mild demeanor made you want to give him everything. So often your clients were brash and demanding, demeaning and crude. You handled them all with finesse and kept pepper spray handy just in case. Marcus didn’t strike you as the type, though. You had talked briefly over email, he got your contact from another frequent client, one you’d worked with a lot and enjoyed your time with. In the emails nothing of your secret menu was mentioned. You began to wonder if he knew what he was really paying for.
“Mister Moreno, did Miracle Guy- uh Lloyd- tell you about the services I offer here? How I help him?”
Marcus stared blankly for a moment before his brain was able to form a response. Your question made him feel nervous and he stumbled over his words. “He said you help him relax. And he- the paper he gave me said ‘spa,’ so I just thought he must get massages...” He trailed off, unsure if that was a sufficient answer.
You knew his friend well. A handsome blonde that liked things a little rougher. You’d have to remember to thank him for referring his gorgeous friend to you.
Endeared by his naivety, you smiled and placed the clipboard on the table next to his water. You settled on the little sofa next to him, tucking one leg under you and leaning closer.
“I’m here to help, Mr. Moreno. There are a lot of ways people can reclaim their bodies.” You kept your tone as soft and even as you could. You wanted him to understand you, wanted him to ask for what he really needed. It was as clear as day across his face, but he would need to ask. “There’s massage, meditation, yoga, breathing exercises, mindfulness. I can help with all
of those.” Marcus nodded and you could see his mind racing to put together the puzzle you were handing him the pieces to. “But that’s not all. Some people need help
connecting other ways. Your friend Lloyd, he needs a more personal service. I don’t advertise it, but I could help if your needs are more intimate. Do we understand each other, Marcus?”
He continued to nod, furrowing his brow. Marcus wasn’t sure that he understood what you were offering him. He blinked back the embarrassment that started to creep
Up his cheeks from his flushed chest. “I want what Lloyd gets. He recommended you so it must be working for him.” He smiled now, more confident now that he feels he’s maybe starting to understand the dance you’re doing. He still wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but he was ready for whatever you had in store.
He liked your smile, how warm and disarming you were. The way you made him feel cared for, even after just talking for a few minutes. He gave himself to you, do what you must.
The first appointment was a little awkward. Marcus felt clumsy, unsure of himself, out of his depths, but you were there to facilitate it all, guiding him to the shower, showing him where to put his things, wrapping him in a warm robe, and telling him it was ok to let his body lead him, it was ok for him to touch you, to look at you, to ask for what he would like. Anything he would like. “Would it be ok
If I took off my shirt?” You asked, so concerned for his comfort. His cock twitched between his body and the soft pad of the table as he watched to toss your shirt into a chair in the corner, as you began rubbing him down. He closed his eyes when he realized he was staring at the way your breasts curved, the point of your nipples, the movement of your body as you worked. He loved how comfortable you were, how in control of your space.
You started with a massage, working gently across his broad back, you saw how his eyes followed you, how he shifted his hips on the table. You might be guilty of cutting his back massage a little short, but you needed to move to the rest of the service. He hesitated to roll onto his back. “I uh, I just need a minute.” You reassured him, told him getting hard was expected, that it was a compliment, that you just wanted to make him feel good. Reminded him he could tell you if there was anything he needed as you kneaded the firm muscles of his thighs. He was hard and weeping, beautiful thick cock desperate for attention. You teased up his hips, hands on either side of his length. His lips fell open, eyes trained on you, and he whimpered so softly. “Do you need me here, Marcus?” You purred to him and he swallowed thickly, “Yes. Please.”
From that first appointment together, you’d expertly stroked his cock to completion, showering him with praise. “So handsome, so good, letting me take care of you. Such a big cock, Marcus.” You always started with a massage, though they got shorter each time, the main event requiring more of your short time. You sucked his cock, gagging for him as he filled your throat, you squeezed him between your oiled tits, letting him come
on your chest and neck, generously allowing him to snap
a picture with his phone, something you never allowed with anyone else. You let him watch as you soaked your panties in warm oil, making the thin material cling to every fold. When you had gotten yourself off under his gaze, you climbed on top of him and rubbed your swollen, slick pussy lewdly over his cock, so careful to never let him slip inside even if you needed to feel him inside you. He came, hissing and spurting across his belly. Impulsively, you scooped up some of him cum on your finger and brought it to his lips, feeding it to him. The look
On his face gave you the confidence to push him further and further, trying new things often, but never letting him fuck you. Your own mouth, pussy, and ass we’re off limits. You couldn’t let yourself cross the line from service into intimacy. You made the rule yourself and had never been tempted to break it.
•••••
The room you led him to was warm and dim, lit only by a few pillar candles and the amber glow of a salt lamp on a shelf displaying various oils, lotions, smooth stones, and the other tools you’d use to let Marcus drop away from the stress and responsibilities of his life. The air was scented with the incense you’d lit just before Marcus’s arrival, earthy and warm, notes of spice that played together with the soothing ambience of your studio to lull the sometimes super hero into heavy, trancelike relaxation.
The leader of The Heroics didn’t wait for you to leave the room before he slipped the robe from his shoulders, laying it across the chair in the corner, and climbing onto your table and settling with a sigh. You stared at the width of his strong shoulders and the flexing muscles of his long legs, dark hair dusting from his thick thighs down this calves. He was a beautiful man. You straightened the small modesty towel covering his pelvis as he shifted his body, letting him settle and sink back into the padded surface of the wide massage table before arranging it over his half hard cock. You allowed yourself a half moment to admire the thick, dark, curling hair that led below the towel and up below his belly button, then stripped off your shirt, leaving you in only your soft leggings.
“Are you comfortable, Marcus?”
“Yes, thank you. I am.” He was always polite. He never leered or took advantage, just gave himself over to your expert touch. You could tell he wasn’t quite comfortable yet, usually just coming in the door lifted the invisible weight from his shoulders. Today he would need more help to get there, but soon he would be putty, pliant and submissive in your hands. Tonight you’d make it extra special, really take your time with him, pulling him apart bit by bit, then arranging him back together better than when he came in.
Just as before, you massaged him with warm, scented oil that you drizzled first across the expanse of his chest, using your palms, your knuckles, your forearms to work out the tension that settled there. You worked your way down his torso, slicking him up as you went, relishing in the soft grunts and sighs that your ministrations pulled from him. Before each movement, you explained what you would be doing next. There were never surprises. He knew exactly what was coming.
As you moved to his arms, rotating his shoulder, pulling gently, letting his forearm rest between your breasts as you kneaded down his bicep. His fingers flexed and his eyes opened just enough to see your soft smile, your pointed nipples, the shine of your chest where the oil has transferred from him to you. His empty brain stirred with images of other ways he would like to coat your chest. The thoughts floated away, and his eyes closed again, but his cock came alive, swelling as it always did under your masterful touch. The small movement didn’t escape your notice. Finishing his right arm, you gently guided it back to his side before moving to repeat the process on his left arm. This time, you raised his arm and let his palm rest against your clavicle as you smoothed your fingers along his tight muscles. His thumb swept softly across your skin, but the rest of him was still, his only movement the rise and fall of his diaphragm. He was nearly where you wanted him. You let his knuckles brush against your nipple as you arranged his arm, noting the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly at the contact. Perfect.
You moved to the bottom of the table and cupped more oil into your hand, smoothing it up his shins to his knees, focusing there for a few moments before adjusting his leg to bend his knee and plant his foot on the table. The angle allowed you to massage his calf and the back of his thigh. You enjoyed the way the soft flesh there slipped under your hands. While you kneaded at his legs, each in turn, the modesty towel slipped up, granting you a peek at his now turgid member. Of course you’ve seen it before in the course of your sessions together, but each time felt like the first. Marcus was thick, he had a tanned shaft with a smooth foreskin hugging a rosy head. It made your mouth water to see him hard, but this time together wasn’t about what you needed.
As you finished his legs, you gently returned them to the table, signaling the end of this portion of your service.
“Marcus?” You called to him softly, stroking his warm, oil slicked chest from his shoulder, down his side to just over his hip. His eyes were glassy, but his plush lips curled into a relaxed smile at the sound of your voice.
“I want you to turn over, Marcus.” He hummed, acknowledging your request but his brain was foggy and his body responded slowly. You kept your hand on him, grounding him, reassuring him with your presence and gentle touch. You made sure he was steady as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side.
“I’m going to set up for the rest of the session. It’ll only take a moment.” Your voice was soft and cool, reassuring Marcus as you handed him a glass of water to sip while you took a cushioned wedge from it’s spot below the table and positioned it just so, then left the room to slip into your equipment- a sturdy black harness with a ring to hold the purple dildo Marcus favored. It wasn’t the largest in your collection, but it was thick and gently curved. It hung between your legs as you wrapped yourself in your own robe and grabbed a couple plush towels, rejoining Marcus. His expression was tranquil, and it made you happy to see him so at ease. He had come a long way since his first appointment.
With the towels in place over the wedge, you helped Marcus get in position, on his knees, pert ass up and elbows on the table. He took a moment to settle as you climbed onto the table behind him, arranging your supplies on a tray nearby. You covered him once more, more out of courtesy than practicality. You could see his chest expanding and heard his breathing deepen as you dropped your robe. Marcus groaned softly when he felt your cock against the back of his thigh.
“Are you ready, Marcus? I’m going to begin now.”
He grunted and squirmed slightly, but remembered to give you a verbal response. “Yeah. Yes. Ready, please.”
Once more you dipped your fingers into the oil and let it drip down his spine, watching as it slid before following its path with one palm and then the other. He was so darn under your hands. His skin was so smooth, golden and freckled across his shoulders. “You’ve done really well tonight, Marcus.” You praised, leaning your weight into his shoulder blades, working out the knots, kneading at his neck. You plotted your way back up his spine and massaged his hips, and you felt him stir, tensing in anticipation.
“I want you to keep breathing now, Marcus. Deep, cleansing breaths.” You counted with him, four seconds in, seven seconds to hold, and eight seconds out. As you counted for him, you moved again to the back of his thighs, higher this time, removing his towel to massage and stroke his ass. His cock and balls hung between his spread thighs, leaking precum onto your towel, smearing the fluid as you manipulated his nearly limp body.
You couldn’t help your own arousal, feeling it seep from your aching pussy. Marcus was so beautiful and he surrendered so completely to you. He was strong, powerful, and deadly, but on your table he was yours to mold however you pleased. He was under you, taking whatever you gave him, waiting for you alone to decide what he needed, grateful for your attention and your discretion. You wondered if under other circumstances he might be the one bending you ever and covering your holes in lube.
Marcus often wondered the same, but he knew he couldn’t ask, couldn’t ruin this relationship, if you could call it that. He would never tell you how you became the someone he imagined alone in his bedroom or in the shower. Instead he just tried to enjoy what he had. A beautiful woman that would do nearly anything to make him come, make him forget about everything outside of this oasis. One he felt comfortable enough with to suggest the things he had always wanted to try, knowing you’d be enthusiastic.
“Are you ready, Marcus? I’m going to get you ready, gotta get you nice and relaxed so you can take my cock.
“Yes” He breathed, no other words necessary or possible now.
Your mind wandered and your cunt throbbed as you rubbed crescents with your thumbs around his tight ring of muscle, feeling him tense and relax, acclimating to the sensation and the pressure. You dripped more thick lube and spread it over and around his asshole with your thumbs, varying the speed and pressure, using your other fingers to hold his cheeks apart.
Monitoring for signs of discomfort or tightness in his muscles, you watched his beautiful face. His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly, sighing breathily, humming with pleasure. His mustache twitched, making you smile at the little tells he always displayed when he was entering the mental space that he paid you so handsomely to escort him to. He was ready.
With little resistance, you pressed your thumb into his ass. You were slow and gentle, taking your time before adding the other, fucking into him at an unhurried pace. When he began to push back into your hands, seeking more, you gently pulled away, silently reminding him of his role with soothing caresses over his cheeks and down his back. When he settled again, you squeezed a generous amount of lube onto your fingers and spread it over him, this time entering him with your middle and index finger, reaching deeper, teasing at the tender little spot inside him until he moaned. “Please,” He murmured, “yes, yes…” and you could have made him come. A few more strokes and he may have come just like that. Neither of you were ready for this to be over so soon, though.
Once more you took your hand away and massaged his back, praising him for being so relaxed, for staying so still, for opening up for you like a good boy. He opened his eyes, glassy and soft, no trace of the hyper vigilance he was accustomed to to be found.
More lube, this time slicking down your thick purple cock. Marcus was ready. You pressed the smooth head against his asshole and eased it past that tight ring, slowly, steadily, you began to fuck his ass. He whimpered and stretched his arms, extending them in front of him, lengthening his spine like a cat. His muscles rippled, he sighed, and your pussy throbbed. You sped your thrusts, enjoying the sight of him taking you with ease now. No amount of practice or professionalism could stop the lust from dripping over your words as you encouraged him.
“You’re taking my cock so well, Marcus. You let me stretch you right out, did so good for me. Let me take care of you just how you need.” It all came out a velvety purr, eliciting soft groans from below you. You wished you could see his face tonight.
Marcus was warm, feeling brightened and whole when you were in control, he loved how you knew just what he needed, made him feel safe, a feeling he wasn’t used to as the man that everyone else relied on for protection. “Yes, oh fuck. Yes. Want your cock. Feels so good.” Marcus babbled as you pumped into his tight ass. He whimpered and groaned and his hips tilted, feeling his release rush at him as your cock hit that special spot inside him that no one had ever touched before you.
You prided yourself on keeping things interesting. You noticed that Marcus was finding most benefit from giving up control and letting you make the choices for him. Always a first class full body massage followed by a mind blowing orgasm once he had reached a state of deep and total relaxation. Sometimes you stood at the side of the table and fucked him slowly while he lay on his side and you stroked his cock, paying special attention to the spot behind his balls until he came hard across the table.
Sometimes you had him on his back, knees bent, ass full of that favorite toy as you pulsed your hips up and into him, giving him a slippery double fisted handy until he came, painting his own belly and chest with thick white cum.
Tonight though, this might be his new favorite. Face down, ass up while you drove into him at a steady pace, never taking your hands from his hips, his back, wherever you could reach while you spoke so tenderly to him. Your hands held him like he held his swords, firm and sure, practiced and precise. Marcus knew you didn’t care for him, but you fucked him like you did, and the way you reassured him, praised him, stretched and filed him made him bury his face in his arms as he moaned, “Fuck! Fuck, gonna come. Gonna come!” His breath caught in his throat as you filled him with one last deep thrust, pushing your thighs into the back of his. You wished you could feel the way he squeezed your purple cock as he came untouched with a muffled moan, cum staining the towels you had covered the cushion with. He really wanted to kiss you.
Another glass of water, another quick shower, and a complimentary envelope of lavender scented Epsom salts later and Marcus was standing at your door, redressed in his shirt and tie, thick rimmed glasses framing his big, sad eyes. “Thank you. I..” he started, but couldn’t find the words he wanted. “Thank you for everything.” You put your hand on his shoulder and guided him back out into the parking lot, “I’ll see you next week, Marcus.” Locking up behind him, switching off the neon light, you thought maybe you did care about him a little.
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absurdthirst · 5 months
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Kinktober 2023: October 27th
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Day 27: Wax Play, Glory Hole, Group Sex
Marcus Moreno x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: Sex clubs, anonymous sex, unprotected sex, vaginal fingers, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, fantasizing, cream pie
|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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He has needs. Needs that have been unfulfilled for so long since the death of his wife. Needs that he can’t bring himself to slack by dating and getting involved with someone. It’s still too raw, too painful. Plus, he doesn’t know how Missy would react to there being another woman in his life, in her life. She had loved her mother fiercely, still does, like Marcus does. It’s why he had started coming here. 
Here, at The Hole, they are discreet. Very. Politicians, celebrities, and Heroes are among the regulars that come here to blow off steam in any manner of ways. Always anonymous and there are any number of pleasures to be had. He scans in with a card and inputs in what he is looking for. A room number will appear and that is where he will go. Or he could find someone by their room number. Certain people are always hosting in specific rooms and he knows the one that he continuously goes to. 
Room 417. It’s almost like an addiction at this point. He doesn’t care though, because he knows what he will find when he opens the door. A perfect pussy on display, legs resting on hooks. Only the lower body is on display, apparently she doesn’t suck cock, or maybe her other half is at another glory hole, but he doesn’t think that’s the case. Not with the sounds she gives him. 
Marcus Moreno is a Heroic. He’s a household name. However, here he’s just a number. One of hundreds that submit STI tests every week and participate in the pure debauchery of the club. This is where he can work out the stress of his job, of being a single father, out on that pretty pussy in room 417. 
It’s always interesting when you are ‘the stirrups’. Oftentimes, you find that some men prefer to just get that anonymous blow job, but others, they want pussy. They want to sink into a wet cunt and fuck away whatever need they have. Or maybe your ass. You don’t mind it. 
The space for your head, your torso, is a little boring. You normally close your eyes and meditate or just rest while you wait. Knowing that someone will eventually come. The small chime before the door opens makes your eyes pop open and you strain to hear them. 
He’s quiet, shuffling into the room and stopping. Staring. Enjoying the view before he decides what he wants to do. It’s what he does every time to this cunt. What he’s found he loves doing. Marcus shifts forward and runs a single finger down the fold of the labia. 
Your body twitches when you feel someone touch you. An involuntary response, that makes you giggle quietly. You do it nearly every time, you can’t help it. 
Marcus grins. There’s something about that honest, raw response that he enjoys. One that makes this seem like more than an anonymous encounter. He pulls his finger away and slips two into his mouth to wet them. 
“Look so pretty lying here.” He coos as he runs the now wet fingers up and down your exposed slit. “Just waiting for someone to come, huh?”
That voice. It makes you shiver every time and you’ve heard it quite a few times here. It makes you think of your boss, Marcus Moreno. That raspy baritone that you hear everyday at work. But it couldn’t be him. There’s no way a man like him would come to a place like this. But this is your indulgence, your fantasy. That Marcus is on the other side of that wall.
He hums when he sees the thighs relax, spreading even more in invitation. It’s always so beautiful when a woman accepts his touch. The people who say that consent is guaranteed since they are in the stirrups never witness the unfurling of their body’s. Never pay attention to the queues that are given. But they probably never think about pleasuring the person on their back either. 
Whoever this man is, you always love when he is the one who comes. His fingers slowly, lazily get to know your sex. Like it’s the first time that he’s touched you, even though you know you’ve had him before. So when you get wet almost immediately, it’s in anticipation of what you know is coming. 
Marcus groans at the first bit of arousal that coats his fingers. “Fuck, do you like the way I’m touching you? Let me know if you don’t like something, sweetheart.” He rubs the clit and then drags his fingers up and down the folds as he spreads the  wetness. “A pretty pussy like this is made for pleasure.”
You moan softly. Plenty of men talk while they are with you. Immediately shoving their cocks into your cunt and talking about how wet or tight you are, when you’re not that fucking wet. It’s about their pleasure and they don’t really care about yours. Not your imaginary Marcus. He takes his time. He spends time doing more than just fucking you. He breaks you apart. 
“One day I’m going to try your ass out.” It’s almost like he’s having a conversation with the woman he’s touching, but she never does more than moan or cry out normal phrases. That’s okay, all he wants is to hear her sweet voice, to see if it’s as familiar as he imagines. “But this sweet little pussy is too good. I’m addicted.”
Your eyes roll back, another moan bubbling up from your chest. In your mind, Marcus is hovering over you, those glasses discarded along with every stitch of clothing as he looks at you like you’re his entire world. 
His fingers dip inside the tight little hole. Popping back out before going too deep and groaning when the walls try to tighten around them. “Now.” He shuffles to his knees in front of the contraption that exposes this cunt to his eyes. “Be a good girl and let me eat your pussy.” He orders, right before his mouth latches onto the clit and his fingers plunge deep. 
You cry out, body jerking in pleasure and shock, even though you knew he would eat you out. This man does every time and your eyes flutter closed. Imagining that it's Marcus between your legs and your walls clench down around his fingers. 
Marcus chuckles, loving how responsive this woman is. Her beautiful choked noises makes his hard cock twitch and throbs as it sticks straight up and he has to resist wrapping his free hand around it. Instead he grabs onto one hip and squeezes as his tongue curls around the clit and he sucks on it. 
“Oh god.” You choke out, stomach twisting in pleasure and your hands slide up to cup your tits. Letting this man feast on your cunt like it’s an altar of worship. “So good baby, so good.”
Praise gets him. He misses it. Has missed it until room 417, until this pussy and the wonderful voice that comes with it. He knows that voice but he can never place it. Not that throaty, lust rough begging. He wants to hear more of it so he doubles down on the curl of his fingers and the flick of his tongue. 
You can’t help but whimper and whine for him, this glorious, faceless man who sounds like your hopeless crush. He is so intent on your pleasure. Not a few passive licks to say he ate pussy, but this man treats your cunt like a five star meal. Devouring you like it would save the world. 
Marcus moans into the folds. Feeling the arousal leaking out from around his fingers and sliding down the valley of this woman’s crack and literally dripping onto his cock where he is poised underneath the void of the table. It’s incredible and he wants more. He wants to feel and hear her cum. To have her break apart because of him. 
You shudder and moan, practically shaking as you experience the way this gorgeously talented man works your body. Playing it like it is his personal instrument, one he has fine-tuned over decades. His thick, generously long fingers press deep and his tongue suckles on your clit again, making you wail out a wordless sound as you start to cum. 
For a split second, he wishes he could see her face. To watch her mouth drop open before that delicious cry sounds out. Does she throw her head back? Are her eyes closed or blown wide? Those are the questions he wants answers as the walls start to spasm around his fingers, making him moan again. 
He works you through it. Softening his mouth and fingers as he guides you through the most blissful orgasm you’ve had in years. Until your thighs stop shaking and his fingers are still inside you. 
“Good girl, fuck you’re so good to me.” Marcus pants, nearly ready to cum himself as he slowly pulls his fingers out of the little hole they were buried in. “Always so good.” His fingers are coated in arousal and the thin strands web between his fingers and that perfect cunt. Stretching thin before finally breaking apart. She had cum. 
“Can I fuck you, sweetheart?” It’s amazing how that request always makes your heart skip a beat. Asking after giving so much pleasure. Seeking out approval even though you are laying exposed for his pleasure. Fuck, you wish this was Marcus Moreno. It would solidify him as the complete hero in your mind. “Please.”
Marcus groans, immediately shuffling to stand. Her plea sounds so desperate. Like she needs him inside her and it feeds into a core desire. To be wanted. He has covered his cock in her arousal and he pumps it, peeling the foreskin back to press the head against her clit. 
Your toes curl, flexing in anticipation as he slowly slides his cock through your cum slick folds. Again, you envision Marcus. Disheveled and flushed with desire, looking down at your cunt like it’s Heaven. You try to roll your hips down, but the stirrups don’t allow for much movement and there is no way you would pull back now. 
The first inch is slow. Easing in and groaning over the wetness, the heat. Controlling himself for a moment before the threads of control snap and he’s lost to the sensation. 
Your cry is one of pleasure, mixed with the best kind of pain when he snaps his hips forward. “Fuck.” You clench when his voice drops. That honey rough voice turning to a snarl, like he’s lost control. “Fuck, fuck, sweetheart. Gonna tear this pussy up.”
He grabs her hips, using them for purchase as he draws his hips back to fill you again. Over and over, he buries his cock into the most perfect cunt he’s had since his wife. Feeling the walls stretch and give to his harsh thrusts. 
All you can do is take. Take it and vocalize how good it feels. Your moans and cries are pushed out of you as he drills into you. Spearing his cock into you at a pace that leaves you breathless. 
Here is where he can lose himself. The weight of the world falls off his shoulders as his hips jackhammer forward again and again. All the worries he carries are gone as he buries his cock into that clenching, squeezing little hole. Listening to her sweet sounds as he fucks her. 
Your fingers claw your tits, biting your lip to keep from screaming too loud when he finds the sweet spot and dials in on it. Hitting it again and again without fail as he rocks into you brutally. You’ll be sore. You’ll feel him for days and you wish it was Marcus. Knowing his secrets that while he might be a hero, he fucks like a sinner. 
“Soo good, so sweet.” He grunts, sweat dripping down his brow. “Fucking tight little cunt, taking me.” He hisses as he rocks up into the balls of his feet, feeling that sensation in the base of his spine. He’s getting close. 
Your moans have turned into one long continuous one. His breakneck pace is almost impossible to take and yet you're gasping out when you feel a thumb on your clit. Rubbing tight, harsh circles on the sensitive bean. 
“Cum for me.” He pants out. “One more, give me one more, sweetheart.” He wants her to cum again. The best feeling in the world is cumming with your lover. Even if he can’t see her face, he wants to feel her orgasm. 
His command opens the floodgates. Your heels digging into the stirrups while your back arches up. Walls clamping down around his cock, Marcus’s cock and you’re relieved when you just cry out wordlessly instead of shouting his name.
It’s another couple of thrusts, feeling his balls pull tight against his body before he’s pushing deep. Rocking his hips with shallow, grinding thrusts as he pumps that quivering pussy full of his load. Painting her walls with ropes of his hot seed and moaning quietly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
You whimper when he stops moving, just throbbing inside you and you see that exhausted smile on Marcus’s face. The one he always gives at the end of a battle when the world is safe once more. This time, it’s just for you. A private, blissed out smile that has you smile to yourself on the other side of the partition. 
Marcus eases out of the pussy, watching as his cum starts to well up and slowly drip out as his cock softens. Coated in her juices and more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. Since the last time he was here. Reaching out, he runs a finger through his cum, making her shiver as he smiles tiredly. He’s so fucking grateful he found The Hole and room 417. “Thank you, sweetheart.”
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wardenparker · 11 months
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What Happens in Vegas, part 1
Marcus Moreno x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 8k   Warnings: Mentions of partner death and divorce, smatterings of imagery of drunk sex. Technically most of this could be considered dubcon for drunkenness.  Summary: A high school reunion in Las Vegas sounds great right? A fun, adult way to catch up with old friends and have a great party in the process. But everything goes a little sideways when you wake up the next morning in bed with someone unexpected. Notes: Part one of two! Marcus Moreno was absolutely a drama geek in high school and I will not be taking criticism.
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Your eyes shoot open, and you sit straight up in bed. A mistake if there ever was one. Pain starbursts behind your eyes and you immediately pinch them shut again with a hiss. Shuffling slightly to cradle your pounding head, you moan as you hunch over. Not remembering much past the night before and having no clue on how you ended up in a bed. There's a grunt beside you, making your eyes shoot open again, but this time you don't try to resist the pain. You had definitely not come to your reunion with someone, so the idea of someone else in your bed is terrifying at best. One-night stands and being surprised by your bedmate the next morning had died in college during your walk of shame days. He's turned towards you, eyes closed, and face relaxed in sleep. One that you would have known anywhere, even if you hadn't tried keeping up with him through the years. You realize your own nakedness when you see his bare chest, gasping and yanking the sheets up over your breasts.
You’re in bed with your high school sweetheart, Marcus Moreno.
That place between sleep and awake is Marcus's favourite. It holds no worries and beautified reality, making touches feel like floating and sounds muffle as though they were coming through a wall of fluffy blankets. There is warmth beside him and beating down from his other side, vaguely registering in his sleepy mind as warm morning sun. He would have wafted through this half-feeling until he fell back to sleep, but he felt a jolt beside him and heard a yelping sound. Those were definitely not things from his dreams. Nor was the instant pounding that took over his head, making the previously comfortable sun feel like a jackhammer instead.
Marcus groans, rubbing his eyes as he gropes around for his glasses and slowly starts to string thoughts together: a bed, with someone else in it, in the morning, and he definitely has a hangover. He groans again, pained this time, and wonders what the hell he had gotten himself into. Vegas is a hell of a place to wake up with someone he doesn't know, and he briefly wonders if he had done something stupid last night. Once his glasses are shoved on his face and he can unglue his eyelids, he forces himself to look over.
Oh shit. It’s you. His high school sweetheart. What the hell happened last night??
"Mar– Marcus?" You stammer, your eyes widening, and you do an internal assessment of your body. Oh, you had definitely had sex. The ache between your legs is one that you hadn't experienced in a while but is consistent with a very vigorous night. You pull your hands down from your head and twist to look at him, hating that you don't remember what the hell had happened. The last thing you remembered was the slideshow at the event center. Nostalgia rampant and the bar open, while the graduating class went through the Most Like To list.  Seeing everyone and sharing drinks had apparently caught up with you. "What happened?"
It's not until he sees you gripping the sheets to your body that he looks down – and realizes he's completely naked. Letting out a yelp of his own, Marcus pulls the comforter around him and then immediately cradles his aching head. The more conscious he gets, the worse it hurts. "Um..." Think, Moreno, think! But thinking hurts so much. "I'm not sure." He confesses. "I mean...we, uh..." his eyes are wide, looking between the two of you with embarrassed guilt. His core and thighs burn a little, and there is a faint taste of something tangy in his mouth along with stale beer. "I think we..." He sighs. "We definitely had sex..."
You hate how his sleep rough voice affects you. Low and gravely, it makes your core clench, and you feel the remnants of that observation between your thighs, sticky and thick. "Yeah, uh – I agree with that." You shouldn't be this embarrassed by that fact. It wasn't like you hadn't had sex with Marcus before. Hell, he was the first person you had sex with in your life. Sixteen and thinking you were going to be with him forever. "I–" Something catches your eye when you go to rub your head again, making you stop and flip your hand over, staring in horror at your left hand. A ring sitting on your ring finger, something that definitely wasn't there before this morning. "Did we– did we get married?" You manage.
"No!" Marcus is absolutely sure that that couldn't have happened, but his throat runs dry all the same. Slowly, he lifts up his own left hand where a shiny gold ring of his own gleams in the sun. "Or...maybe yes?" He tries not to focus on how good you look. Hair mussed and eyes a little droopy from having just woken up. He hasn't seen you like this in almost twenty years. Goddamn you look good. "I'm sorry," his face contorts in embarrassment. "I honestly don't remember much. Just the slide show at the reunion and then...nothing."
"Oh my God." You tug the sheets off of the bed, barely letting Marcus keep himself decent while you jump up. "No, there's no way. I mean, we just–" You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying not to freak out. "It's got to be some kind of joke." You remember Susan Combs, now Susan Ramey, talking about how the two of you were single, that you should rekindle the spark. Your eyes meeting Marcus's embarrassed gaze as the two of you stood awkwardly between her. "It's a joke." You tell him firmly, trying to convince yourself of it more than anything. How do you marry someone you haven't seen in nineteen years since he broke up with you when he met the woman he would marry his freshman year in college?
"Definitely." Marcus agrees. It had to be a joke. The thing that definitely wasn't a joke was the strong interest his cock had in the fact that one of the most gorgeous women he'd ever known in his life was standing in front of him wearing only a sheet. Not the time, he thinks to himself sternly. "There's...uh, there's some kind of brunch or something today, right?" He vaguely remembers it on the itinerary for their high school reunion, a chance for everybody to bemoan their hangovers together and say goodbye before people started catching their flights home. "I'm sure whoever's idea this was will be there to lord it over us." He hopes that, anyway. Hopes that it was some dumb joke from one of the other drama club guys or somebody who thought it would be funny to embarrass the hell out of the leader of the Heroics.
He looks around, not quite sure where to begin. "Do you...are my clothes over there?"
You look around and find his clothes mixed with yours on the floor, obviously stripped off together. You ignore that and lean down, tossing him his pants and not noticing that your panties are stuck in one of the pants legs where they had been dragged off your body. "I–fuck, I need a shower." You look at the clock and your eyes widen. "You do too." You hiss, noticing you don't have much time. "We can, I guess we are going to have to share a bathroom." You bite your lip, and try to suppress interest in seeing him as a fully grown man instead of a nineteen-year-old boy.
Marcus blanches for a second, wondering if you mean showering together, but he convinces himself that you can't possibly. This whole thing is too insane to really understand and what he needs most in the world is to wash up and brush his teeth. As much as his body might be interested in finding out how well you've grown up, that would be completely inappropriate given the circumstances. "You take the shower," he offers, ever the gentleman. "I can just wash up quickly and brush my teeth. Stale beer isn't a great taste."
Your face burns, a flash of him looking up at you from in between your legs pops into your mind. “No– uh, there is a shower and a tub, you take the shower and I’ll– we’re both adults and it’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before.” You reason. You hate how flustered you are, how intensely you just want to go back to sleep and pretend this is just a dream. “Or do whatever.” You add, looking towards the other door. “The sooner we figure out this is a joke, the sooner we can pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Right.” He wiggles into his boxers, stuck inside his pants in a way that said they were definitely pulled off together, under the covers and slips out of the bed to head toward the shower. You’re right, of course. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen each other naked, even before whatever happened last night. “S’dumb,” he mumbles. “Somebody decided it would be funny to put rings on us?” Pulling open the bathroom door revealed that this was your hotel room - bottles of sweet smelling soap and shampoo alongside a few bits of makeup and your deodorant and a hairbrush. Looks like he’ll be doing a walk of shame this morning.
Turning on the water for the shower, he turns shy again. You’re right. You’ve seen him naked. There’s no reason to hide from you. But that doesn’t stop him from turning away from you to take off his boxers before drawing back the shower curtain to hop in. He could live with you seeing his bare ass. He didn’t want you knowing he was sporting a semi from the faint memory of having his lips wrapped around your nipples a few hours ago.
You follow him into the bathroom, the sheet from the bed firmly anchored under your arm. Sighing when he closes the curtain behind him. Marcus Moreno. You lean over and turn on the water to the tub and plug the drain. You could admit to yourself that you hoped to catch his eye, if nothing but to show him exactly what he could have had if he hadn’t dumped you. Petty, you know, but still with the vindictiveness of someone scorned.
Not that he had been mean to you about it. No, Marcus had been distraught, admitting that he was falling for the girl in his Psych class when he had come home for fall break. The one that he would go on to marry and have his daughter with. From what you had heard, he mourned for a long time following the accident that had taken her from her family. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, he had just found the love of his life, and it wasn’t you.
Marcus groans under the hot water of the shower, leaning his forehead on the cool tile to try to ease the headache that was still splitting his skull in half. What a stupid ass situation. He’d been so excited to see you last night, still with that twinge of guilt but excited nonetheless. He’d started seeing your name in magazines here and there, your career really taking off, and he’d wanted to hear all about it from you instead of via a reporter. He’d kept his face still when you mentioned your divorce in passing. Told you a little about Missy and been grateful when you didn’t get starry eyed about him being a Heroic. His mother’s instinct to send him to a regular school had been a good one.
It happened by accident. When he turned to shove his lathered-up hair under the shower head, he’d caught the outline of your body lying back in the tub and choked on his reaction. God you’re gorgeous. Even more than you had been back then. Vision a little blurry without his glasses, he can still make out the rise of your breasts above the water and admire the line of your leg sticking out above the tub when you have started to wash up. Marcus’s throat runs dry and he wills himself to keep control. The shower curtain obviously let shadows through, and he doesn’t want to be disrespectful. He’d loved you once - so much - and doesn’t want you to think he’d grown up to be a creep, staring at you in the bath.
You try to clean up quickly, but the hot water eases the pain. Closing your eyes and trying to not listen to the sounds of Marcus in his shower. It was so surreal, being here in this situation. You couldn't deny that you had thought about him over the years. He had been your first love, honestly the first man that you thought you were going to marry, although life had other plans. The entire class had thought so too, yours and Marcus's picture flashed up on the screen together: the two of you at prom together. You both had been voted most likely to get married. Something that you had both awkwardly laughed over, and you had ordered another drink.
“I’m – uh, I’m done.” He hates the way his voice waivers, but he had no goddamn idea how to handle this. He shuts off the water and reaches blindly out to the shelf beside it where he’d seen towels to wrap one around his waist. He draws the curtain back slowly, giving you fair warning to cover up, and swallows down the urge to jam his glasses onto his face and get a decent look at you. You aren’t... together. Whatever had happened, it was the product of drinking and a potentially bad joke.
"Okay." You stand and reach for your own towel, stepping out onto the mat and securing it around your body before you turn to the curtain. "You can– I'm decent." You offer, not bothering to worry about the water that is dripping down your legs. "I'll go into the bedroom to get dressed." You tell him. "You can– fuck it, use my toothbrush. It's not like we didn't kiss." You offer before fleeing the room so you don't do something stupid, like drop your towel and see how he reacts.
It only takes a few minutes to get ready, and Marcus is in his day-old clothes opening the door for you when you decide it’s time to head downstairs. He’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to face your former classmates, but he needs to know what happened. In the elevator, he discovers he’s nervously spinning the ring on his hand and looks down at yours again, seeing an expensive-looking wedding set, engagement ring and wedding band that lock together into an impressive piece of jewelry on your finger. It was the sort of thing he wanted to get you, back then. Dreamed of making his money young and being able to give you the world. Things changed when he’d met Missy’s mother, and he’d hated himself for hurting you even though he was so happy. “It’s nice,” he says, breaking the silence. “The rings. They’re...beautiful, actually.”
You jump, surprised that he had mentioned it before you look down at your hand. "It is." You admit, admiring it for a moment before your eyes find his. Looking away just as quickly. "Hopefully I– you, hopefully you can get your money back if you paid for it." You tell him quietly, knowing that if this was not a joke, it was definitely something he viewed as a mistake. "They look expensive."
He shrugs, looking down at his own ring. “Keep it.” He smiles sheepishly. “I gave it to you, I guess? So that makes it yours.” Over the last few years he had wondered what life would be like if he had stayed with you: if he’d still have Missy and if you’d get that cat you’d always wanted. If you still loved the snow. “You can remember what happened afterward, even if we can’t remember last night.”
You sigh, looking over at the man you are wondering if you had married in a drunken frenzy last night. You bite your lip, another flashback of last night coming to you. Riding him and having him kiss up your chest before he pulls your nipple into his mouth. You shake your head, banishing the memory just as the elevator arrives on the ground floor where the brunch was located. "No, I can't. You didn't want to marry me then, and you didn't want to marry me now." You tell him before you step out of the elevator and start walking off, not looking back.
“Shit.” He rushes after you, wanting to soothe your obvious and understandable irritation, but you have strode into the brunch room with your head held high. Strong as iron, just like you’d always been. When the crowd of your classmates sees you come into view there is an explosion of whooping and hollering, and just as much applause. His old friend Tim claps him on the back while he laughs.
Your heart plummets at the clapping and cheers. It's not a joke. You married Marcus last night. Susan rushes over to you, enveloping you in a tight hug and squealing loud enough that it hurts your ears over the rest of the noise. "Oh my God! I can't believe it!" She prattles, pulling away and grabbing your hand to gush over the ring. "I take full credit of course! It was all my idea and look!" She turns and points to the large screen where the projector is rolling and you gasp. There is video of you and Marcus, standing in a chapel in front of, of all things, an Elvis impersonator.  Great, not only had you drunkenly gotten married to a man you hadn't seen in nearly twenty years, but you had gotten married by Elvis in Las Vegas. One big walking cliche.
“Oh my god...” Marcus feels his jaw hit the floor and his heart starts pounding, a stark reminder of the flash of a memory he has of being heart-poundingly excited standing in front of you in that ridiculous chapel. Had this really happened? He scrubs one hand down his face as his other unconsciously moves to hover over the small of your back, protective but not touching. You are in this together, after all.
“I guess...it happened...” he breathes, right next to you. He can’t believe these assholes took video of it, but he supposes at least now you could know what actually happened.
On screen, Marcus watches himself grin at you and you grin back. You look happy. Excited even. You must have been so damn drunk – you had been so angry with him for so long after he broke up with you and he didn’t blame you for it. He could remember the heartbroken look on your face as you had sternly asked him to leave your house, choking back tears. It was so different from how you looked on that video. Up there, you looked as happy as the day he’d asked you out.
You school your face into one that everyone else would believe is happy. Wanting to look away from the video, instead you watch, fascinated as you and Marcus giddily exchange vows, unable to keep from kissing each other between vows like saps. "A toast to the happy couple!" You groan quietly and your stomach rolls at the thought of alcohol as flutes of champagne are brought over to you and Marcus. Unable to do more than accept them, you turn and face the man who was now apparently your husband.
“Hair of the dog,” Marcus whispers, trying for a reassuring smile. He tries not to throw up as soon as the champagne hits his throat, but he’s determined not to embarrass you any further by looking as mortified as he feels. Watching himself kiss you, he can distinctly remember the perfect way your lips had wrapped around his cock, tongue teasing the veins as you looked up at him with big, innocent eyes.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” He asks in your ear, glancing over at an alcove nearby.
You finish the champagne despite it sloshing in your stomach and threatening to come up, then nod and hand your glass off to someone to follow him off to a secluded area. You swallow back some bile, hating that phrase. Remembering how he had resisted kissing you so many years ago and asked that same question before he broke up with you. "Yeah?" You ask, tensing for bad news and wrapping your arms around yourself protectively.
“I’m starting to...” Marcus clears his throat, that glass of champagne not having helped at all. Hair of the dog his ass. “I’m starting to remember things.” He searches your face for a reaction but gets none. You look like a deer in headlights. “Um,” he exhales, eyes pinching closed for a second before opening again. He feels so guilty. Like he shouldn’t have these memories, despite the fact that you were the first person he did absolutely anything sexual with. “The sex.” He forces himself to say it. “Specifically, I’m starting to remember us having sex.”
You huff. "Yes, I'm fully aware we had sex, Marcus." You roll your eyes. "I'm the one that woke up with cum crusted on the inside of my thighs." Marcus flushes and his eyes dart down to your thighs. You were starting to get flashbacks of it as well, but it seems like he is remembering more than you did. "What's your–" You break off, your tone hostile and you don't want to take your mistakes out on him. "Okay, do you remember something you think I should know?"
“I know you’re mad,” Marcus’s head drops to his chest and he sighs. “We did something stupid and you have every right to be mad. But,” he glances up, hoping your eyes aren’t burning a hole in his head. “I made the first move, so...this is on me.” He can remember it clearly now. The two of you tipsy, having a fairly serious discussion about what happened back then, and he had kissed you. Apologized for hurting you. Told you how much he had been thinking about you lately, with the reunion coming up it had super charged his memories of you. “I kissed you first. And I’m pretty sure I was the first one to get clothes off. And I’m definitely the one who...went down on the other one first.” He  reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously. “So if you’re going to be mad about anything.” He shrugs. Now that he can remember it, that kiss felt amazing. That first press of your lips together after nineteen years and the way you had moaned against him when he opened his mouth for you to lick inside. “Be mad at me, I guess.” He can’t help himself, his eyes flick up to your lips, wavering there before looking back up at you. Now that he can remember it, he’s aching to do it again.
"I'm not...mad, I'm disappointed." You admit, looking away from him. "It's not like I hadn't– I wanted to just..." You shrug, suddenly feeling foolish. "I wanted to show you up, prove that you had missed out on something great. And now this is something that is going to cause you embarrassment." You close your eyes and sway slightly, your cunt clenching when you remember his tongue against your clit, moaning into you as he eagerly ate you out. "Stupid, huh? To still be petty about being dumped for the one you were supposed to be with." You swallow, meeting his gaze again and not being able to tell what he was thinking. "I'm sorry. I'll – I'll just go."
“Don’t!” He reaches out to grab your arm as soon as you turn, not too hard but enough to pull you back to him. “You did show me what I missed. And...from what I can remember, it was great.” You’re standing so close to him that he feels like he’s breathing down your neck and he has no idea if you’re okay with it or not, even though it’s stirring his cock back to life. “I don’t regret the years I had with Missy’s mother. She was a wonderful woman, and I loved her. If I hadn’t had her, I wouldn’t have Missy, but,” he huffs a sigh, his hand slipping up your arm to drag his knuckles down your cheek gently. “I loved you, too. I’m not embarrassed that we had sex. Please don’t think that, okay? I’m embarrassed that this is the way it happened. You deserve better.” He squeezes his eyes closed again, gearing himself up for you to snap at him again. “And, for the record? Everyone knows disappointed is worse than mad.”
You can't help but chuckle at that, relaxing at his speech. You didn't blame him, not really. The rejection had been heartbreaking at the time, but you also wouldn't have the career you have if you had stayed with Marcus. You would have followed his career, let it overshadow what you wanted to do with your life. "I guess we need to talk about this somewhere a little more private about all this." You look around and bite your lip. "Decide what we are going to do."
Marcus nods, glad you haven’t screamed at him or run away. “Do you want to placate our gleeful classmates and eat first?” He asks, not wanting to pressure you into anything. He’d gladly leave now if you wanted but he’d leave it up to you. “It might be helpful to hear more of what happened.”
You can agree with that. "It might help the hangover too." You acknowledge, looking towards the buffet. "Do you want to go grab a plate?" You ask, wanting to see if he wanted to eat with you or would prefer to separate and learn as much as he could on his own.
He glances around the room taking stock of everyone’s reactions and finds half the room trying very badly to pretend they’re not staring at the happy couple. “Go talk to Susan,” he suggests, knowing how your old friend loves to talk her head off. “I’ll see if Tim is feeling chatty.” He swallows, hard, and finds your eyes. “Better keep up appearances?” It’s selfish, using the curious eyes as an excuse to kiss you again, but Marcus Moreno is so rarely a selfish man that he’s willing to see if you’re okay with it.
You nod, knowing that everyone in the room is trying to discreetly look towards you. "Okay." You breathe out, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach as he steps closer to you, his hand coming up to grip your waist. Your heart is pounding and you curl your hand around his neck as he leans in, his tongue coming out to swipe on his lower lip. "Kiss me, Marcus."
That’s all he has to hear. Holding back a groan, he tugs you closer and slots his lips against yours. It’s probably only for a second, but it feels like hours. The kind of kiss that makes him tingle. Your lips are as soft and warm as they were last night, but this time there’s no alcohol and the taste is all you with a touch of toothpaste. That groan he was holding back breaks free and he pulls back, embarrassed.
You sigh out, wishing he had kissed you for longer, but it was for show. Trying to convince the roomful of your former classmates that it hadn't been a drunken mistake when you had gotten married last night. You drop your hand from his neck and give him a small smile that you don't feel. "Good luck finding out what we did." You whisper and step to the side and walk off towards Susan.
Marcus watches you go, eyes lingering on your ass just a little too long, but he figures it’s okay to check out the woman who was technically his wife. God, what a mess. At this point, he had to admit to himself that he’d come here for you. No other reason and no other motive. He wanted to see you again and this was the only way how. How was he going to explain this to Missy? Hey here’s you new stepmom, we got drunk and Elvis sang Burnin Love to us after our vows. Ugh. He headed back to Tim and his other old friends, hoping they could shed some light on the events leading up to the insane cliche of a Vegas wedding.
“Awwww!” Susan is giggling when you walk back towards her, clapping her hands a little and looking at you with dreamy eyes. “You guys have always been so cute!”
"Thanks." You give her a smile and try to ignore the way you feel Marcus's eyes on you.
"He's watching you, you know." Susan says with a happy grin, making you look back to find his dark eyes on you. Giving you an encouraging smile before he looks over at the guys when someone comes up to him and slaps him on the back, a grin flashing across his face. "Tell me," Susan leans in conspiratorially, "was it as good as you remembered? Or was it even better?" She sighs, obviously in love with the idea of your fairy tale romance. "He's definitely a man and not a boy anymore." You hum and make a non-committal sound that she takes as playing it close to your chest.
******
“Come on, Romeo,” Tim is laughing and grinning, pulling Marcus along to join their other drama club friends in the buffet line. “Tear your eyes away from your bride for 30 seconds and come fuel up. From what I heard, you’re going to need your strength.”
Marcus blanches. “What d’ya’mean?” He mumbles, shoving a piece of toast in his face so he can’t say too much.
“Dude my room is right next to hers,” Tim shoots him a sly grin. “You guys are better than porn.”
“Uh...thanks?” What the hell does Marcus even say to that? “Please tell me you didn’t jack off to me having sex?” His eyes are absolutely pleading. He’s very glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself, but he doesn’t want anyone to say one single word against you for something you clearly regret. He wishes he didn’t have this knot in his stomach. Not the one from his hangover, but the one from kissing you just now.
“I would never do that.” Tim tells him solemnly before busting out a grin. “I was too busy editing your wedding video for today. Like you asked.”
******
"From what Tim said, you were very vocal."
You honestly wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole. You bite your lip, still aching pleasantly from whatever had made you so vocal last night. "So why don't you tell me what everyone said when we decided to go to the chapel."
That makes Susan change topics. She grins and nods. "Oh, everyone was just ecstatic. All talking about how touchy the two of you were. And when Marcus kissed you? All the girls that were jealous of you having him in high school were green with envy." She giggles and leans in to whisper, "Some of them didn't think it was real, just hype for the reunion, but I could see his heart in his eyes when he looks at you." She confides.
You flush, your cheeks burning, and you wish that were true. You had never exactly gotten over Marcus, even after you moved on and married your now ex-husband. "Well, the feeling was mutual." You admit, telling yourself it was just to keep up appearances.
******
“Thanks for that.” Marcus finds that he really means it, because it’s helping both of you to piece together the night - and maybe also a little bit because watching himself look at you like that was eating at his armor. The armor he had carefully constructed after his wife had died and he had promised himself that no other woman would come into Missy’s life until he was absolutely certain about her. And he had never been certain about any of the small number of women he’d dated in the last five years. But you? He mechanically fills up his plate with enough food to banish his hangover and nods his head along with whatever Tim was saying.
“What did she think of the ring?” He asks, and Marcus tunes back in. Tim huffs at his quizzical look and chuckles. “You were so serious about engraving those things, I figured she would at least say she liked it.”
Marcus immediately slips his ring off his finger and finds a rose flanked by both of your first initials carefully engraved inside. His chest clenched. You had played Romeo and Juliet together in high school –  the rose in his ring being just like the ones he used to give you before rehearsal.
******
Your head is pounding and Susan's chatter isn't helping, but you follow behind her and fill up your plate with things that won't make your stomach revolt. "And then that engraving on your rings? That was so sweet and the fact that Marcus insisted on it made me swoon."
Your eyes widen and when you sit down you slip off your rings to find your initials and a rose engraved on the inside of the band. "Oh." Your heart melts but the realistic side of you hates to see it. It means the rings can't be returned. You hope that you had paid for your rings yourself so he isn't out the money.
******
“Uh, yeah,” Marcus manages to nod, forcing a smile that he hopes is convincing. “She really liked it.” Ready for a tornado to come and swallow him whole, Marcus shoves his hand in his pocket as the guys head to a table together, finding his cell phone open to a text string with his daughter:
‘Missy, I know I should have talked to you first. I should have told you about her, and how she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved besides your mother.’
‘There’s nobody else I want in our lives and even your abuela liked her, so you know she’s a keeper.’
‘Miss, I’m not trying to replace your mom. I just hope you’re okay with this. I love her, and I hope you will too.’
Oh god. Marcus swallows the rising dread threatening to make him sick all over again. What have I done?
******
You look over at Marcus, frowning when you see him looking at his phone with a distraught look on his face. You wondered what has him looking like he's seen a ghost. You think about going over there, but you aren't really his wife.
"Hey everybody!" Your head turns to the front of the room where the projector is going. "We are about to officially show the wedding video of our own newest happy couple. Mr. and Mrs. Marcus Moreno! Come on guys, stand up and come up here!" You want to crawl into a hole when everyone starts clapping again and Susan urges you up.
Catching your eye from a few tables away, Marcus makes his way over to you with an uneasy gait. The texts back from Missy had been more confused than anything else and he wasn’t looking forward to explaining what had happened. Reaching your seat, he offers you his hand to hold and presses an apologetic kiss to the back of it when you accept the gesture. The room “awwe”s at the sweet gesture, mistaking it for romantic.
"Are you okay?" You murmur quietly as the two of you make your way to the front of the room. Marcus squeezes your hand gently but doesn’t answer, making your stomach flip from nerves and from the way his hand feels entangled with yours. When you come up to the front, the former class president, John Walker, grins at both of you.
"So in high school they were voted most likely to get married." The picture of the two of you wrapped around each other was flashed up on the screen again like it had throughout the brunch. Your smile doesn't falter but your eye twitches, your grip on Marcus's hand loosening. "It's taken twenty years, but last night they made that a reality! And thanks to Tim Dalton, we have the wedding video for everyone to enjoy!"
When the footage starts rolling it's of the whole reunion, lots of couples slow dancing on the hotel ballroom's dance floor to the Pretender's "I'll Stand by You". The camera zooms in on Marcus with his arms around you, the two of you with hearts in your eyes. The song continues as Marcus watches himself lean in to kiss you, and he smiles a little now at the memory. On the screen, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, both of you losing the rhythm of the music as you get caught up in the kiss. He remembers it distinctly now, that moment. He leans down a little and nudges your shoulder before whispering in your ear: "I remember that...you, um...you had just told me you missed me. And I said I missed you too."
You vaguely remember that, the haze of alcohol not having taken hold quite yet. "You...you said that you almost asked your information director for my number." Your brow furrows as you remember that detail. "You didn't want to contact me through the reunion app." There was an app that was like a general chat room for the entire class. It was chaotic at best and completely visible to everyone. "Or am I imagining that?"
He shakes his head gently, head still bent next to your ear. "No. You didn't imagine that." He swallows, dry mouth and the slight anxiety of memories coming back mixing together. "I really only came here to see you, anyway. I didn't figure the whole class needed to know that, so...I was going to call you and see if you were even coming." Heat creeps up Marcus's cheeks. "Clearly, I chickened out."
You can't help but grin at that. "But obviously it worked out." You point out, liking the way that his eyes lighten when they crinkle in a matching grin. God he’s still as handsome as the day you had first held his hand. Or the last day he had been close to you. Maybe more so. He had aged like fine wine. Your attention is captured when you see the video change, obviously later in the night, the two of you a little more tipsy.
Marcus reluctantly looks away from you, turning his eyes up again to watch the two of you on screen – you sitting in his lap with your arms around him, gently peppering his cheeks and neck with kisses. The audio crackles a little, tuning in to what the two of you are saying. "So fucking gorgeous," he hears himself saying to you, before he actually giggles a little at you planting a kiss on a spot where he's ticklish. He has to agree with his tipsy self – you look amazing.
Catcalls come over the video, shouts from other classmates for you to get a room. Until Susan comes into view. "No, they need to just get married! We all know they belong together."
You fluster tipsily, laughing and kissing Marcus. "You should make an honest woman out of me." You coo, batting your eyelashes at him playfully. Oh God, you had encouraged it, you had practically begged Marcus to marry you. Embarrassment floods your body even as Marcus eagerly nods on the video.
The catcalls turn to cheers as Marcus watches himself lift you off his lap and slip off his chair, down on one knee. Wide-eyed, he grips your hand tighter as he watches himself propose to you. Tipsy as he was he trips over his words a little, but it is absolutely clear that he was not coerced or forced in any way. And neither were you. Tipsy? Yes. Encouraged by your classmates? Absolutely. But this was two adults who seemed to be fully aware of what they were doing.
You watch the proposal and the way that you immediately nod and crush your lips to his.  Only pulling away to shout to everyone around you that you were getting married. "Oh my God." You whine, only where Marcus can hear you while everyone else in the room releases 'awwwwe's and laughs at how excited the two of you are in the video. "I don't think you can blame yourself for this."  You whisper to Marcus.
"We're in this together." He moves his hand from holding yours to wrapping his whole arm around your shoulders supportively. The video morphs again - this part clearly filmed on someone's phone as you and Susan are poking through white dresses in a shop clearly meant for this exact purpose. Susan grabs a little veil off a shelf and plops it on your head, telling you to "Say something to Marcus!" while she points at the phone. They were obviously already planning on putting this video together.
"Marcus, I love you so much." You gush to the camera, making a kissing face to it before you burst into giggles. Susan squeals and says she's found the perfect dress, recapturing your attention.
The video cuts to Marcus searching for suits with Tim. "I can just wear this." He whines, looking down at the outfit he was wearing. Your eyes widen, realizing the suit he was wearing now wasn't what he had come to the reunion in.
"No man, you can't get married in that. Tell your lady love something." Tim says, encouraging Marcus to look over at the camera.
“I love you, hermosa.” Marcus says on the video, flustering and grinning. “I’m so glad you’re here and I’m here and that you said yes.”
Beside you, Marcus looks down at his suit and squeezes his eyes closed. How did he not realize that he wasn’t wearing the same one he came in? The pile of clothes on your hotel room from earlier comes back into his mind and he now realizes there was a white dress tossed in one corner of the room.
The video cuts to the chapel, the two of you giggling and Marcus won't even let you go long enough to walk down the aisle traditionally. Loudly telling Elvis that he wasn't letting you go, it had been too long since he had last held you. That makes you bite your lip, swallowing hard when he leans in and kisses you again on screen.
The vows are surprisingly heartfelt, for how drunk you both are at that point. He’s pulling you in for kisses after every sentence or two, telling Elvis that he wouldn’t be able to keep from kissing you either if he were him. When Elvis finally proclaims you man and wife, Marcus watches himself pick you up bridal style and carry you back down the aisle, shouting at everyone not to wait up. The sound of you giggling in his arms is one that brings him back – and he realizes he’s been holding you tighter while your haphazard wedding ceremony plays out on screen.
You fluster, hearing the comments that the party that had come with you are saying. You bite your lip and your face feels like it's on fire when they start making bets on how long before you announce a baby. Your eyes dart over to Marcus's and you see his own widen behind his glasses, the thought of birth control obviously one that had just hit him. You take mercy on him, not wanting him to panic too hard. You lean in to him. "I'm protected." You whisper, hoping to put his mind at ease.
Marcus deflates a little at your assurance, ashamed that he hadn’t thought of that himself. The video ends with Susan and Tim waving your marriage certificate in front of the camera and the room is filled with the sound of flatware clicking against glasses. “Kiss!” Someone in the back of the room spots, and within seconds everyone has joined in.
You lift a brow and look at him in question. It wasn't like you hadn't kissed before. This time you were a little more eager, wishing that you knew what he was thinking when he searches your face before nodding. His hand cups your cheek, and you tilt your head as his mouth slants across yours. Firm and much deeper than the one he had put on you earlier, making you whimper into his mouth and melt against him.
Kissing you had a habit of making the world float away. Marcus had kept himself firmly on the ground in the alcove earlier, but this time you were pressed against him and sighing open to let him in and he melted along with you – much to the glee of the entire ballroom. This time when you parted it was reluctantly and Marcus keeps his eyes on yours, knowing how much softer he looks and feels. Did you actually mean even the smallest bit of what you had said last night? Did you still love him even a little bit or was it the alcohol and horniness talking? Make an honest woman out of me, you had said on that video. He would have, if he hadn’t met Missy’s mother. You were the only two women he’d ever loved. And right now the clenching in his heart told him he might have meant it when he said he loved you. Or at least, he was falling back in love with you.
You tuck your head under his chin, shy from how much you had let yourself slip into the kiss. Feeling like it had been real while he was kissing you. Your heart aches, wishing that everything that had been said in that video had been real, but you couldn't be sure. You sigh quietly when his arms tighten around you as the rest of the room finally quiets down. "Now lovebirds, as a gift to you, we have booked you two a few extra days here and changed your flights. So you can enjoy a proper honeymoon." John announces, making your eyes widen. "Some of us have bets on when there will be another announcement." He chuckles.
“It’s okay,” Marcus whispers to you. His arms squeeze you close and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It gives us time to figure this out.” Figure it out. Marcus can feel how wrong the words came out, but he doesn’t know what to say to fix it. You would want out of all of this as soon as possible, but since there were probably twice as many divorce lawyers in Vegas as there were chapels, he was sure you’d be out of the woods in no time. He would apologize profusely to Missy and nurse a severely sad heart at home. He had never wanted to do anything to hurt you and now he’d done it twice – breaking up with you and somehow getting you into a marriage that you’d only agreed to because you were drunk.
From the side of the little stage, Tim hands him a room key with a wink. “And there’s a surprise waiting for you there!” He announces to the room. Your eyes widen, half afraid of what kind of surprise there is.
“Well, I guess that’s our queue to leave.” Marcus says playfully, taking your hand again and making everyone laugh. He leans into the microphone and tells the crowd: “Thank you, this will definitely be a reunion we will never forget.” Talk about the understatement of the year. And severely ironic.
John shoos you off the stage. “We wish you both the best of luck and get out of here! Go make babies!” He jokes, making you fluster and you can see Marcus’s ears burning.
______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide​ @elegantduckturtle  ​
My Masterlist!
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chronically-ghosted · 3 months
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Have Yourself a Moreno Little Christmas
rating: T
pairing: marcus moreno x f!reader
word count: 6K
summary: when the Morenos' happy Christmas is in jeopardy, you think quick and invite them on a trip to an old family tradition. If he’s grateful, would it be safe to tell him how you feel? But why do you think he might already know? What if he feels the same way?
warnings: heavily influenced by the movie While You Were Sleeping, your typical amount of angst for a romcom, mutual pining, ballet in the park, a moody pre-teen, brief discussions of losing a loved one (parent/partner), bad dad jokes, canoodling in the park, one steamy kiss and a few other softer ones
a/n: Happy Secret Santa @noisynaia! You had Marcus M as your number one Pedro boy of choice, and given that I’d never written for him before, I wanted to do something wholesome and sweet in the world of super heroes. The Nutcracker has always been near and dear to me so I hope you like this take on it! @pedrostories
This will be my last fic of 2023 so - much love, stay warm, and happy holidays! 🤍Masterlist
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What do you get a man who has everything for Christmas? A tie? A money clip? Something aggressively manly that smells like woodsmoke, patchouli oil, and the raw sweat of a lumberjack after felling a thousand forests?
What do you get a superhero for Christmas? Indestructible tights? A decorative plaque for his swords? A life-time supply of gauze and iodine? 
What do you get for your boss, superpowered and single, with the ability to turn a paperclip into a rose? A silver ball into a flat pancake? Decorative swords into deadly weapons? What do you get him that is even remotely useful or exciting or heartwarming when he is so busy with being a single father and mentor, a symbol and an icon, all while running the world’s foremost superhero operation? 
Somehow, “world’s best boss” mug feels rather . . . subpar. 
What do you get him if he’s become one of your closest friends? When you try to wiggle some sort of information out of him about a potential gift on one of the many long nights where you’re stuck together doing paperwork for the UN and the NSA – but he is annoyingly vague. 
His daughter – a fiery mix of headstrong and thoughtful, soothed by a loving kindness that clearly runs in the family – is no help. She teases you with promises “oh yeah, definitely get him a new spatula” when you both know the man has never been anywhere near a BBQ grill. You give her the rest of the Reeses that didn’t make it into the community candy bowl anyway. 
You can’t ask for ideas from his mother, or his teammates, the security guards at the headquarter doors, anyone with eyes (who’s not ten years old) because then they’ll know, you sure of it. They’ll see and that’s just not something you can ever, ever, ever bring up because . . . 
What do you get for a man who is your boss, a superhero, a leader, a father, your boss, a very close friend, your boss, someone you very much admire . . . and as a result, have fallen deeply, painfully, achingly in love with?
Your still beating heart on a silver platter seems like the obvious choice. A bowl of your tears for unrequited love is a definitely strong second option. A lock of your hair so the FBI can easily identify you as his certifiably insane stalker – there we go, brilliant idea. 
A kiss under the mistletoe? A promise for more? 
That damned mug is looking better and better every day.
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You knock three times, then one more before opening the door. Behind unnecessarily thick glasses, Marcus glances up, life returning to his face when his eyes fall on you.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir, but the president of Belize is on line one for you.” 
The man with sticky, molded blonde hair sitting across from Marcus turns around and smiles. His teeth are freakishly white, all stacked together in tight, proper rows. His suit, freshly pressed and clean of any evidence of interaction with the world, carries a giant button on the lapel: Vote Tine!
“President of Belize, my, my, Mr. Moreno, you are a busy man!”
Marcus stands, his gaze peeling off you to the politician in front of him. “Mr. Tine, I apologize, but I have to cut this meeting short–,”
“Ah, it’s no trouble at all!” He stands, batting his hand through the air. “Just as long as we’ll see you at the next rally, right, Marcus?” 
He holds out a perfectly square hand and with a tight-lipped grin, Marcus shakes Tine’s hand. 
“We’ll see, Senator.”
“Wonderful, wonderful, alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Mr. Moreno . . .” he bows slightly before turning in the direction of the door. You catch a glimpse of him the instant the smarmy smile slides off his face as, with wolf-ish eyes, he evaluates you from your ankles to the candy-cane broach on your chest. You don’t smile as you shut the door after him – as if you’d be bothered by greasy politicians and their wandering eyes. 
Marcus all but slumps back in his chair before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes with his palms.
“Every time election season comes around, they all want the Heroics’ vote. Until Miracle Guy chucks Dr. Evil through the Empire State Building and suddenly it’s ‘we need these vigilantes off our streets’ . . .” He shakes his head and slips his glasses back on, watching as you take the vacated seat. “Sorry, none of this is your problem. What does the president of Belize want?”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” you say, tapping the corner of your pad with your stylus, “his slogan sucks. Justine Tine – just in time. I’m not unconvinced he didn’t change his name for the sake of a cheesy one-liner.” 
A small smile cracks open the dreary look on Marcus’s face. His eyes flicker to the door. “Seems like the type, doesn’t he? I think you’re onto something.” 
“So that’s item one, for the day.” You stand, curling your pad into your arms, you lean on Marcus’s desk, knee against the edge. 
He stares intently at your face. 
“Number two, I just checked our records and there’s no Dr. Evil anywhere in our data banks. The Empire State building is safe, for now, so you can stop worrying about that.” 
You mime-checking off something on your pad and the grin on Marcus’s face softens. 
“And number three . . .” you pick up the phone on his desk, that suspiciously doesn’t have any blinking red lights. Marcus frowns, noticing this for the first time, when you lift up the receiver and drop it down. His mouth parts.
“Belize has a monarchy. A king, not a president.” 
The frown deepens. You wait. And light parts the sky. 
“Oh. Oh – you didn’t – that’s – really?”
His eyes are round, wide, relieved, and you want nothing more than to run your hands through those curls. To rub those broad shoulders loose of their tension. But rearranging meetings and make up fake world leaders to give him a break is the best you can do. 
“Yes, really. The Heroics are prepared to make a sizable donation to Tine’s cause, and he will thank us at his next rally. So, Mr. Moreno, your next meeting isn’t for another hour, how would you like to spend it?” You smile, tapping your hanging shoe on the ball of your foot. “I suggest using it to eat something. Have you eaten anything today?” 
Marcus sighs, eyes falling shut for just a moment. “What, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, would I do without you?” 
You avert your eyes before the heat in your cheeks climbs too high, his eyes on you, and you hop off his desk. 
“Would you, hmm,” you clear your throat, your voice cracking in half, “would you like me to order something and have it delivered, Mr. Moreno?” 
He’s chewing on the skin below his lip when you raise your head from the pad in your arms. Being indestructible is one thing; having his face entirely inscrutable is one of Marcus’s most impressive superpowers. He nods, the look of distant contemplation gone. He flips through a few of the notes you’ve left him on his desk – calls to return, items for next week, reports he needs to sign: busy work. 
“Yeah, uh, that’s great. Pick something up for yourself too.” 
The mood has soured and you’re not quite sure how or why it happened. A second ago Marcus looked like he was going to pick you up and twirl you around the room. Now, he doesn’t want anything to do with you. You nervously tap your stylus against your pad. 
“Yes, Mr. Moreno.” 
You turn to go, his head down, his gaze fixated on whatever isn’t you, when he calls out your name again.
“Oh, um, did you manage to get anything out of Missy abour what she wants for Christmas when she was here last Friday?” 
You pause, remembering the uncharacteristically morose girl spinning listlessly in your chair while you watched from the break room as the hot cocoa warmed up in the microwave. You’d never seen so much as a pout on the girl before and no matter what you did, she didn’t crack a single smile.
“No, she didn’t tell me anything, but . . .” Now this is the part of your job that you loathe the most: trying to figure out the line. You saw Marcus as a friend, absolutely, but it’s not like you went and played volleyball on the beach with him, or went bar-hopping, or whatever it is adults with friends do. You love Missy more than you thought you could ever care about a child who isn’t your own, but you wavered how much to press her on her mood, because how did she see you? Nothing more than her father’s employee, most likely. In the end, you ended up getting one word answers from her until Marcus left his office thirty minutes later. 
But here you go, overstepping boundaries . . .
“Mr. Moreno, is she alright? The last time she was here, she seemed . . . I don’t know, sad?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened, his eyes sharpened. You opened your mouth to profusely apologize when –
“Fuck.” Marcus tosses his glasses onto his desk and buries his head in his hands. The instinct to put your arms around him is so strong you take a step forward before you remember exactly who you are. 
How do you comfort the man you love when you shouldn’t love him at all? How do you comfort a superhero, when he’s a father first and human second?
Keeping the desk firmly between you, you drop your pad onto one of the chairs and as slowly as you dare, you touch his forearm. He leans, not away, but towards you. He lowers his arms as you keep your touch on him. You squeeze once, looking down at his hopeless expression. 
“What’s wrong? Did something happen with Missy?”
Marcus shifts his arm beneath your fingers, his fingers twitching, as if he wants to take your hand but instead puts his other hand over yours.
“This Christmas has just been really hard.” 
The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them: “tell me.”
He looks up at you, eyes warm and wide in a way that only his can. Indestructible in the face of evil, inscrutable with his secrets, Marcus’s greatest weakness is Missy, and he knows it. You know you’re crossing a dozen professional lines leaning over him like you are, touching him like you are, asking him to open up. But you don’t care.
He presses his lips together, hesitant. He won’t look you in the eye. “You have to understand something first. Missy’s mom loved Christmas.”
His hand over yours tightens gently as if he thinks you’re going to pull away. You hadn’t considered it but your palm went a little damp at the mention of her. 
Oh God, you’ve so played your hand wrong.
Marcus inhales, his gaze on your knuckles. “Isabel, that was her name, and every year Isabel made Christmas this big event. And every Christmas she bought Missy a little nutcracker. Missy was barely out of diapers at the time, I don’t think she even knew what they were, but she loved them. Thought they were the funniest things with their teeth and stuffy white hair . . . but he other day, going through the decoration box, Missy found them all and I guess she suddenly remembered all those Christmases with her mom and she, uh . . .” 
He taps your wrist with his thumb, a tell he has when he’s nervous. The seat squeaks slightly as he adjusts himself in it.
“I haven’t been putting out the nutcrackers that Isabel gave Missy. The Christmas after she died, I couldn’t bring myself to put out any sort of real decorations, except for the tree. Missy was so young, I don’t think she cared. But as she got older, she never asked about the nutcrackers so I hoped she just . . . forgot about them. And she did, until she found them last Friday.”
“Last Friday?” You feel like you’ve been sucking on cotton. “Before she came to the office?”
Marcus nods. 
“Oh, M-Mar-Mr. Moreno, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.” 
“She was furious that I tried to hide something of her mother’s from her. And she’s right. I was a coward.” 
This move is an intentional one. You slip your hand out from his and cup his fingers around yours, as if guiding him. He finally looks up at you, guilt and shame and grief streaking his face like blurry rain against a window pane. 
“You are the bravest man I know, Marcus Moreno. You’re a superhero and a single father. Most people can barely handle one. She’ll come around, I promise.” 
You swallow the urge to bring his knuckles to your lips, and instead squeeze both of his hands and let go. You slide away from the desk, your heart tight in your chest when his thumbs pass over the palm of your hand. The look on his face is disappointed, you want to believe.
“Thank you. For listening and, uh, everything else. You’re right. I’ll just . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do but I’ll figure something out.” He leans back, elbows on the chair’s handles. Marcus Moreno, or what you know of him, doesn’t like to dwell, so you watch some of the heaviness shift from his eyes the moment he decides to change the subject. “What are you doing for Christmas? Are you staying in town? Going to see family – or a boyfriend?”
The warm in your chest, lingering from his hands, suddenly bolts across your face. “No, no, um, no, there’s no one –,” Would it be pathetic if you fanned yourself with your pad? God, how does the man work in here for hours with no fresh air? “No, I’m not going home to anyone but I am . . .”
And suddenly there it is. A solution to your Christmas present debacle and maybe a way to save Christmas for Missy Moreno.
You shake your head, beating back the rising heat in your cheeks. “Actually, are you and Missy doing anything this weekend?”
Marcus seems taken aback from this sudden turn in the conversation.
“Um, no. I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“If you’ll let me, I’d like to show you and Missy something really, really special.” 
You swear the tips of his ears go pink. “Uh, okay. Sure. I-I’ll have to clear it with Missy, but yeah, alright. What time?”
“I’ll put it in your calendar.” You smile and slip your stylus back into your pad. “Have a nice lunch, Mr. Moreno.” 
He shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck as you head for the door. 
“How many times do I have to ask you to call me, Marcus? 
You pause with your handle on the door. “At least once more, Mr. Moreno.”
The mug drops to last place.
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Good news. 
If you’re ever stranded on a desert island, you’ll survive because you are already intimately familiar with the taste of your own foot in your mouth.
Why did you open with “Hey Missy, your dad tells me you’ve been having a rough Christmas?” to a sullen, grieving pre-teen? 
And can time actually go slower, when the air is so stifled with tension? When you’re absolutely sure you’re breathing too loud?
You’ve been glancing at Missy in the rear view mirror for the dozenth time in twice as many miles. Her face is turned towards the window so you can’t actually see the murderous rage in her eyes, but oh wow do you feel it. Nevermind superpowers, this little girl could char you to a crisp with her eyes alone. Potential step-mom failure award goes to . . . 
“So.” Marcus clears his throat and you tear your eyes back from the back of his daughter’s head. The fraught silence of the car stretches just long enough after Marcus’s statement to grate ever so gently – “um, how do you, uh, know about this place? Wherever, we’re going.” 
You bite the corner of your mouth. Marcus doesn’t appear angry that you’ve soured the mood with Missy before the drive even began. In fact, he looks genuinely curious, the light in his eyes bright. If it weren’t for that single line between his brows, you assume nothing is wrong, but you know that almost frown. Marcus is anxious. 
Great. 
You settle back in your seat, trying to look as relaxed as you can in a pillowy jacket, your hat and gloves in Marcus’s lap, along with his own. The snow outside stopped falling only a few minutes ago, lining the trees and road with a crisp sparkling white. If anything, it ended up being a beautiful day. 
You flex your hand around the steering wheel, trying to summon courage up through your body like your lungs inhale air. 
“It’s an old family tradition, actually. My folks would take us out here every year to watch . . . to watch the show.” You glance at him briefly before checking to see if that piqued anything from the roiling black cloud in the back. It didn’t. You hadn’t told either one of the Morenos your plans for this Christmas day. “But I haven’t been back in a while.”
“Why not? And please don’t say it's because of work.” The lilt in his voice has you looking at him, long enough to watch a small smile uncurl. You really thought it was impossible for Marcus Moreno to get any cuter, but with his woolen floppy cap covering his ears and the little white bob at the end fluttering in the warm heater air, you force yourself to remember you’re driving a 3000 pound metal death machine if you stare, starry-eyed, for too long. 
“No, it’s not because of work,” you grin back and his own crosses completely across his mouth. “It’s not work related . . . but um, after my parents passed away, my brother and sister moved across the country.” Your hands crinkle around the steering wheel. “I’ve spent most of my Christmas’s alone ever since. Coming here without them, i-it felt . . . wrong.”
In the rear view mirror, you think you see her move.
“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.” The weight of Marcus’s gaze, his own planetary gravitational pull, has your nose drawing down then over. He looks genuinely regretful of your situation and you’re suddenly hit with the understanding that not only did Missy lose a mother, but Marcus lost a wife. 
Hell, maybe you can just continue up the bone and eat your whole leg while you’re at it. 
“Mhm hmm.”
The rest of the car right goes on in silence, except for the faint, ghost-like christmas carols playing from the speakers through your phone. 
When you pull off the dirt road and park your car in the cold grass with dozens of other vehicles, you can’t unbuckle fast enough. The patches of icy dead grass snap beneath your boots as you climb out of the car, and you’re struck in the face with a chilly wind. 
The words are on your tongue as you look at him over the hood of the car, the breeze snagging the little puff ball on the end of his cap, his glasses already misting over.
I’m so sorry, Marcus, this was such a bad idea. 
I don’t know how to talk about my grief or anyone else's and it’s been drowning me for years but I don’t want to pull you down with me. 
I’ll drive you anywhere you want I’m so– 
“Is this the Stanley Amphitheater?” Marcus takes off his glasses and rubs the condensation away. “This is where they have that jazz festival every summer, right?”
You’re so surprised by his tone that all you can do is blurt out: “yes.”
“So cool! I’ve actually been dying to check this place out!”
“Y-yeah?”
He smiles at you and you have to grab onto the door frame to keep your knees from buckling. 
“C’mon, Missy.” 
Tugging his hat further over his head, Marcus lopes forward and then he turns and reaches out for his daughter. The moment arcs, Missy’s stone faced glare demanding that he drop his hand, that he turn away from her, an inch away from leaving a mark that aches in a way that only a loving parent can feel from their loved child –
And she takes his hand. 
You watch them follow the crowd, blanket in hand, just a few steps behind them, and you breathe out.
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Across the stone amphitheater, a low murmur of dozens of eager voices vibrate in the dugout cup of the earth. Children squirm with anticipation in their parents’ laps, couples share lingering gazes over steaming styrofoam cups of hot chocolate, an air of excitement and delight hovering between chapped lips and knitted gloves as the sun arcs lower in the sky. Just in front of the large stage, a live orchestra prepares, discordant cords breaking and rising like smoke. 
A man in a striped hat sells buttery popcorn and sweet, crunchy kettle corn in a small wooden hut a distance from the theater. A few families wait in line, children teasing one another behind their parents, their laughter light on the breezy air. 
“So, what is this?” Your head whips around at Missy’s first sentence all day. Marcus looks at you equally stunned. The blanket you’ve spread across three laps keeps you intentionally close so you have to lean back slightly to see her face.
“It’s, um–,”
“Missy, do you like ballet?” You ask
Beneath her maroon hat, her eyes lift up, her back straightening from its hunch. You wouldn’t call her look eager, but you cannot deny there’s interest. 
She nods. 
“Well, what we’re about to see is a very special ballet performance. Some people who have powers like your dad, they don’t go into crime fighting. Instead, they use their powers to make art.” 
She blinks, eyes widening. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” 
The fringe smile is hidden by a curtain of hair as Missy tilts her head down to her shoes, nodding. Marcus glances at you over the wool of her hat, surprise thinning the lines around his eyes.
“It’s getting kind of cold,” he says slowly, to no one in particular. “Anyone want some hot chocolate?”
“I do,” you wave. Missy nods, grumbling. 
Marcus waves over a woman in a striped hat as she wanders through the crowd. The metal box, hanging around her neck and strapped to her back reads, refreshments. 
He pays for three styrofoam cups just as the lights in the back of the amphitheater flicker and the orchestra winds down to silence. 
Despite the burgeoning chill in the air, and despite the grief dividing yet binding the three of you, and despite the fact that this may be your one chance for Marcus to see you as anything other than his assistant, you’re hopeful. Maybe it’s the music itself, that way that music has to ignite your soul when you need it the most, or maybe it’s the spirit of the season, but for the first time in a long, long time, you don’t feel so lonely. In fact, you can’t remember a time you’ve felt more connected than you do with the people next to you. 
Missy’s eyes are bright, flitting around the stage as if determined to not miss a single thing, the cocoa in her hands leaving a dark rim around her mouth that she is blissfully ignorant of. That already full feeling in your chest expands and you want nothing more than to hug her, hug her till she’s warm and hug her till she’s happy. Behind her, her father moves and it catches your eye.
Marcus has never looked at you before the way he is now. Inscrutable, undefined, but it packs such a punch in your chest it feels like you gulped down your entire cup of hot chocolate in one go. You turn away, fearful of what he might see in your eyes, and realize the enormity of what you feel, how it’s all consuming and tugs at you when you least expect it. 
The music begins to swell just as the sun sets and the lights at the rim of the theater fade. You take a shaky inhale – nerves and excitement and memories good and bad weighing on your shoulders. 
And then it begins to snow. 
But not from the sky and it’s not yet cold enough for the consistent sprinkle. Snowflakes tangle with your eyelashes, in the wool of your cap. Then Missy gasps as a translucent ice crystal the size of her palm trickles down into her lap. Glinting like glass, the intricate design of the crystal flashes once before disappearing – not melting – just gone. Around you, other children hold out, giggling their hands as more beautiful flakes of enormous size flutter down from the inexplicable snow drift. A few adults reach out to grab some that burst like bubbles, a wondrous awe crescendoing across the crowd. 
From the wings of the stage, a man and a woman, dressed in beautiful light blues and silvers, silks glittering with inset shimmering stones, walk across the stage, their arms moving slowly, thoughtfully. 
In sync, they coax the air and the snow follows in a dance of white. Delighted shouts rise up as the snow and ice spin together, arcing and weaving, capturing the essence of a winter wind. The pair on stage bend, their hands flung backwards in a bow and the ball of snow shatters in an icy solar flare, the million white flakes fluttering over the crowd. 
Out of the exhilarated murmur that overtakes the crowd, one noise stands out above the rest. 
Missy laughs. She laughs as she watches a snowflake melt on the end of her nose. 
You wish desperately you could squeeze her to you.
The crowd applauds the snow dancers, bowing again before exiting the stage, as a woman in black steps out. Her short-cropped hair is nearly as white as the snow still melting on the ground and her eyes are crinkled at the edges. When she speaks, her voice booms without the aid of a mic. 
“Thank you and welcome to another annual Stanley Kirby production of The Nutcracker.”
Missy’s smile doesn’t fall from her face. In fact it widens. Your heart is pounding in your chest, as you watch her from the corner of your eye.
“I’ve been directing this play for twenty years now and I can honestly say I find something new and beautiful about it every time. Winter is often seen as the end stage, symbolized through literature and poetry as the time when we humans grow old. But I like to think that doesn’t always have to be true. Spirit, however you like to think of it, is exactly that: an endurance, a bravery, a force greater than ourselves that we can either embrace or let slide through our fingers. We hope you leave today with a little bit more spirit in you. Thank you for coming and we hope you enjoy the show.” 
She bows as two men enter in from the wings, these dressed in brown and green, the crowd clapping for both the director and the new players. 
A little girl, in ballet shoes and a pink dress with ruffles, her hair down to her back and tied out of her face with a bow, joins them on the stage and sits down in the center as the heavy velvet curtains pull back to reveal a backdrop imitating a hallway. With a large door, two round, gilded mirrors and a single chair. 
The orchestra begins, the dancers lifting their hands with a wave of a conductor. 
Shadows flicker at the back of the theater, eliciting shocked, almost horrified gasps from the crowd. But you know what’s coming. You don’t turn around. You smile.
Beside you both Missy and Marcus stare, mouths open, as eleven foot tall wooden nutcrackers amble down the stone steps between the seats, their knees stocky, their weight uneven as they march towards the stage. Their giant mouths creak and groan as the switch on their backs moves without any visible force. The green and red paint shines in the lights from the stage, their silver buttons glowing like stars. The dancers in brown coax them closer with a curl of their fingers and a bend in their arms. They begin to sway and spin across the stage, their legs outstretched and their feet curved into satin shoes, the little girl paying them no mind. Instead, she gets on her knees and waves to the marching soldiers.
More awed gasps as now teddy bears then porcelain dolls, the size of elephants, follow the nutcrackers down the steps, the orchestra keeping time and building a sense of whimsy and joy. The little girl bounds to the edge of the stage as the first wave of soldiers approaches. With a kiss from her hand into the wind, the first nutcracker freezes and then shrinks, the dancer behind the girl flicking his wrist. The crowd hums with delight as the nutcracker, now the size of a toy, floats next to the chair. One by one, the little girl greets the marching toys just before they shrink and find a place next to the chair. 
With the last doll fluttering in the wind as it settles, the little girl spins and twirls until she drops into the chair and seemingly to sleep.
The crowd roars with joy, a thunderous applause swelling in the amphitheater. 
But, best of all, Missy is on her feet, cheering and clapping. Her face glows in the light of the stage, her eyes bright and hopeful, her cheeks pink and chapped. In the shadows that flicker of people moving and applauding, beyond Missy’s curly hair, Marcus stares at you in a way that makes your heart grow bigger with every beat, his own silent music swelling the cage of your ribs. 
He reaches out his hand for you and you take it. 
He keeps holding you long after Missy sits down and the ballet continues.
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A nearby park has set up Christmas lights in the trees and on the pathway. Missy, after promising to stay close, has gone and disappeared in the dark, off playing with a few of the other children who stayed after the show was over. 
Families sit on benches under covered awnings, the dark night cold but not encroaching, a food truck selling churros and Mexican hot chocolate mystifying the chilly air into white puffs as they serve eager mouths and cold hands. 
You walk the lighted path with Marcus, your arm tucked up around his. 
The sounds of children laughing fill the comfortable silence between you two. 
“This is going to be embarrassingly underwhelming,” he says quietly, the warmth of his body enough to keep a shiver at bay. “But thank you. That was incredible. I mean, I’ve seen The Nutcracker before, but this . . .”
He trails off, shaking his head, awe curling his mouth open.
“It’s pretty fantastic, right?” You smile up at him and squeeze his arm. 
He closes his mouth just as his eyebrows jump.
“Kinda makes me wonder if I picked the wrong profession, if other people are using their powers like that.” 
You chuckle lowly. “Ha, as if there’s anything you could be except a superhero.” 
“What do you mean?” The tone in his voice makes you pause. Just around the curve of the path, you’re hidden by silver-dripped trees and frost-covered shrubs. No children run here and the lights on the path are muffled by the overgrowth.
His eyes are dark when you look into them, but dark in the way under the covers of your parents bed is dark, or the dark in your friend’s mouths when they’re torn open with laughter. Dark in a way that holds and comforts and sinks deep. White mist puffs from his chapped lips, nose pink and cold. The lint from his scarf has stuck to the base of his neck. 
“You have to save people. It’s who you are. I don’t believe for a second there’s any part of you that could sit by and watch terrible things happen to good people. Your powers don’t change that.” You swallow, fingering the snaps on his coat as you stand face to face, the decision to say the words on your tongue nearly splitting you apart. “You saved me. If that counts for anything. You saved me from being alone on another really shitty Christmas and I–,”
The soft but determined press of his lips against yours brings silence to the grove, your words dissipating into the air like snowflakes. The whole of the world narrows down to the sensation of his mouth on yours; you forget the cold, the chilly burn on your cheeks, the sweat on your hairline where your woolen cap sits. You forget the sound of people in the distance, forget the lights in the darkness. He kisses like he works, methodically, confidently, and with intention.
His well-kept mustache tickles your nose, his lips a little torn from the cold, but the heat of his mouth warms you to your core. He holds you, his scratchy mitten against your cheek, the rest of him staying perfectly still, letting you savor his touch, commit the shape of his mouth, and by the quietest of moans rumbling in his chest, you think he might be doing the same. 
In the split second where you think he’s going to pull back, he cups the back of your head in his glove, sealing the hair around your shoulders to the collar of your jacket. Emboldened by your soft inhale, he turns his head, opening his mouth and more of himself up to you, and you, in turn, run as far as you can with this. You slip your arms around his scarf, trying to get at the heat of his throat, as he gathers as much as he can of you into him. 
You aren’t sure who eases you both back down from the clouds, who lifts hands and pulls apart, but your mouths separate, your noses inches from each other, and great plumes of white mist rise from your heated gasps.
“So I’m not crazy,” he murmurs, his eyes nearly completely hidden behind condensation. “There is something here. You feel it too.”
“Yes, Marcus, God, yes.” You close your eyes and bump your head against his as he sniffs in the cold, his cheeks flaming.
“That’s what it takes to get you to call me Marcus, huh? A kiss that knocks your socks off?”
You shake your head, laughing, your nose seeking out the solace of his warm skin. “‘Knocks your socks off’, you’re such a dad.” 
“Yeah, I am. And you made my daughter happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. I’ll never forget that.” 
The heavy rasp of his voice has your eyes seeking out his. You can’t quite find what you’re looking for behind the glasses, but his relaxed open mouth, the tilt of his head down to you, begs for more.
“W-wait – wait, Marcus.” You fight the sudden spark of images flying across your mind; his bare hands, free of gloves and mittens and wool, lifts your shirt up and those soft lips imprint themselves on the curve of your stomach; scorching water turns his back bright red as he tugs your knees tighter around his waist don’t worry I’ve got you; waking up to him stretched out naked and loose and finally relaxed. Your heart squeezes at the mere fantasy. Everything you’ve ever wanted, inches from your outstretched fingertips. “Are you serious about this?” 
Marcus grins, kisses your nose, and pulls you in by your scarf, as if you could possibly get any closer.
“Yes, I’m sure. Very sure. I haven’t made a choice this easy in years. Wait, I want to look you in the eyes when I say this.” He lets you go only to smear the condensation away from his glasses. Remind him to wear his contacts the next time you go out in the snow. 
Next time next time next time
“There.” He slips those thick-framed glasses back over his nose and then takes your hand. He holds it near his heart. “I like you and my kid adores you. I’ve been slowly going crazy at my desk, hoping that the way you smile at me is only for me, and that you don’t know anyone else’s coffee order by heart.” You huff a laugh, if only to loosen the knot in your throat. “What? I’m serious.” He chuckles with you before taking you into your arms again. His lips are warm against your forehead. “I’ve had it bad for you ever since you started, but I never said anything because I knew you were new to the city and you didn’t need your boss crypt-keeping on you.”
“I think the correct term the kids use is just creeping, but I get your point.” You tilt your head up into his waiting gaze. Warm like chocolate. Warm like the sturdy earth. Warm like . . . “And if my employment is the only thing keeping us apart, then I totally quit.”
“Good, ‘cause you’re totally fired.” 
You both laugh into each other, mist rising from your mouths, the corners of your mouths splitting in the cold. The temperature is steadily dropping, but you can’t seem to care. In fact, one big gust of wind could blow you away, suddenly lighter than air. 
“So does this mean I don’t have to get you a World’s Greatest Boss gift?”
He kisses your cheek and you feel it in your toes. “You’ve already given me exactly what I wanted.” 
“Merry Christmas, Marcus.”
“Merry Christmas, baby.”
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rise-my-angel · 1 year
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New Year New Games
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Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Female Reader
Length: 16.3k
Warnings: Nanny au, slight canon divergence, reader with powers, mutual pining, masturbtion, angst/hurt comfort, happy ending, smut, handjobs, p in v
Notes: Big thank you to @thewayofthemandalorian for letting me borrow the idea about Marcus's wife and caring for a younger Missy from Afraid To Jinx It 💜
You knew you weren’t getting out of this one. You had already skipped out on the Christmas party, and nearly everyone had commented on it. On the Monday you arrived at work and the first thing Marcus said to you was, “You didn’t come to the party? We- everyone was excited to see you.” Followed by a few vaugley annoyed emails from others in the office about you not showing up. Apparently your presence in the building was missed and you’re excuse of something coming up at the last minute was not accepted. 
Now though? You had been walked right into a trap just to coax you into saying yes. Ms Vox and Lavagirl had insisted in meeting up with you for lunch, claiming it had been so long since they’d seen you and wanted to catch up. You had Missy with you that afternoon, so you hoped she would be a good distraction for them. Failing to remember that she obviously was at the party, and wouldn’t be distracted by her charm this time around. 
“No one has seen you in forever. We miss you.” Vox was unfair. Toning her voice up to sound so sweet and enticing while bashing her well painted eyes at you. Lavagirl was a little more straight forward in intention, but stayed silent to let her friend play the guilt trip game. “There’s no way you aren’t at least a little bit tired of working in Moreno’s house day in and day out.” 
Except that was the opposite reason you didn’t go to the party. It was over half a year ago when Marcus’s wife had left. Signed her parental rights off and moved overseas to focus her life entirely on laboratory research. None of you were quite sure why she had to leave her family behind to do so, but judging by Marcus’s not so heartbroken response you suspected it was at least something that had been building up for a while. 
That’s where you came in. Your ability wasn’t special enough to put you in the prestigious league of Heroics, but kept you around them so long most of them considered you a friend. You could keep it dormant and that’s where you preferred to keep it. Ullr they called you, or when they tried to tease you about it, ‘God of Gambling’. You could use it to win any kind of direct amble, bet, or traditional game. You couldn’t bet on the horses, but you would always win a game of pool. 
Turns out, having such a specific skill set didn’t have much use in a combative world, and more often then not you were designated for office duty. Then Marcus’s wife left, and he found himself with a three year old Missy and no one to care for her when he was gone. So you volunteered. Coming here to only find out that the very team you were hired on to join, had no use for you made you feel left out. 
Tossed aside because what were you supposed to do? Fight aggressive, violent bad guys by challenging them to rock, paper scissors? “If I win six out of ten you have to promise to stop murdering.” Yeah that would solve the problem. So you forced it back, kept it dormant and tried to find purpose here, until Marcus needed help. 
It was a long talk when you approached him about leaving your job here and being a nanny to his daughter. You needed a purpose after the only one you were told you were destined for got ripped away for it’s uselessness. But half a year later you felt no regrets. 
Missy adored you as much as you adored her, and Marcus felt much more like a close friend than a boss now. Which was why you skipped the party. He to you, felt too much like a close friend and you had a bad habit of falling for close friends. 
You spent enough time as it was in his personal life, and the last thing you wanted was to come off as clingy or attached. You invaded their lives, their home enough as it was he didn’t need you in his home for an office party with people you didn’t even work with anymore. So you claimed something came up, but now the two women sat across from you at the tiny round table felt like they were closing in on the lie. 
“I’m not above dragging you out of your apartment by force to get you to go.” Your forehead fell into your hand as you sighed. Lavagirl wasn’t above making a scene and your nerves lit with anxiety at the prospect of being the subject of it. She leaned in across the table trying to catch your eyes. “You haven’t done anything fun for yourself since even before you left. It’s just one party and we’ll stop pestering you about them. Until the next one.” 
Your eyes dragged up to her, flat and amused as you tilted to rest your cheek on your palm. You did have fun actually, both with Missy and the more quiet hours you spent with Marcus when he comes home. Just spending time with him like you were regular friends. “What if midnight’s just too late for me?” 
Now Lavagirl was the one to give you the flat look. “Please how many times did I come back from a mission around eleven at least and there you were still working away? You’re telling me in what? 6 months you’ve changed and now abide by a bed time like a good girl? I can’t even get my own daughter to do that.” 
Your body dropped, eyes drifting off to the side of nothing as you sighed. If you showed up, did the rounds, made an impression as people were excited to see you maybe you could sneak out during a quiet lull when no one was looking. You were quiet for a moment, mind lost in thought as you sat unmoving. 
Vox’s quiet call of your name along with a cutesy “Please?” just sent prickles all over your skin. Raking across your arms and down into your chest. These were your friend’s once upon a time. It wasn’t their fault or choice that Ms. Granada kicked you out of the league. 
Before you could really think about it, a small hand tapped at your arm. You looked beside you to Missy’s wide brown eyes just as bright as her dads. “Daddy says I can come too. I can keep you company if you’re sad!” 
Christ almighty, her puppy dog eyes were just as manipulative as Marcus’s as well. His magnetic manipulation might not have been inherited, but apparently his adorable wide eyed convincing skills sure were. 
You ran a hand over her hair, noting in the back of your mind to braid it when you both got home so she didn’t have snow soaked hair dripping all over the floor. You didn’t even notice that you called the Moreno house home. Not her home, or even their home. Just home.
Warmth filled your heart as you looked at her, and flickered your eyes back over to the hopeful looks of your friends. Answering Missy was easier then answering them. So you pulled her head slightly towards you to press a kiss to the top of her head. 
Pulling back you put a hand over your heart, voice enunciated and exaggeratedly formal. “I’d be honoured Madam Moreno to have you escort me to the New Year’s Ball.” 
Her little face scrunched up in thought, whipping her head around like she was about to reveal a secret only to slide halfway off her seat to whisper to whisper, “What’s a New Year Ball?” 
Grinning, you cupped your hand around her ear, whispering just loud enough for Vox and Lavagirl to hear as well. “Like the fancy castle party in Cinderella.” Immediately her eyes lit up and clapped, voice loud and almost in a giddy ‘yay’. Catching eyes of other people in the cafe, but only attracting melted hearts of you and the other two at your table. 
She stuck her pinky out and waited for you to return it, as she gave a fond smile before looking to the others. “You can’t pick me up though. Give me time to get ready, alright? It’s been a while since I’ve been around everyone at once.” 
They gave you that at least. The rest of the afternoon was easy going. You spent much time in Missy’s room combing through her closet and drawer of little costumes trying to find a pretty dress that sparkled just like Cinderellas. Sitting on her bed, short legs waving back and forth as she tapped at her cheek trying to decide if she wanted a pretty tiara to go with it.  
By the time you heard Marcus’s car pull into the driveway you already had Missy in her seat at the kitchen table munching on baby carrots as you put the finishing touches on her dinner. As you heard the front door open, Marcus sweetly called Missy’s name. 
Her head whipped over to you, hair flying across her face from the swish, eyes wide and begging. Just a nod of your head and she jumped from her seat and ran into the other room. Judging by the clash of fabric, no doubt dashing straight into Marcus’ chest in a hug. You tried not to pay attention, or even look his way.
Hopefully he would make his usual plea that you shouldn’t feel obligated to make dinner, let alone set out a plate for himself and not you. Shake his head at your insistence that you enjoyed it and he’d leave it at that. You didn’t want him to bring up new years and immediately key out whatever lie you’d come up on the spot with. 
You only planned on visiting for a short while, avoid having to interact with him in a fun, champagne fueled get together where he’d let loose much more naturally. You could avoid your feelings when you still worked at the head quarters, distracted by non stop running around and being dragged by your ankles into office politics. Here you had Missy. You were hired to make her your priority so you could shove those feelings aside in favour of being a good caregiver and role model for her. 
But a party you had no obligations, and there would be no filter or work around to avoid him. Marcus wanted you to come to the Christmas party so much, he would be thrilled to see you at this one.
Lost in thought, you missed Marcus’s entrance to the kitchen. His presence only making itself known as you jumped at the press of his warm hand at your back and deep voice rumble in your ear. “I’ve told you, cariño. If you insist on making me dinner when you don’t have to, please make some for yourself too.” 
From the corner of your eye you could see his chin nod out to the only two plates set up one with a purposely fun Missy friendly assortment of food while the other clearly set up or Marcus with a little green bean salad on the side that neither you or your tiny ward would ever touch. “And I’ve told you, sir that I take on enough time with Missy as it is. She needs alone father daughter time.” 
Still not looking him in the eye, you grabbed the plates and swivelled out of his closeness by rushing out the long way to the table. Even a drink set out in a nice glass was there. Leaning down to Missy’s level you put her plate in front of her. “Remember, veggies first. So you can-” 
Her bright eyes shined up at you with a proud smile, “So I can end on the tasty parts?” You grinned at her and pulled her in to kiss the top of your head. You could only see enough of Marcus to know that pulled off his tie and undone enough buttons to let his chest breathe. 
But you still didn’t look at him as you left the room to put your jacket on. Marcus though was faster then you could leave, turning the corner as he called your name. Reluctantly you turned your head and instantly regretted it. His glasses were off so it gave a completely unobstructed view of his eyes that screamed warmth. “Are you going to be there tomorrow night?” 
You told yourself the hopeful look on him was your imagination. “I uh..” 
Marcus closed in on you, his gaze never straying from your shifting eyes. “Her abuela is taking her home if that’s what you’re worried about.” 
Christ how did a man with such a sharp power and commanding presence radiate a sweet energy that it could rot a tooth if indulged in too much. You switched your weight back and forth on your feet, knowing if you lied to him now you would secure him approaching you directly at the party about it. 
So you sighed nonchalantly and nodded. “I think so.” You looked up at him in the most fake casual manner. Maybe you really did deserve to be booted from the team, you couldn’t lie convincingly with a gun to your head. “Hard to say no when Vox gets on you about something, right?” 
His eyes squinted in thought towards you for the briefest of flashes before chuckling. The bass flying directly into your veins and flowed throughout with a guilty desire. A fond smile graced his features as he took a final step towards you, a hand gently finding a spot cupping your wrist that hovered by your chest still attached to your zipper. “I- good. We all just want to see you have fun for once. You work too hard.” 
If Marcus could feel the muscles in your arm tightening, he didn’t say anything. The needy part of your brain just begging for him to slide up just centimeters more and lock his think fingers with your small ones. But you simply finished zipping your jacket up hoping the movement would lose him. It didn’t, his touch followed the trail up to your shoulders only to burn your neck where he moved his touch to lightly cup the side of your neck and just under your jaw. “I’m serious. I want you to go, see everyone again and have fun. You deserve it, alright?” 
The rough pad of his fingers had your pulse explode into overdrive, again if he noted, not a word was said. You needed to get out of there. The longer you felt Marcus in your space, the more his comforting cologne scent filled your nostrils the more you couldn’t breathe. He didn’t wear know how weak being so close made you feel and you couldn’t deal with that right now. 
So you just forced a tight closed mouth smile and nodded. “I don’t know about that, but I promise to stop by.” You turned to open the door, yelling a goodbye to Missy only to be accosted by her tiny frame bumping into your legs. 
“Wait you need a pretty dress too!” Without thinking you crouched down to her height with an eyebrow raised. “The Cinderella ball, if I’m a princess you are too.” Turning in place she looked up to the currently impressive height of her father. “Daddy she needs a matching dress!” 
You laughed genuinely this time. “I promise I have a princess dress that will match yours perfectly.” To be honest you’re not sure you did but a promise was a promise to the mini Moreno and you’d have to spend the afternoon searching for one. 
You stood up to leave again, seeing Marcus with such a warm gaze towards you and what looked like a smile you told yourself wasn’t for you. You looked down at Missy as she gave one last request. “Glass slippers too! For the prince remember?” 
It didn’t occur to you that as she said it, her grabbing onto her dad in a cuddling hug was anything more then just an innocent hug. Marcus knew what she did, but you didn’t. “Glass slippers. Check.” 
Stepping out onto the porch you turned back as Marcus said your name once more. “Goodnight, cariño.” 
You felt your face flush, but bent your head somewhat out of sight. “Goodnight, sir.” Before finally taking off. He was itching to say something about the formality, you just knew it but didn’t bother giving him the chance too. 
On the way home, you ended up stopping by a little dress shop just to see. Missy ended on a poofy sparkling blue dress, much darker like a midnight blue but it was the closest you both could get to the dress from the movie. You already had an idea on what to wear, there was a simple deep orange dress that was a tad bit boring that would have sufficed. 
But here you were, looking for a deep blue dress just to you could make the little girl you watch happy for one evening. You couldn’t say no to her hopeful face, the bright shining one she got from her father and the one you avoided on him as much as possible. 
Settling on one similar in colour, you draped it over your bedroom door with a pair of nicer shoes tucked against the wall nearby. If you turned your light back on, you’d be able to see the dress. Watch as it mocks you for even thinking impressing either Morenos mattered. The love and affection you had towards them was real and tangible, and it just made you feel wrong for ever contemplating dropping any kind of hints. He was your boss no matter which job title you held and having the person he hired to care for his daughter fawn over him wasn’t appropriate.  
That thought though, didn’t cease to creep back into your mind as your fingers trailed down to your clit the longer sleep evaded you. You didn’t start with Marcus in your mind but he floated back in, buzzing your senses and losing your breathe to it. His tall warmth that could engulf you, burying you deep with the deep cadence he spoke to softly in.
Images of a face so handsome that if he worked at a normal office, he’d surely have women fawn all over him everyday. But you saw his domestic side, how his soft features glowed under the lack of eyes and pressure atop his shoulders. 
The more your core tightened in need, the more breathy the quiet noises you made felt. If you made as little noise as possible, even in your silent home, you might be able to pretend you weren’t teetering towards an orgasm at the phantom of the innocent touches he graced you with. 
Not knowing that Marcus felt a similar tightening of his own, only he let those thoughts dominate his mind and felt no shame for what his senses blew over him. 
Missy tucked into bed, he finally found time to wash off the day in the shower. Starting off with no agenda, but as the water grew colder, his thoughts grew stronger. Your wide eyed face whenever he was close to you haunted him. He wanted that look underneath him, on it’s knees before him, and Marcus desperately wanted to see how much he could morph it with wherever you’d let his cock inside of you. 
He begun gripping the base of his cock without much conscious effort, squeezing just tight enough to set the nerves inside him alight. One hand was braced above his head flat against the tile wall, the other keeping such a tight grip he could only stroke up and down slowly. You had never touched him in anyway that could be interpreted sexually but the memory of your hands on his skin burned an invisible imprint on the spots. 
Marcus had cupped part of your face in his hand tonight, he was so close to being able to pull you into him and find out what your lips feel like. Lips that he needed to feel all over his body. A shiver rippled down his spine at the thought and travelled into his cock with a slight twitch. 
His strokes slid faster and faster, never ceasing the tight roughness he held. The throb throughout it yearned to find out just how snug your pussy compared to his own grip. What you’d sound like the first time he eased himself into your pretty body. Marcus thought it would be soft, a quiet, reserved gasp that he wanted to fuck out of your worries. 
His thumb rubbed over his tip as he groaned, the ghost of a fantasy kneeling in front of him. Each rub imagined itself as sweet little kitten licks you’d tease him with. Your alluring eyes shut or refusing to look up at him in shyness there even in his fantasy. 
In tandem with the ghost in front of him, his hand slid down suddenly from braced above him to the shower lever. Just as the image of the same hand gripping your hair and guiding your head to sink down over his cock flashed just as he purposely turned the level to heat up. 
The slight burn from the shock of just too high temperatures so suddenly, the steam fogging up the entire room blended with his groans. Your beautiful self that walked and worked through his home like it was your own, the need you had to take care of even him had his jaw clench at the angry need to make you feel it in return. 
Through gritted teeth his strokes slid faster up and down his cock as your name moaned out from his lips. He felt no shame for how much he wanted his touch to be you, no shame for how much he saved your kind, innocent actions in his mind to jerk off too when he was alone. 
You were a beautiful creature in mind and in body, and Marcus was desperate to prove it. As his orgasm waved through him, the spurts of cum painting the tiles should have been your tits, your stomach even your ass. His cum was on his shower wall when it should be painted all over you. 
Yours was less satisfying. Nothing more then a shiver and dull fire that faded just as unimpressive as it’s size. You withheld his name on your tongue, and as you turned to the side you refused to pull a pillow into you to cuddle. You didn’t want to flame an unfair fantasy. It wasn’t Marcus you were cuddling into you, and you’d end up imagining no matter what if you tried. 
So you fell asleep, frustrated at the your petulant attitude of having to go to a party with people who want you there. Show up, praise Missy for her beautiful princess appearance, chit chat and then sneak out when no one was looking. 
Simple plan, but just like your original plan of being hired into the heroics team, fate would refuse to let it play out as you tried so hard to. 
It had surprised you that your biometrics still worked. You showed up to the outside of the complex with a long coat wrapped tightly around you to protect from the cold, but even in the tram to the main building you refused to let it up even a little. 
You felt exposed in this dress now that you weren’t alone in a tiny dressing room. The deep blue with a shining sparkle felt louder then the amount it even showed of your skin. Your arms draped and covered by it’s long material and the calves sticking out from where the dress landed at your knees were covered in a tight black leggings. You wore no more or less clothing then you’d ever worn in that building but it still felt suffocatingly bright. 
A few faces you didn’t know directed you to the main level where the event was taking place, undoing the front of your jacket as you did so. Trying to swallow the pounding of your heart at how shining it was already. Unfortunately for you, any chance at entering quietly was dashed as soon as you stepped into the elevator. Running in just before the doors begun to close, was a familiar flock of blonde hair and a tinge of an accent that never knew what an indoor voice was. 
“What the hell is wrong with you?” 
Your head fell back with a jolt as you turned partially to look at the man. Miracle Guy held an excited grin and arms wide open for a hug that he pulled you into as he continued his rant. “Half a year we don’t see you and you show up on new years looking like a five coarse meal, darlin’?”
 
Mouth slightly agape, you shook the surprise off your face. “It’s uh, nothing special- your suit looks good, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in just black and white.” You shifted the attention elsewhere, Miracle Guy looked rather handsome, black pants and a white blazer trimmed with a matching black with what appeared to be a casual white long sleeve underneath. And there was no chance he didn’t want to boast about it. 
He pulled back and spread his arms out like a showcase, “My body helped pick it out. I’m telling you he got an eye for flash already.” He put a hand on his heart with a mock act of choked up, “I’m so proud.” 
You half smirked as you rolled your eyes, once again pulling your coat to hide your dress once more as you turned back to the doors. “Good to know that some things never chance.” 
Miracle Guy chuckled beside you, “Don’t worry, darlin’ I guarantee no one around here’s changed since you left. You’re in good hands.” Just as the doors opened, he shoved you a bit to go in front of him completely oblivious that being the subject of his dramatics was the last thing you wanted. 
A skilled hero and good man, but one of the most casually dumb person you know. Passing a newly installed rack of hooks, clearly for the line of jackets currently decorating the entrance hallway Miracle Guy pulled off your jacket with no warning. 
Making you fall back slightly with a yelp, now you were out there. Your conservative skin covering outfit ready to trick you into feeling all eyes on it. Miracle Guy’s hands patted down on your shoulders and walked you forward, the volume of the party just out of view around the corner. “Time to swallow those nerves, gotta show off our sparkling guest of honour in her strangely sparkling dress.” 
You weren’t really sure what he said to announce you. All you could feel were eyes, too many eyes snapping over to you in too many emotions. They all were a blur as your heart pounded in your ears, being approached by a multitude of people. Most of which were your short lived teammates. 
Vox was unfairly stunning as usual yet in gentle muted tones, contrasting with the black dress on Lavagirl that did nothing to take away the brightness of her hair. You were pretty certain it was physically impossible to actually dye her hair. 
You didn’t really like the fawning. It was sweet of them to compliment you, but there was just so many people suddenly around you. Marcus was just out of sight near the other end of the room with a very similar blue blob in his arms, no doubt helping Missy show how excited she was about her dress. Next to him was Ms Granada, probably the one person you wanted to talk too less then Marcus. 
Luckily you were being dragged off closer to the bar area to be persuaded with an open tab. Eventually were you talked into have at least one since it was early on enough that driving later wouldn’t be an issue. For a while, things fell back into a calmer place.
You may just have been able to get out on time. Suddenly your name was being called as the midnight blue blob ran over to you, her dress shining in the light and her hair in a pretty little up do. You tried to push down the thought that Marcus spent time and patience doing her hair up so nicely and certainly not picture it. 
Hopping off the stool, you crouched down to her and welcomed her hug. Fixing her tiara as her impact made it fall off to the side you didn’t see the approaching figure. “And you were afraid you two weren’t going to look the same.” 
Startled by his voice, you stayed frozen crouched on the ground as Marcus picked up Missy, turning her in his hold so she could look at him properly. “Can’t be outshining you now can I?” He leaned in closer to her as she shook her head no, whispering something in Spanish too quiet for you to try and pickup. 
All you could see was Missy suddenly wide eyed and determined looking as she nodded yes this time before looking at you. “I have to go! Secret mission!” 
Laughing you said “okay,” before standing up close to Marcus to give Missy a kiss on the forehead before he put her down. Both turning your torsos to the side to watch her run off across the room to where her grandmother stood chatting with what was likely an old colleague. You chuckled to yourself, the admiration you had for her soared higher every day it felt. 
Braving a chance, you looked back up at Marcus, instantly regretting it. His hair was done, not pristine or slicked back but loose and wavy, the curls on him so soft and appetizing. Just a neat dark blue button up with far too many buttons undone at the chest and sleeves rolled up his forearms and black jeans to finish it off. Your heart fluttered at how handsome he was. 
“Turns out I wasn’t the only one she wanted to match with.” You tilted your head just the slightest in confusion before his eyes took a peek down to your dress and back up, never leaving your figure. In his eyes there was a flash of something you couldn’t quite catch, he was good at reigning himself in. “You look beautiful by the way.” 
Your face fell into a flustered embarrassment as you crossed your arms protectively over your stomach, pointedly not looking at him. “Everyone here looks good.” There was your complete lack of charisma or subtlety again.
Your nerves flickered on and off, unable to decide if you wanted more or less of this unwavering gaze he had on you. But his voice lured you in to look up at him regardless. “I’m serious cariño. You look stunning tonight.” His hand risked rising up to trace his fingertips over the fabric at your waste and ending just at your hips, keeping them pressed there. “But you look stunning all the time, so I guess that’s not really a compliment.” 
Mouth stammering with no sound of words even coming out you pulled your arms in tighter as the embarrassed smile stayed plastered. “That’s rich coming from you.” His eyes narrowed playfully at you as his fingers pressed into your dress more firm, likely now feeling the dip into your skin instead of the fabric. “Women drool over you online all the time, not to me.”
His whole hand slid into place your hip now in a caressing hold in his large, warm hand. He ignored your attempt to lessen the not uncomfortable tension between the two of you, his other hand raising up to tangle a bit of your loose hair in his fingers.”One of these day’s I’m going to force you to finally understand that.” 
Even though he wasn’t near your face you still shivered at how close his knuckles were to brushing your cheek. “Yeah right, you do enough as it is.” 
Hand curling more around your hip you felt a slight pull to move you closer, his hand in your hair still raking through the locks as you wanted but not dared to do to him. He may have already had a drink, he could just be buzzed and sweet you told yourself. 
Marcus seemed to reign himself in as well. Sliding his palm down your shoulder to your arm and letting it fall to the wayside. “I’m glad your here.” 
As if completely oblivious to the tender air between you two, Miracle Guy appeared by your side an arm thrown carelessly around your shoulders enough to jostle you in place uncomfortably. Marcus still with one hand on your hip moving up to your waist to keep you steady as he glared at your new companion. “Careful with her.” 
Ignoring the awkwardness, he pointed at Marcus “You don’t mind if we have our turn to have the guest of honour?” Marcu’s jaw clenched as well as the muscles in his forearms. Miracle Guy now tapping at your shoulder. “We require assistance, someone with your expertise.”
Pushing you now with his both hands on a shoulder each, he turned back once to his clearly agitated leader. “Moreno.” 
Marcus just ignored him. His brown eyes washed over you with that frustratingly addictive allure, “Go, have fun. I can have you later.” Your heart lurched along with a shiver down your spine as those alluring eyes dove deeper into something much greedier, only to be ripped away from you as you were not so gently guided to a green felted table. 
Your entire body sagged at the realization, turning to point and glare at him, Miracle Guy held his hands up in the air. “It was Tech-no’s idea.” Behind you the man yelled in protest. 
“Did everyone suddenly forget what I said before I left?” That was a yes, and when you looked at the table, none of them looked guilty. More excited actually. Cards were laid out in the middle of the table and it did nothing to entice you like the brown eyes somewhere behind you. 
Miracle Guy walked around you to lean up against the table, palms bracing him as he did so. “Come on, Ullr. Whats point of being the god of gambling if you never play.” 
Your teeth bit the inside of your cheek, already feeling yourself let your ability flow through the gates you liked to keep it locked behind. Still, you protested. “I’m sorry did everyone go deaf when I said I don’t like fooling around with this stuff?” 
It was laid out very clear, no betting, no stakes, no money. Some forms of gambling your power simply didn’t work with, but most you did have an advantage that would always secure a win. You didn’t even need to learn or try and finding fame and fortune that way felt like cheating. 
You hadn’t used your ability in any way since you left to be a nanny to Missy. Tech-no leaned onto his forearms resting on the table. “Hey, we only bet bragging rights not money.” 
Your arms crossed, looking to the side as you grappled with using this again. Vox snuck up beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and one at your waist guiding you closer. “One game from the beauty in blue?”
You didn’t feel flustered in the way you did with Marcus. Less butterflies and heat in your cheeks, and more dread and frustration. “I thought you said you just needed my....help.” You weren’t going to say expertise that’s stupid. 
“Some of us learn by watching, teach us a few tricks, maybe a drink, have some fun, sweets.” Vox then slapped your ass gently as she walked closer to the wall beside the table. It’d been half a year since she did that, and now you remembered just how annoying but comical it was. Just coming from her though. 
You tapped your fingers against your arms for a minute. Breath moving faster as your limbs tingled uncomfortably, but you already had unlocked it. It wasn’t something you thought about or even needed to pay attention too. 
Play a bet, and you’d win no matter what. It was a spectacle they wanted, so just maybe you could give it to them and be satisfied enough to let you leave. 
It never sat right with Marcus. Your entire history with the organization. Marcus had been the one to hire you. A series of incidents occurring in New Zealand, rumours of betrayal and accusations of cheating spreading like wildfire amongst groups speculated to be involved in organized crime. It wasn’t necessary to his work at the time, but he liked to keep an eye on things like that. 
Eventually a name kept popping up, a pseudonym that claimed anything they showed up to a hosted gambling event amongst that community, they’d win again and again. Impressing the men so much that they rose through the competitions. Finally making it up to face off against one of the main leaders, and the host of the competition at his private residence.  
The next day, breaking news of a giant raid at the very same home. And only a whisper of someone they called Ullr to go off of. He couldn’t get his mind off of it until he went to look into it himself. A real shock when he tracked this figure down, only to find you in a tiny unimpressive apartment in the middle of a panic attack. 
Apparently being forced into acting as an informant for an organized crime system through a gambling competition was the local police station officers solution for failing to find a reason to arrest the woman who broke up with his petulant child of a son. 
Rest assured, once you realized who he was and the warm genuinity that radiated from him, it all came spilling out of your mouth. You didn’t even live in that country. A small vacation, a small string of dates with a pushy, entitled rich man that had you ending things politely, and suddenly you weren’t allowed to leave. 
Marcus was excited when he brought you back to America. Sure it was where your home was, but he also had been honest about your ability. Honest about wanting to see you find a use for it that didn’t leave you feeling used or dirty. 
But Ms Granada didn’t hire you. And she didn’t want you. So just as quickly as you had settled in as an official member of the team, she kicked you off and demoted you to administration work for the very team she kicked you from. 
He hasn’t seen you use your ability since. Not even as you liked to do, just playful jokes and laughs about it with the your former teammates. One could mistake you for never having it at all. Truth be told he was happy when you told him you wanted the job to be Missy’s nanny. 
Not seeing you everyday? He missed you, and he wanted to make it better but Ms Granada had his hands tied. 
Having you in his home, with his daughter and be in their lives sent his feelings spiralling out of control but still you never used it. And it left Marcus feeling unsettled as he watched you reluctantly sit at the table being dealt cards everyone knew you didn’t even need to look at.
But you always wanted to do things for people to make them happy. Maybe it was selfish to want that all for himself and Missy, but he wanted it all for himself because he wanted to make you happy in return. He wanted you to feel comfortable enough to give yourself to him, trusting that he only wants the best for you like you do him. 
He tried many times to make you dinner before you made his and Missys. But you were strict about your routine with her, and as much as it touched Marcus that you cared he just wanted to see you stop doing everything for everyone else. 
You weren’t happy at that table, but you were there letting yourself be a spectacle for an ability you were kicked out of your dreams for. 
Marcus begun making his way over to the table, circling around so he could see you properly. Drinks and laughs filled the entire area, but you remained mostly stoic. A calm, flat expression as you tried to force yourself into the same joyous feeling but failed. 
The group was having fun, but all you could see was your failure. People looking to you for entertainment that got to come back in the next day and live out the dream they were promised. It wasn’t Marcus’s fault, and you wondered just how much of it he felt guilty for. 
Guilt for rescuing you from an endless trap, only to be overruled before you even had a chance to prove your worth. You felt your own guilt as well. You loved Missy, and carving a part of your life into this small domestic fantasy with her and Marcus filled your heart with warmth. But you also had to watch his marriage fall apart for this little life to happen. 
Had to watch him come in day in and day out and act like normal. Act like it was just some minor troubles, when behind closed doors? He would express to you how frustrating it was, how difficult she was making it and how he was falling out of love for her quicker then it took to fall in love. She wouldn’t grant him a divorce because of Missy, only to walk out months later. Leaving behind nothing but divorce papers and documents giving up her parental rights. 
It was painful, and you didn’t know how fair it would be to Marcus to showcase your feelings for him when this intimacy only came about from his family being torn apart. 
You noticed he had begun to watch as well, but his face as hard and impassive as you tried to be. His brow furrowed in an unknown conflict. His eyes only on you. Not long after he came over, his mother joined passing a now more tired Missy into his arms. Whispering gently into her ear he pointed at the table and described what was happening. 
Her own head fell into where it could reach on Marcus, a hand gently resting curled up on her mouth as she watched you. You had played 4 games now, and still they playfully and harmlessly asked to keep going. So you looked over, a choked up smile on your face at the tired little beauty. 
She whispered to her dad back, and Marcus walked up to you, kneeling down enough so he and Missy were at your own level. His hand was cupping the back of her head, “Someone’s just a bit too tired to make it the entire night.”
You brushed a knuckle against her cheek. “Not waiting around for midnight? Even after all those light movie nights?” You and Marcus both knew that wasn’t true. Some days she struggled to fall asleep without her dad there, and she always wanted to stay up until he came home but fell asleep with her head in your lap anyways. 
She shook her head before wrapping her small arms around Marcus as much as she could reach, snuggling her face into him more. Muffled words came out, but you both were the only ones to hear her quiet plea. “Remember to leave a shoe.” 
Marcus chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her hair. His eyes looking over top his daughter to watch you mindlessly turn to the table and tossing a card play out that had the rest of the table groan in increasing defeat. 
It seems you played entertainer no more the second either of them came along. You turned in your seat, knees now dangerously close to bumping into Marcus. “And who is the prince supposed to be silly girl?” 
You could see her own brows furrow in a familiar fashion. Turning her head so the side of her face was smushed against his she tried to pull Marcus in closer. “Daddy.” 
Your heart fluttered, there was such a frustrated sincerity no doubt the former stemming from being so far away from her bed. Neither you or Marcus looked taken back by how quickly she answered. Missy was a smart cookie, it wasn’t so surprising that she picked up on the yearning leaking from both of you towards the other. 
Your only hang up was how affectionately Marcus smiled at her. He mumbled something to her in Spanish that you couldn’t quite pick up, but the words promise was definitely slipped in there. He adjusted her in his arms, so that as he leaned in close to your own face, it let Missy pause her hold on Marcus to wrap them around you. 
You felt your hands brush just slightly against the bare skin exposed on Marcus’s chest as you hugged her back. Pressing a kiss to her hair, you shivered as Marcus’s fingers brushed the hand at his chest. The slightest of firmer drags against your own fingers hitching the air in your lungs. 
The two of you found each others eyes with a darker emotion behind them that had your heart pumping harder then before. Finally he pulled Missy back into his chest, eyes on you as he leaned more to the ear furthest from the table. 
“I’m going up to my office for a while, okay?” It was something you’d heard many times before, but now there was a deeper husk, thick and heavy with what tasted like greed to the words. You only could nod, eyes no doubt wide and mouth slightly hanging open. 
Your chest heaving just once as you shakily exhaled what you didn’t even realize you were holding. The office that was on the next floor that you knew no one was on. You didn’t want to read into it, but more then once tonight there was a raking of his eyes over you that burned somewhere it really shouldn’t. 
Again, you barley paid attention to what you were doing as you watched him approach his mom, handing the now dozing off Missy to her as he kissed her forehead once more and said goodbye to both of them. 
No one was even paying attention to him, no one but you saw Marcus pause at the door. No one could see the clenched jaw as his fingers tapped against the frame, or the eyes that seemed to look down below your face and up before pushing off and disappearing. 
And no one but the empty hallway saw Marcus groan a strained string of swearing, as his hand reached to his jeans to adjust himself. He couldn’t stay in that room, watching you with with his daughter acting more like a mother then Missys real mom did. Watching you look at him with such bright and needy eyes that he’s not even sure if you realized you kept giving him. Or that gorgeous dress framing you so deliciously in a deep blue that matched his and his daughter’s outfits. 
He adjusted himself once more, the way you looked, the way you looked at him, and how much you matched tonight like a little family causing his jeans to tighten far more then he’d be able to hide in such a crowd. 
Now you were just jealous. Marcus was the one who managed to sneak away with no one noticing, but here you were. Still here, now leaning up against the bar denying any goads to join with more drinks from the increasingly rowdy team. 
You didn’t lie to yourself, it was nice to see them all so much looser then the usual professionalism and serious lives they normally lived when here. It felt much more like just a group of normal friends then who they really were. 
You had checked the clock a few times, and after it hit eleven you found yourself looking around to see if Marcus returned. Perhaps he went to his office to get away from people, did that include you? You practically lived at his house maybe he needed time away from you as well.
But then there was the fire that flashed in his eyes more then once tonight. A fire your imagination had only ever seen in the darkness of your bed in between quiet hitches of your breathe, but it never felt as intense as the real thing. 
Marcus might not have meant it that way, but deep in your subconscious there was a beg for it to be exactly that. Your conscious brain however, disguised it as a concern to check up on him. Just see if he’s okay and ignore the heat flooding your bloodstream, rising a sensitivity that extended to an uncomfortable awareness of how your dress rubbed against your skin like it wanted off. 
There was a melancholy yet liminal feeling as you walked up the stairs. Your heel rising enough from the shoe forced you to stumble a bit and slide your foot in more steadily. You smiled to yourself as you were knelt over, hand pressing the back of the shoe in more. 
Missy was ridiculous. Such a sweet and quiet girl, yet unashamed to be stubbornly vocal about things she really wants. She wanted you around more and more, and every time Marcus was home she always gave you such puppy eyes when you said goodbye. She was so attached to you and you were to her, so much so that on more than one occasion a stranger in public would call her your daughter or vice versa. 
Never once did Missy correct them, and it made you reluctant to correct the assertion either. If your phone wasn’t still tucked away in your coat pocket, you may have considered slipping the shoe off just long enough to take a picture. 
The girl was still a toddler, she still believed in fairytales and neither you or Marcus felt the need to break her of that illusion. 
As you wandered into the office floor, there was a beautiful blue light streaming in from the windows. The snow on the ground let the night sky reflect colour into it’s glow, and it lit up the office you once worked in. 
Tucked away in the corner by the far wall, as a tint of orange that took over the blue reflection. Not a vain man, Marcus’s office was small and cozy. Away from the larger, more lavish offices that the corporate heads preferred. 
The floor was silent as the carpet silenced the echo your shoes would otherwise have made. If you stretched your hearing, you could hear the faint scribbling of a pen, and coming up closer you had just enough of an angle to see his phone haphazardly tossed onto the small couch pushed up against the wall. Sitting on it’s side as it lay on the inside arm, it clearly landed there in carelessness rather then placed neatly. 
Marcus didn’t immediately notice your presence as you peeked inside. His well manicured curls were now tossed around, ruffled and more of a mess like his hands had been run through it. One extra button was undone on the shirt that now seemed to be more wrinkled and wrung around then in front of company. 
His glasses were also tossed upside aside on his desk, he didn’t arrive with them. He must have put them on to work, only to toss then off in another act of unknown frustration. The black rimmed frames always made him look handsome, but there was something about looking at him, bent over his desk, an elbow braced on the wood that held his head up in it’s hand. 
Without the glasses you could see his nose, the length of it sliding down his face and making you wonder why he ever could make negatively tinged jokes about it. 
As your feet patted into the room quietly, Marcus snapped his head up. Your name falling quietly from his lips. “You know people are going to notice their guest of honour slipped away.” 
You bowed your head bashfully, a not so sincere smile falling over your face. “Guest of honour’s a bit of a stretch.” You walked more inside properly but chose to lean against the bookshelf between the door and couch. “I’m more like the entertainment.” 
Your fingers tapped anxiously against the shelf. Muted thuds rhythmically filling the gaps of nothing. 
Marcus dropped his pen, running a hand through his hair confirming it was a mess of his own doing. He pushed back in his seat, but didn’t stand up. His arms crossed over his chest as he huffed out. “I’ll talk to them. They should know better.” 
Smiling you looked away, biting your lip sharply and letting it go as you turned back to him. “It’s not a big deal, they just wanted to have fun.” 
You watched his jaw clench again, paired with his brows furrowing and a distant look in his eyes as if looking through not at you. “No it is a big deal.” 
Pushing up you stood straighter ready to fight him on it, temper his nerves. “Sir-” 
The forming of a shiver in your spine crept to the surface when he stood up, body posturing like he was containing an anger inside. He coped your own position, both of you leaning back once more against the desk and shelf, respectively. “You don’t think I see what’s going on?” 
You hoped he didn’t see the gulp that tried to swallow your anxiety. He continued though. “They keep your nickname that those scumbags called you, Granada kicks you off my team,” His knuckles tightening their grip on his desk with the word ‘my’. “Then you leave, and the first time everyone sees you again they treat your abilities like you’re a main attraction at a carnival.” 
Your nails tried digging into the wood with no avail, “It’s fine Marcus. We tried and it didn’t work out, I may as well use it for fun at least.” 
The darkness in his eyes felt like anger, Marcus though wouldn’t ever direct it towards you. A brewing fire was sparking inside but you were given no reason to take shelter. “Do you?” Your eyebrows raised in question. “Use it for fun? Because I’m willing to gamble that you’ve never once used it for anything that would benefit you for the sake of it.” 
Marcus noticed his mistake as soon as you did. His face falling, he fought back a playful eyeroll as you pulled your own expression into an exaggerated mocking look. “Brave choice, gambling with the only person nicknamed for the god of it himself.” 
His jaw twitched as he discreetly licked his lower lip, head turned away from you. Shaking it incredulously, Marcus walked over to a cupboard, bending down to reveal a tiny safe he typed something into. Amusingly though, a cold steam rushed out along with light from a bulb. Just two shelves were inside, one with what appeared to be beer and two different bottles of another kind of liquor, the top one divided between a small stack of juice boxes and cans of soda. 
This time you grinned fully, watching him pull out a taller thin bottle along with two similarly stemmed glasses from the regular cupboard beside it. “Do all good dads keep their whiskey stored with their daughters juice?” 
He plopped everything onto the table before gesturing to the bottle that was in fact much lighter in colour. “Champagne is very different then whiskey I’ll have you know.” Your condescending smirk lightened the mood enough so a matching smirk graced his lips as he nodded his head back to the cupboards. “The other one’s scotch so that doesn’t count.” 
You laughed looking down to your feet before taking a few casual steps towards him, Marcus not moving to poor anything. Just watching you with a patient smile. You felt a little silly in your sparkling dress again. The rich blue the only thing about Marcus’s shirt that made it stand out from every other range of colour he wore of button up. The jeans were dark and blended in well, but as you stood there in something you spent way too much money for?
Well that uncomfortable itch once again rubbed against your skin in annoyance. You felt far too casual for how good he looked in any normal clothes he wore. Even his tactical wear wasn’t flashy or fancy, just dark and normal only attached with gear and not nearly enough armour. 
It wasn’t often you were compelled to fill the lull with words, but his eyes had softened too much towards you to handle. “I uh- just came to check on you. You’ve been gone a while, thought maybe you were trying to get out of the countdown.” 
Marcus shook his head casually, “Not really, I’ve just had my fill of big parties for a while. Our Christmas one wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” 
Eyes squinting with a head tilt, you found yourself close enough to perch on the back of the chair facing his desk. Still more then arms reach away from him for safe keeping. “I thought..well because you hosted it you would enjoy it?” 
You had seen some of the preparations, but anything you were there to see him work on it he was usually also on the phone arguing with another vendor. “Usually the heads host it, but Granada’s having renovations so it got dumped onto me. Not exactly how I planned on spending the night.” 
Was that guilt you felt once again for not showing up? “Yeah um, Missy showed me the schedule she drew out, told me all about what the movie was supposed to be that day.” You smiled to yourself thinking about it. “I put it on during the morning so she could still have it with someone.” 
That deep intensity in his eyes returned, so you backtracked. Worried you just did exactly what you were trying to avoid. “I didn’t mean, I wasn’t trying to take over your night. I just, she was upset the adults wouldn’t want to watch it during the party and asked if I’d watch it..I wasn’t trying to step on your toes, I know it’s your thing.”
Marcus pushed up from where he leaned on the desk, his arms out slightly to try and coerce you to calm down without coming into your personal space. “Take a breathe, cariño. There we go, you’re alright.” 
You weren’t sure when the room started to spin or when your heart betrayed it’s pattern, but Marcus’s voice was so soothing it pulled it right back down. You nodded as he spoke and took a few deep breaths, his shoulders relaxing as your body did. 
“You’re good with her.” This time you didn’t even nod along to his words to appear polite and civil. There was something about invading in his private life that just kept setting you off. Kept you on a leash and yanked you back every time you started to forget you were here for a job given to you out of convenience. 
“I don’t think there’s been one day after you leave that Missy doesn’t ask why can’t you stay.” He laughs as his hands finds a home on the belt loops at his hips. “And every time shes grumpy when I remind her that you have your own life away from us.” The quiet void in the air was think and suffocating, and Marcus was about to deal the killing blow. 
He moved to pull the stem glasses closer, reaching for something to carefully pull the cork out. You teased him before you could stop yourself. “Isn’t that supposed to be a midnight countdown thing?” 
Marcus smirked, not bothering for any fancy gestures only a simple corkscrew to pull it out. Just like every thing else about Marcus; genuine, refusing to be flashy or show off. “I’ve spilt enough on this carpet. I don’t need to add alcohol to that mix.” 
Tossing the crew out of sight behind his desk, it didn’t occur to you right away the pull and push of a drawer that he didn’t touch. Not flashy. His powers just existed as a part of him. 
Pouring one glass until it was full, you jutted forward starting to protest. Marcus though only poured half. He put the bottle to the side, and gently picked the smaller amount to hand to you. You didn’t like to drink a lot. Not just on an occasion basis, but in amount too. You never told Marcus that, but he knew it all the same. 
Instead of waiting for you, Marcus came to you. His broad body felt like it towered over you with how all encompassing he was. No glasses to obstruct your view of those brown eyes you adored and his mouth just close enough to you that you felt the tail end of his words on you. 
“There’s plenty of ways to celebrate anyways.” 
Your heart constricted, trying not to let the buzzing in your body come from anything deeper. “Judging by the sounds of it, downstairs is about to choose the screaming and yelling option.” 
Sound was more muffled, but in the emptiness of the office floor there was a growing rowdiness in the air. Neither of you were sure what time it was, but honestly it didn’t matter. There was enough alcohol in that party it would say it for you. 
Your eyes narrowed playfully as he brought the glass up to his mouth, “Isn’t the polite thing to make a formal toast, sir?” The sir may have been far more mocking then you’d ever say back when you worked in this very building. 
Marcus just chuckled though. Leaning his lower back against the desk, you didn’t really notice it. But his hand twitched. One part of him wanted to reach out to grab your hand, and pull you close, the other wanted to just pull the metal on your bracelet over so he had an excuse to hold you in his arms to catch you. For now though he chose neither. 
“I’d rather just have your company if that’s alright.” 
Your heart pounded, your nails tapping against the glass as you stood awkwardly. Not knowing where to go or how to sit in case it breaks his air between you. So you nodded, and brought your glasses up together to take a drink. 
Well, Marcus did. You on the other hand bent your head back to swallow the whole thing. Once again, your nails tapped against the glass only now it was empty. Marcus tilted his head before reaching blindly to sit his glass down. 
Pushing up you assumed the hand he reached out was to grab the glass, instead he grabbed the glass with it and turned to put it down as well. While his back was turned though, you felt something non existent tugging at your wrist, tripping you in place only to be grabbed by Marcus smoothly steadying you with one hand on your upper arm and the other on your hip. 
“Do you normally skip giving a girl a little warning?” The play died on your tongue as his fingers slid up to brush your jaw and just under your chin. Tilting it up to look at him better. 
The playfulness was gone from him as well. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” 
“I was kidding,” That was true, but your limbs buzzed too much to pretend like there wasn’t a trembling shiver in your body. 
Marcus’s hand tightened on your hip, not painfully but pulling it closer to him so as he stood he was closer to being flush with you. His thumb reached to rub against your cheek. “You’re nervous.” Too close to hide the anxious biting down on your lip, his thumb hopped across your skin to tug your bottom lip free, never moving it away. Just keeping his thumb pressed against the plushness. 
“I want to show you something.” He rubbed his arms over where they were pressed against your body before circling around his desk to pull out a folded sheet of paper. 
Jutting his head to the side, you followed suit. Marcus spoke without prompt. “Missy asked me if we could see Santa this year. She was so excited, had her in a dress with reindeer all over it, I had to settle her down when she was jumping to stand in line all by herself.” 
Your throat choked up at the pure love he felt for his daughter, how even just a cute memory of maybe a week ago had him emotional. You breathed out a light laugh. “She asked me if I wanted her to tell Santa something for me.” 
Marcus twiddled with the edges of the paper, flicking a corner up and down as tore his eyes away from it to look at you, that expression of adoration never changing. “Told her to draw what she wanted for Santa, in case she forgot anything. Refused to show me until after she already saw him.” Slowly he started to unfold it, sure to keep what was on it out of your vision. “She let me keep it though, just in case Santa forgets too.” 
The joking tone made you both laugh. 
Gently he reached the mere foot gap out to hand it to you, the image on the other side still not visible. You didn’t turn it over right away, just held it in your hands. “I’m not sure I should be privy to such confidential information.” 
Marcus didn’t laugh. Choosing to close the gap by a few inches, his hand nudging the paper up. Indicating he wanted you to turn it over. Speaking low and deep as you did so. “You are for this one.” 
It was in crayon. One image dominated the entire paper, two taller figures stood next to each other with the vaguest resemblance to Marcus, and a woman. A mostly stick hand from Marcus reaching out to a smaller figure that was clearly her. Amusingly noted that she gave herself impossibly long luscious locks. 
The female though, the first thing your brain tried to do was place her mothers image onto it. But it just didn’t fit no matter how you shaped it. Her hair a different colour then her mothers up in what Missy tried to draw as a bun at the top of their head. Which you were pretty sure that woman never put her hair up the entire time you knew her. 
The shape didn’t match either. Thin and skinny like a stick drawing suited her mother, but this was drawn to be a child’s interpretation of curvy. Though it looked more like the wave of a waterbed then a human body the intent was clear. 
Under each person was overlapping scribbles of her and Marcus’s name, and yours at the end. The thing that made this a hint of what she wanted though, was what she drew above you. An arrow with a heart mushed into the middle of the arrowhead, and on the other end was “Mama”. 
This time the shaking was obvious to both of you. Your eyes stung as tears were being refused permission to fall and your next breathe was raspy and almost felt like a subdued sob. 
Marcus wasn’t mad, or offended, or upset. He had looked at that drawing with a yearning that you had seen time and time again when Missy wanted you to stay before her dad even came home. You wouldn’t replace her mom, you couldn’t. It wasn’t right. 
So why did Marcus not protest, why did he look so fondly at it, why were his hands cupping your cheeks. “Look at me, cariño.” Your heart was erratic, but you stood calmly. His eyes all too easy to drown in. “No one is pressuring you. I won’t force you to do or say anything,” 
One hand of his left your cheek to grasp one of yours holding the paper. “Missy cares about you, and I care about you.” Gently he guided your hand to place the paper on his desk and then stayed on your waist as your hands nervously hovered between you both. Not knowing what to do. “You can’t imagine how much I care about you, how often I think about you.” 
His grip on your waist tightening, bunching the material up slightly in his hand. His face leaned into you, shocking your system with how soft and warm his face was compared to how gruff and held back his tone came out. “How little I want you to leave every single time I come home and see you with my daughter.” 
The grip on you tightened, and relaxed completely in seconds. Marcus was still holding something back, but those brown eyes begged you of something. “But it has to be your choice. You’ll mean the world to me no matter what but you have to make this decision.”  
The muscles in his chest and stomach tensed as your fingers found the courage to rest there. Not quite yet ready to hold him as he did you, but the racing of Marcus’s own heart spoke to you when your fingers traced around the chest he teased you with. 
There was a terror that rung through you that you were imagining this, that you’d close your eyes and wind up right back where you started. Or worse, that he’d pull away and be kicked to the curb from another part of his life. 
But he was so close. Marcus teasingly nudged his nose against yours and brushing it softly across it, but never moved his lips to you. He wouldn’t do it himself, he wanted you to chose it of your own volition and it didn’t miss you that despite you being the most anxious and worried about these feelings being reciprocated, Marcus was the one who wanted to be sure. 
Timing had a funny relationship with life. Movies and books loved to play the ‘first kiss at the stroke of midnight’ trope, yet there was nothing but the hesitant stuttered breathe in the air as you leaned up. 
Your fingers grasped the edges of his shirt just a tad bit needier, eyes shut as you closed the distance between your lips with the gentlest of brushes. Marcus barley even got a chance to kiss you back, lips brushing together light as a feather. You pulling away just as he was ready to pull you into him properly. 
But you gave him the smallest of touch, still worried even now that you would be reading it wrong. Marcus didn’t feel the same way. His fingers once again found the bottom of your chin as he now much more playfully brushed his nose against yours. 
His arm slid around your waist to pull you closer into him, chuckling at the light grin you gave him. You more confidently pressed your palms onto his chest just as a rowdy noise made itself known from below. 
The distinct sound of counting made you laugh and Marcus to whisper into your cheek, “What?” 
Fingers sliding to his neck to rake themselves into his curls caused Marcus’s eyes to flutter. “Bad timing. We’re supposed to kiss at the end of the countdown.”
Dark eyes seeked something in your gaze, and he found it. Almost as if each movement was tied to the beat of a number, Marcus pushed your hips back into the wall pressing his hips into yours. Hands squeezing the plush skin of your hips that hid from him, your arms filled with lead. A weight tore them from Marcus’s neck and forced them up above your head and the force pressed them there without mercy. 
Metal bracelets, you didn’t even intend anything like it when you put them on. 
Marcus pushed your hips more into the wall, his breathing heavy in your face as he revealed in the shifting your hips wanting, needing more of the growing bulge that pressed into them.
Your eyes looked into each other, the distinct final seconds muffled but understood below. Marcus raised his eyebrows, and you nodded exactly one. 
If he had planned this part out, he was a genius. Just as the yelling of ‘one’ rang out, so did the click of the rooms lock echo in the air. Before the party below could even yell out their celebration, Marcus took charge. 
Pressing his entire body against yours, leaving no room for even a sliver as he pressed his lips roughly to yours. He moved your mouth the way he wanted, the way he could feel you craved. He held nothing back, the sudden roughness came through by the sound of moans, he slightly wet smack as your mouth moulded against his drowned out whatever was happening in the party below. 
Marcus consumed the kiss, pulling your hips into his strained cock behind his jeans as one hand slid behind to grasp at your ass to keep them there. His fingers digging into the cheek so much that he’d have time later to admire such distinct bruises on you.
Your hands were once again pulled in whatever manner Marcus desired. Forcing them up back to his neck, one of them holding you upright as you felt the scratch of his facial hair if you touched high enough. The other raking into his hair, finally allowing you the freedom to touch him as you pleased. And your touch wanted to scratch your nails into his curls. 
Marcus broke away from the kiss as he moaned louder then even he expected, a harsh “fuck,” following suit. He chuckled, moving to hold your chin more firmly. Tilting you up to look at his him. 
His chest was heaving but the much more swollen plush of his lips called to you like a siren. Your attention tried to slide down to trace your fingers down his chest but he kept your eyes on him. Leaving you only able to try and release each button as you found it until his torso was bare. 
Marcus guided your hands in his, helping you gently push the rest of his shirt down his arms until you had to let go. He was so incredibly broad. It felt as if he was taking up your entire field of view leaving you with the only choice of raking your eyes down it. Broad shoulders and back with such strong arms. 
Arms that made your mouth water, those arms and his abilities could render you immobile, it could leave you at his complete control. But what had your lungs hitching was the softer stomach, a realness without any ego or desire to have that strength just to show off in abs. 
No he was soft, and real, and you wanted to reach out to run your hands over his stomach, but he didn’t let you. Stepping back into your personal space he bunched up the sides of your dress, “Gonna let me see what’s under here, cariño?” 
Biting your lip as you nodded, Marcus knelt down in front of you. His hands smoothing over your calves as he pressed his forehead into your hips. He inhaled trying to find any scent of you, agitating him that there were too many layers. 
He was careful though, starting slow. Lifting your foot up comfortably and slid each shoe off of you one by one, then back to running his hands over your legs and up your thighs. He didn’t let the dress obstruct his goal though. You could see the bumps under the material where his hands explored as the callousness of his fingertips tickled the sensitive skin. 
His large, warm hands suddenly grasped the waistband of your leggings and looked up at you with a murmur of your name. The question was not asked but your, “please” was still the answer. 
Marcus slid his fingers inside a tinge more and snagged the ends of your underwear in his grasp as well, still seeking that yes. Your nails ran over his scalp again, and a full body shiver left him this time. A shiver that had him once again pressing his forehead into your hips, and then yanking your bottoms down in one go. 
The abrupt pull had you jump, but Marcus pressed the bottom of your thigh up so he could lift each remaining pant leg off. Your eyes fluttered closed in a held back whine, missing him tossing your leggings out of sight, and standing up as he clenched your underwear in his fist. Your head was thrown back, and he took the chance to shove what was yours into his back pocket. 
“Marcus, I-” You reached out for him to come back into you. Fingers binding together as he leaned in, pushing your body back into the wall with much less force this time. His fingers traced and brushed your bottom lip, “please kiss me.” Your voice much smaller and meeker then you had meant to say it like. 
A smile formed on his lips, both hands cupping your face tenderly as he went in to kiss you. You gripped his sides, thick and strong under your palms. 
He kissed you with less force, but no less demanding. You let him do with you as he pleased, and gave no trouble when he bit your bottom lip. A gasp of pleasure, and he slid his tongue inside your mouth. Tracing along yours and taking each moan that came up your throat. 
One of your arms reached around his neck again and to press his kiss and tongue deeper into your mouth while the other wrapped now around his waist and pulled his hips into you. The bulge rubbing into you, pressure on your clit frustratingly interrupted by both your layers. “Oh god,” 
Marcus bunched the sides of your dress up, only this time more and more of your bare skin reached his touch. His mouth teased you by pulling away, softening his kiss almost too much and pulling away from your lips. His thumb shifted to rub over the skin of your hips without letting your dress fall back down. 
His touch burning in it’s path you let out a whimper, and once again Marcus consumed your mouth, wasting no time in coaxing your tongue to explore. You could feel his breathing grow ragged, and his hips pushing into you aggressively, making you cry out in need. 
In an instance, Marcus’s patience snapped just a little too much, pulling away from your mouth so a trail of saliva followed his pull back. He gave you no time to think as Marcus yanked up your dress and tossed it out of his life. 
You felt so cold and exposed as he shamelessly looked you up and down, “Fuck.” Ambushing you again he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you again. 
His mouth not lasting long, as he kissed and bit down your neck. The burn from his facial hair leaving your already ravaged neck scratched red. Both large hands reached around, squeezing and pulling with a cheek in each hand. His grip on your ass made him push you into his hips as he pressed into yours. 
Gasping out, “Please, I want to feel you.” You reached to his belt and he paused. His adams apple bobbed and your ass slid from his grasp. Kneeling down you cupped the massive bulge in his jeans, kissing and sucking teases to his cock hiding underneath. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of you undoing his belt, pulling down the zipper. 
Not quite all the way, you pulled his jeans down enough that his cock was released. Right in your face, his tip was red and leaking already, and down from there your eyes widened at the thickness of his cock. Length alone would intimidate you, but his cock was big, so big he’d stuff you full. 
You ran your thumb over his tip, revealing in his moaning and shaking. There was so much precum that you slicked it all over his cock as you stroke him. Slow soft jerks, lubing him up only increasing in speed a fraction each stroke. 
You could tell he wanted you to speed up so badly, you could feel yourself getting wet as you watched your hand try to encompass his cock. Thighs pressing together wasn’t cutting it but you couldn’t stop looking at his cock, your hand refusing to leave either. 
Marcus’s breathing sped up, thighs trembling as you had only just started to stroke his cock anything above slow and teasingly paced. A large hand started to smooth over your hair, his voice coming out in a husk. “Come up here, baby.” 
Gracefully he grasped your hand and helped you stand up, almost like a gentleman would a lady. Just as gentle, Marcus pulled your face in to press his lips against yours. His kiss still full of greed and teeth and tongue, but without the roughness this time. 
Before you realized, his hands grasped your waist and turned your back against the desk. “Hop up.” Just as you tried to hop behind you without looking embarrassing Marcus just grabbed at you, moving you up onto the desk. His eyes memorized by the jostle the quick move bounced in your skin. 
You wanted to trace his own skin but Marcus pulled back to take the rest of his own clothes off. Unsure where to even look, his still slick cock, his soft stomach leading up to his broad large chest, or the bright shine in his eyes, accentuating his face. Your hands grabbed at his waist pulling him to stand between your legs as you slid your palm and nails over his stomach, one of them abandoning the soft issue to slide up the length of his body and cupping the rough brush of facial hair on his cheek. 
“Tell me Moreno, how long has it been since anyone told you how beautiful you were?” Oh that turned him red real fast, the burn in his cheeks a bit of a hint but the blushing design down his chest told an even better story. You smoothed your thumb over the bald patch on his jaw and decided it was exactly where you wanted to kiss him. 
So that’s what you did, leaving your lips to brush against his skin you melt Marcus turn his own head into your neck, leaving a gentle lick and kiss against the bites he just devoured you with. “I’m supposed to be seducing you, cariño. Not the other way around.” 
Thick fingers slid up and down your wet entrance before rubbing at your clit. His hand held you at the back of your neck, keeping you from escaping his mouth as he rubbed circles into you, only leaving just to gather more to keep you nice and wet for him everywhere. 
“You- fuck, you do enough, Marcus. I want to, let me take care of you.” That was the wrong thing to say apparently. His fingers paused, not leaving you clit but ceasing all movement. Instead keeping a steady pressure that had your insides heating up. 
Leaving the back of your neck, he grabbed your chin to force you to look at him. Brows narrowed and a rush fell over you at the serious way he looked at you. “No. You do too much for everyone.” 
Face twisting in confusion, two fingers started to circle your clit again now rough but slow. “I don’t understand.” 
Marcus groaned almost closer to a growl, reaching down to caress your breast, fingers tweaking over your nipple, giving a tug that had you whine. His lips pressed into your jaw and up to you ear as he massaged the sensitive bud. 
“Of course you don’t. You always try to make everyone happy, do everything you think they want. Let me change that, cariño. Please.” Your hand suddenly moved on it’s own from digging your nails into his shoulder blade to the other neglected breast. 
You nuzzled your head closer to his, getting the message you gave a similar treatment to your other nipple, just more apprehensive and gentle then Marcus treated you. He needed you to say it though, he needed to hear you tell it to him. 
You shuddered as he whispered your name into you ear, “Tell me. Tell me you’ll stop. I need you to tell me that you’re going to let me finally take care of you for once. Please?” 
There was a beg in his voice that had you choked up, a desperation to care for you that threatened tears if you said anything more then yes. So that's all you did. “Yes, please.” 
You didn’t even protest that his fingers left your nipple and your clit, instead you sighed out as your foreheads rested against each other, your hands both holding the other at the waist. Marcus lifted his head enough to press a kiss to your forehead and rubbed his nose against yours. “That’s all I’ll ask for okay? That’s all I want, you just like this.” 
Your heart raced as he pulled away, his large hands shoving your legs to the sides even more. His cock bounced in his step as he closed the gap to run the tip over your sensitive clit, and down to smear his precum into your own soaked entrance. 
Marcus gripped the base of his cock and pulled you a tad more to the edge with a hand guiding you on your ass. His cock rubbing up and down, your head thrown back biting your lip to contain a whine and Marcus’s jaw clenched and eyes dark as he watched you both. 
“Look at me.” Commanding, an order, your head flew up to look at him properly like a subject compelled to always follow it’s leader. Brown eyes narrowed as he pushed his cock into your pussy. His gaze watching your gasp, how your mouth fell open from how full he stretched you. It soaked you all that much more how badly he wanted to see you not just feel you. 
You held onto his shoulders tightly as he just pushed inside. Sliding against your warm walls until he was as deep as you could let him be. Your nerves were on overdrive, you could feel so much of him it drove you crazy. “Marcus,”  you managed to whimper out, but that sweet simmer flared back up into an inferno. 
Marcus pulled back before slamming harshly back inside of you, his lips shoving against yours in tandem. Your lips let his tongue explore you however he wanted, all you could focus on was trying desperately to keep up with the pounding of his cock. 
Each slap of his skin against yours may was well been a scream in an echo chamber. It bounced off the walls and back into your ears. You felt that burning need inside you as he slid inside you. Both of his arms wrapped around you as he kissed you
Surprisingly, he used his position to pull you up with him as he sat back in his chair. His cock still deep inside your cunt, slid even further as he bounced you down onto him completely. You cried out and Marcus instantly raked through your hair with gentle shushes. 
Rising up just enough to feel his cock stroke your inner walls so sharply you moaned out his name. Your hips were commandeered as he started to bounce you up and down his cock. The coarse hair around his cock glistened with how much you were soaking his lap. 
Marcus thrusted up against such a sensitive spot inside of you that you clenched hard around his cock. Hard enough that he had to push roughly to let him fuck you deep enough. You pressed a kiss to him, but the bounce of you on his cock made it hard. 
Your breasts bounced just as hard and you felt a deer coiling as his cock pulled intense pleasure from you every slide of his cock. His arms pulled you close to his body, your head resting down on his shoulder as he sped up his pace. Fucking his cock up into you faster as he spat out through gritted teeth. 
“Do you know how many times much I jerked off thinking about you?” Another fiery rush blew through you as you were at the mercy of his cock and his words. Both pounding into you leaving you breathless. “Every night stroking my cock desperately wishing it was you. Angry that I never brought you up to my bed and fucked you so much sooner.” 
“Fuck, I did too, Marcus I did to- oh my god,” Your voice strained into a moan as his hands pulled at your ass cheeks as he fucked into you, the wet squelch of his cock drowning inside of you just had you soaking around his cock even more. And his hard Marcus squeeze his eyes shut trying to force words out through every fibre in his body tensing up in pleasure. 
“Take such good care of my daughter, such good care of me,” The wet slap echoed with the pounding of your skin together as he pulled you towards the edge. “It’s my turn, sweet girl. Cum for me now, and I’ll give you it every single day.” 
His shallow thrusts pushed you over the edge, cumming around his cock and crying his name into his neck. Your back arching as white hot pleasure had you holding onto him for dear life. Unruly sounds clawed their way out of your throat and still his cock fucked your soaked pussy without slowing.
Marcus didn’t let up, fucked you with his cock fast, your ass jiggling from the force. His voice finally pitched, stuttering moans as he grasped your hair. Pulling you up to rub his nose against your cheek, no demanding or teasing.
Just a wrecked moan as you held each other, your ears still ringing as you whined. His voice just as desperate as your pussy felt. Muttering Spanish into your skin, only switching back as he gave final pounding thrusts. His cock throbbing inside of you as his thighs below tensed. “Please, hermosa please.” 
The plea was useless, Marcus hadn’t even finished speaking before he gripped your body so tight his knuckles turned white. His cum spilling inside of you, warm and thick and it seemed to just keep spurting as he slowed his thrusts gradually. 
The dark hair rubbing into your clit and how his cock through everything never let up from the sensitive needy part inside of you had you weightless. Floating in his arms as his own muttering praises sounded underwater. 
Gradually though, you felt him again. Hands through your hair and lips pressing against your head as the water drained. His deep voice relaxed, and his cock keeping his thick cum deep in you. Not yet willing to leave the warmth of your pussy. 
You chuckled a bit, pushing past the lead in your brain holding it down to cup his cheeks. This kiss was the most innocent by far. The one you gave him before was nervous, unsure before he ravaged your lips and your body. 
Now though? You enjoyed a tender press against the other, your body relaxing into his, Marcus content with leaving back in the chair with you on top of his cock like a blanket. 
For a while you stayed that way, neither of you feeling any rush to move. No one was going to walk in, and for once, neither of you needed to sacrifice time together for anything else. You kept his cock inside of you, his thickness pushed so deep inside of you kept your nerves alight, and your own walls surrounding him kept Marcus unwilling to let you go. 
“Come home with me.” Your head rushed up to look at him with questioning eyes. “At least for tonight? Missy’s with my mom until tomorrow afternoon.” 
His cheeks were wide as he smiled at you. “I’m selfish, I want to keep you with me for a while.” His hips shifted to tease you, knowing even his cock when soft was still large and thick. “Even if it’s mostly in my bed.”  
You grinned at him, “Now sir, isn’t it a bit cliche to start sleeping with the nann-” You yelped in a laugh as Marcus tickled your sides. 
He held his own smile, unobstructed by anything weight either of you down from days precious. “Don’t start that. You keep calling me sir, and I’m going to start treating the way a sir would.” His eyes were lustful but he jumped to tickle one last spot. Both of you laughing as you ended up collapsing into his chest rather then pulling away from him. 
“Is it okay though?” 
Marcus looked up to you, his thumb over your bottom lip again as you clarified. “Is it okay to come over- stay over I mean. I just don’t want Missy thinking...” 
Marcus captured your lips in another chaste kiss. “Missy asked Santa if he could make you her mom for Christmas. I think we’re well past you needing to worry about your place in our lives.” 
You knew he meant it this time. There was an affection in his eyes for those he loved, a soft kindness that shined through every aspect about him. But there also was a tiny possessive voice in the back of his head you were starting to understand. 
One that he let out as he fucked you, but also maybe a quieter one that associated possessiveness over you to wanting to ensure you knew you belong. Neither of you were people who felt things lightly, and the time it took to tear your lips apart long enough to even pull his cock from your pussy spoke miles about how little either of you wanted to pretend otherwise anymore. 
To the parties credit, no one really noticed in the end that you left. They also didn’t notice that Marcus had an arm around you the entire time, holding your coat out to put over you. Nothing but an empty parking lot also got to witness Marcus’s rare moment of embarrassment. 
Both of you had debated where to stop and grab something to eat. Stuck between two options, Marcus did what Missy always tried with him. Rock, paper scissors. It took 5 whole tries for him to remember how stupid he was. You didn’t even glance at your hands whatsoever the entire time. Just watching him with a fond but amused expression as he looked up from your constant wins to your smug smile.
Lucky indeed that no one was around to notice him growling out what a brat you were as he gave you a greedy kiss, pushing you up against his car in another lack of self control. 
They didn’t need to know right now. You cared about them, but it was also a memory of a life you never got to live up to. 
The rest of the night truth be told was uneventful. You ate some late night garbage, and didn’t make it much further then Marcus helping you both get ready for bed. Only stopping briefly to pull you back into his chest, watching you brush your teeth in the mirror draped in one of his tee shirts. Your head nuzzled back into him as he leaned and pressed greedy kisses into your neck. 
You passed out in his arms rather quickly. Marcus though, watched your peaceful face for a while. Stroking your hair as he did so. 
He wondered if he should feel guilty for how perfect this felt, how perfect it worked out. He found you hoping to guide you into a companionship in the very team he leaded, only to watch your dreams crumble while the facade of his happy marriage finally exposed itself. 
He laughed to himself, your smug little smirk as he realized how much you just played him for laughs. A way you hadn’t used your ability in longer then he could think of. Maybe it was a start. 
Marcus didn’t work in the field for the Heroics anymore, and you were finding a life outside of that at the same time. If he weren’t needy or selfish, Marcus would feel guilty for how his love only found yours through your dreams dashed. 
But, you used your ability in the parking lot with him, not to play entertainment, not to be a useful spectacle. No you did it just for fun, to make you giggle and you laughed even harder seeing that he was just as cutely amused as you were. 
It was a step in the right direction, and now you both had each other to support that from now on. Missy as well. God knows the second she found out about you both, Marcus knew she was going to try and throw a parade about it. 
She didn’t see you as trying to replace her mother, neither did Marcus and neither did his own mother. Missy started to call you mom nervously when you weren’t around, and Marcus slipped up more then once about it as well.
So he pulled you close into his chest more. Kissing your sleeping forehead, before nuzzling into you back. Your arms wrapped around each other was the best take away from this night there could be.
You were part of their family now, part of their love. That’s all that mattered. 
263 notes · View notes
missredherring · 2 months
Text
M.M. + "This is going a bit too fast."
Marcus Moreno x Female Reader
Rating: M
Word Count: 212
Contents: grinding. dirty talk.
A/N: This is the prompt where I thought "These are going to get repetitive, aren't they?" and then decided to do as @oonajaeadira would and think outside the box for the other prompts. This is also the last one of these prompts I have already written.
Just gritting my teeth and reminding myself that it's ok to use "look at him" twice. It's fine.
Not beta'd. Any mistakes are my own.
Summary: "This is going a bit too fast."
Series Masterlist
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Leaning back, you take a look at him. He’s visibly swallowing, a flush creeping up the neck you’d been attending to. His hands are firm on your thighs, literally slowing your roll. You can feel him hard under you. You want this; you want him.
“What's wrong? Do you want to stop?” You ask him. He huffs.
“I was going to ask you the same,” Marcus licks his lips. “Are you ok? I–” He stops himself, swallowing down the rest of his sentence.
You press a kiss to one cheek and then the other, savoring the warmth of his skin. A light tug on his earlobe makes him jolt under you, and you deliver your next words directly into his ear.
“Honey. You’re driving me nuts,” You say, and rock your hips. “The way I can feel my lips part,” Rock. “Drenching my underwear,” Rock. “It’s so wet over you,” Rock. ”I want you so bad.”
You can see the blush spread all the way up to the tip of his ear. When you look at him again his eyes are even darker from how much his pupils have dilated. 
“Fuck me.” He mutters.
You laugh and brush your nose along his, following the line down to his lips.
“I’m trying, Marcus.”
30 notes · View notes
chaoticgeminate · 6 months
Text
It's You
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Pairing: Marcus Moreno x f!Reader
Rating: G
Word Count: 710
Summary: Just a meet cute with super dad
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Traffic was the worst.
Returning from a work trip this late at night was more for your own mental health than necessity, you had to disconnect from work and escaping the hotel early was the best way to do it. But this was just plain awful, you had jumped onto a back road to avoid this exact scenario, it seemed you weren't the only one who wanted to avoid the holiday traffic on the highway.
The night air was filled with cicada and cricket song, the puff and rumble of cars and trucks, and the low cacophony of everyone's music melding into one sound. You huffed lightly behind the silver sedan in front of you, watching as a tiny hand emerged from the window to make a shadow puppet on the back of the 18 wheeler ahead and smiled.
The kid was probably even more bored than you were if they were resorting to shadow puppets.
Casually you reached out and matched her little dog face with a snake, since you wanted to avoid using both hands, and the shrill laugh of delight from ahead cut through the boredom as a larger -masculine- hand formed an even larger canine puppet that was protecting the smaller one.
In the glow of your headlights you smiled as the girl turned around in her seat to wave at you, the gesture returned outside of the window so she wasn't blinded trying to see through the lights, and you almost rejoiced when the traffic began to move. You shifted to the right to make a turn onto a different back road and noticed the silver car slowing just a hair.
As you turned off the road you glanced in time to see a man, a handsome man, wave at you along with his teenage daughter. You returned the gesture and focused back on the road, glad for the night being dark enough to hide the warmth on your face. You weren't one to call yourself desperate but the attention of a handsome man making you fluster this bad, a man with a daughter -and likely a wife- on top of it, should not have gotten you this bad.
“Ugh, I just need to get this out of my system.”
♡♡♡♡
Being set up for a blind date was not what he meant when he told Miracle Guy he wanted to be paid back for covering his patrol, the blond hero had taken Marcus’ advice and finally agreed to go to couple’s counseling to repair his struggling marriage. But this? Being set up with one of Heather's friends?
It was a damn shame but Marcus had hoped to run into someone else meandering around the city. But life wasn't some romance novel, and New York was a big state, he doubted he'd ever see that woman again.
Who was she? He could only believe she was kind, fun loving, if she decided to play -even briefly- with Missy. It had already been a week and his urge to see if his dash cam picked up that woman's license plate number had not disappeared at all.
He fiddled with the bouquet of flowers he brought with him, choosing one was tricky since he didn't want to being roses or carnations, it was a bit traditionalist but Marcus hadn't wanted to appear rude to his surprise date either. He picked mums and hoped she liked them, to avoid flowers with a romantic meaning.
The event was casual, an outdoor art exhibit, so he opted for a pair of black jeans with a gray plaid short sleeve, choosing to brush his hair back instead of slicking it to the sides like he did for work, and Marcus was glad he went for the glasses instead of contacts. A blend of super hero Moreno and causal dad Marcus.
“Sorry I'm late, I couldn't find the flats I keep in my car. Heather didn't tell me I'd be walking around.”
He turned toward his date and froze, her shy smile was tinged with embarrassment, and then her eyes widened slightly. His mouth moved before he could stop it, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, and so did she.
“It's you!”
“You're the one from the silver car!”
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prolix-yuy · 9 months
Note
Hi,
For the bangathon:
Could I get Spooning with Marcus Moreno
Please and thank you 💜
Heck yeah we can spoon with Marcus! He strikes me as a boy who would especially enjoy it.
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader
Position: Spooning
Word Count: 1061
Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, unprotected PiV sex (don’t be a fool, wrap your tool), groping, handjob, sleepy sex, cockwarming, soft to feral for all my lovelies.
Notes: This is my first time writing for the other Marcus! It was fun playing with a new boy's energy and seeing where it would take me (hint: someplace sexy!)
The door opens behind you, and instinct has you reaching for the other side of the bed. Normally Marcus is there, strong shoulders sunk into the mattress and messy curls crushed into his pillow. Instead, the bed is empty, cool and crisply made except for where you’ve tugged your corner out. Adrenaline rushes through your body, gasoline on your tongue. 
“It’s just me, cariño,” comes Marcus’ familiar voice, a sigh drifting the words over to you. Your hands stop clutching for the man who shuffles to the edge of the bed. “Sorry for making you wait so long.”
Sitting up, you take Marcus’ tired face in your hands and press a kiss to his lips. He tries to return it with enthusiasm, but the weight of his body betrays his exhaustion.
“I saw a little on the news. It looked scary,” you say, making long strokes from his temples to the back of his neck. Scooting over, you urge him into bed, pulling him down with little complaint. He nudges you to your side and slides in behind you, one arm firm around your waist, the other folded beneath the pillows. His T-shirt is well worn against your back, the wiry hair on his legs tickling yours as he tucks them behind your knees. Another sigh starts to slow your heartbeat.
“A few bad moments. Missy still doesn’t follow direction as much as I’d like her to.” You smile at his fatherly dismay.
“Is she in her room?” you ask, burrowing in to feel the weight of Marcus around you - home - safe.
“She could be painting the town pink for all I care right now,” he slurs, and you take his proffered hand in both of yours. Pulling it to your chest, you let him feel your heartbeat through those talented fingers. “Did I scare you? Wasn’t trying to sneak up.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply, shifting enough that Marcus’ half-hard cock brushes your ass. He groans weakly into your neck, plush lips pressing a messy kiss. 
“Cariño, the mind is willing but the body is not at peak performance,” he sighs, and now you actually giggle at your boyfriend’s exasperation.
“Don’t worry, Marcus, just relax,” you say, sliding a hand between your bodies to stroke up the length of his hardening cock. A warning hum is soothed by another request to relax, and Marcus finally lets his head sink into your pillow. 
His turgid length twitches against your soothing strokes, the miniscule rocking of his hips letting you know he’s enjoying your touch. Hooking your thumbs into your sleep shorts, you tug them down just to your thighs. An exploratory touch lets you know you’re wet enough to take him, and you angle Marcus’ cock to notch at your entrance.
“Cariño,” he breathes. 
“I love you,” you return, and slide him inside.
He always fits just shy of too snug, your bodies coming together in a way that makes you wonder how anyone ever did before. It’s always Marcus, always will be. When he bottoms out his arms tighten around you, a staccato exhale making you reach back to play with his hair. 
“Not gonna last,” he murmurs. 
“Don’t need you to,” you reply, rolling your hips forward just enough to slide him through before rocking back to bury him deep. It’s a purposeful slow pace, one that he’d woken you with before and reveled in how you came so quickly once his face swam into view. Now it’s his turn to be soothed into bliss, proud nose and lips pressed to the back of your neck. Your pleasure simmers in your womb, content to be Marcus’ home as he lets go of everything he brings back with him.
Soon a soft snore puffs against your shoulder, and you have to stifle a snort. It figures you would have a soporific pussy. He’s still hard inside you, so you enjoy his cock a little longer, gently kissing his head against your g-spot to curl your toes. You’ll get off him soon, let him sleep. He must be spent. Matter of fact, you’re also pretty exhausted after that brief scare. Eyes closing, you fit yourself tight against Marcus’ hips and let his broad body soothe you.
When you wake again, you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of fullness. Arching against it, Marcus’ voice chokes out behind you.
“Holy shit, baby, I’m…I’m still inside you. You feel…oh god, you feel so good,” he rasps, snapping his hips forward. Your mind is still a haze but your body is babbling more more more, meeting Marcus’ frantic thrusts that are more raw primal need than the careful attention your lovemaking usually embodies. Pushing up and planting your elbows, you roll back hard against him. He meets your hips with quick pumps inside you, hand reaching around to grind his palm against your clit. You whine, strength giving out and mashing your face into the mattress. Marcus covers you with his body, wide palm braced by your face as he pounds into you. Each explosive knock of his cock into your deepest pleasure centers pulls a wretched moan from you. Marcus tempers them with open-mouthed kisses on your back, scraping teeth and wet trails. Bleary-eyed, you stare at his fingers and brazenly suck his thumb into your mouth.
“Cariño, fuck!” he spits, falling to his elbows and curling his fingers around your chin, burying his thumb inside your hot mouth. The elastic finally snaps, and you cum around him, a weak groan into your hair signaling Marcus’ own fall. He tries not to crush you, but the heavy pressure of his body pulls you back into yourself perfectly.
“Where did that come from?” he laughs, slipping out and turning you on your back so he can fit between your thighs. You join him in snickering, pulling him down for a long kiss. 
“I think my brain was still half asleep,” you muse, fingers dancing on his back as he noses down your cheek to your ear.
“Let’s revisit that when we’re both conscious, because I very much enjoyed it,” he teases. You drift off like this again, sticky and satiated. Your hands make shapes on his shoulder, symbols of protection that only you believe in. It’s silly, but you believe they’ll always bring him home. So far, they’ve never failed you, and neither has he.
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END
LJ’s Bangathon 2023
112 notes · View notes
farawayfromwanting · 8 months
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Title: Super
Rating: G
Pairing: Marcus Moreno/f!Reader
Warnings/Triggers: None. This is pure fluff. Reader has absolutely no description. No use of Y/N (Marcus uses a career-related nickname).
Notes: For @julesonrecord. She knows why.
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Marcus has been on your show before. As the face of the Heroics, he’s often called on when Big News hits and always handles his appearances with charm and grace, keeping the public calm and the story easy.
He likes you. You know this. Your coworkers know this. Your producer knows this. He always asks if you’re going to be the one interviewing him; the answer is always yes, because no one is stupid enough to block the two of you.
“Heya, Superstar.”
You grin at him as you take your seat in the chair opposite him. He’d sent you flowers when you got promoted to head anchor, signed off with, “Don’t forget me now that you’re famous, Superstar. - MM”
You still have the card.
“Hi, Marcus.” You arch an eyebrow at your notecards. “So… Before the cameras go on, I need to know… Why exactly are you here today?
He smiles. His dark brown eyes sparkle, his lips curl as he straightens his grey suit jacket and purple shirt.
It hits you. He’s not dressed the way he usually does when he’s here—he’s not in his black suit, not wearing his signature gloves or his boots. He looks…really nice.
“I’m here to talk about a charity event I’m co-sponsoring with the local children’s hospital,” he explains, his voice soft. “But I also have a slight agenda.”
“Oh?” Your heart is racing with the way he’s looking at you.
He lowers his eyes; bites his plush lower lip nervously. “I was wondering if you’d be my date.”
You stare at him. He can’t be serious. He’s a superhero, for God’s sake. You’re just a local newscaster.
“I—” You stop, swallowing thickly.
“Three minutes!” your producer calls.
Marcus leans forward, and you catch a whiff of musky cologne, soft laundry detergent, and…fruit cereal. “What do you say, Superstar?” he asks, his lips curling. “Be my date? It’s next Tuesday night.”
“For the love of everything holy, girl, say yes!”
You whip your head around at your producer, who’s wearing the most suspicious innocent look ever. She shrugs slightly and you narrow your eyes before turning back to Marcus.
“Yes,” you say finally. “Yes, Marcus, I’ll be your date.”
He claps his hands together, grinning brightly. “Yes! Oh, thank you, babe. God, I wish I’d had the nerve to ask you out sooner.”
“You what?”
69 notes · View notes
princessanglophile · 4 months
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Official List of The Wonderful World of Pedro Fics
Hi everyone! You voted. The full list of which Pedro boys and Disney Princess AUs is down below the cut. But before you look a few things:
I do apologize if I didn't match your favorite Pedro boy with your favorite Disney movie/princess. I matched them based off of what I think would best fit each Princess' story and the ideas I came up with.
If you'd like, I can find some other Pedro Disney Princess AUs and recommend them to you. And I can always write one with the boy and princess of your choosing, just not as part of this series.
I'm also kind of scared at what your reactions are going to be. I really hope to please everybody ❤️
Also, keep in mind, this is not a masterlist. I will post the official masterlist sometime soon. I probably won't get around to this till sometime in the new year. I am swamped with finals right now and my priority will be finishing The Flower of the North Season 2 right after. I will update you on when the first AU will be out.
With all that out of the way, look below at the cut at the official list:
🍎 Snow White 🍎
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👠 Cinderella 👠
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💤 Sleeping Beauty 💤
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🐚 The Little Mermaid 🐚
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🥀 Beauty and the Beast 🥀
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🧞‍♂️ Aladdin 🧞‍♂️
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🍂 Pocahontas 🍂
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⚔️ Mulan ⚔️
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🌃 Enchanted 🌃
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🐸 The Princess and the Frog 🐸
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🍳 Tangled 🍳
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🐻 Brave 🐻
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❄️ Frozen ❄️
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🌊 Moana 🌊
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Some of these may be odd choices, but I promise I got plans 😉
Hope you like these! (And if you don't, that's OK. Just please don't get rude about it).
Feel free to message me in my inbox if you got any questions 👑
33 notes · View notes
morallyinept · 3 months
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CHRISTMAS COOKIES - A Marcus Moreno Christmas One Shot
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Summary: You and Marcus get creative with some left over icing, after he spends the morning baking Christmas cookies with Missy.
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub. Although, Reader has hair long enough to be brushed aside/over shoulder. Images just for aesthetic, no reference to Reader.)
Word Count: 4.3k
Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."
Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.
Warnings/triggers - Established relationship/oral both M & F receiving/food porn/competency kink
NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.
If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.
Author’s Note: Baking cookies with Marcus?? Yes please!🍪 There's a tiny bit of Marcus Spanish, but you can Google it. Reader doesn't understand it so I wanted to keep it authentic by not providing translations.
12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤
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“Morning, you. I made some Nog.” Marcus smiles. 
Those perky lips of his twitch into a full blown beam as he winks at you from behind the dark frames of his glasses playfully.
He puts the hot tray down on the counter and picks up a mug and hands it to you.
“Thanks,” you say, smelling clean and hopefully looking not too dishevelled. 
“Dad and I are making Christmas cookies,” Missy says with a toothy grin at you. 
“I can see that,” you grin back at the state of the kitchen early in the morning.
"Watch it, kiddo. They're hot!" Marcus instructs his daughter as she eagerly helps scoop them off the tray.
“Try it.” Marcus coaxes you, when he sees you staring at him with wide eyes and possibly a mouth the size of a swirling black hole - and getting bigger and wider by the second.
Rows and rows of snowflake shaped cookies are on cooling racks on every visible space on the counter tops that you can see.
Utterly stunned and bewildered, you’re unable to take your eyes off him as he scurries around the kitchen, familiar with where everything is from muscle memory, juggling bowls and utensils through his thick fingers.
You turn the mug up to your lips and almost pass out. It’s your favourite; nutmeg and chocolate flavourings laced within the strong, punchy Nog. And it tastes incredible. It leaves a Noggy moustache around your top lip.
“Oh my God! That’s so good.” You exclaim, looking at him in astonishment.
Marcus places a plate down in front of you. He’s even managed to make you some breakfast.
He simply pads up to you and runs his thumb slowly across your lip, wiping away the remnants and sucks his thumb whilst his eyes stare into you with a cheeky, burning glint.
It makes your whole reproductive system whine desperately at you. 
“You spoil me.” You smirk, taking the cutlery from him he’s already holding out to you as he stirs a bowl beside him with a whisk. 
“I like to look after my girls.” He says with flushed cheeks. 
Smiling, you tuck into the eggs and crispy bacon. He twists the piping bag up after he fills it and proceeds to frost a batch of cookies on the counter top, which has already cooled. Missy then tops them with candied silver balls. 
They work in tandem; precise, unspoken teamwork as they chatter and laugh together. You smile as you watch him finish icing the rest of them; all the while his eyes keep flicking up to you, and you remember that same look in them from last night, running them over your naked body. 
Marcus bites his lip as he concentrates; a nub of icing has somehow managed to work its way across his right cheek, just above that dimple, and he clearly has no idea it’s there - and what it’s doing to you.
You feel your tongue begin to throb, sucking on it hastily inside your mouth and wanting nothing more than to walk on over there and lick it off his face crazily.
“La abuela está aquí.” Marcus says to Missy as he wipes his hands down on a dishtowel after checking his watch.
A knock, and then the sound of the back door in the kitchen opening to the cooing sounds of an older woman with a walking cane entering, stirs your heated reverie.
They converse in Spanish as you stand to greet the woman looking over at you with twinkly eyes and a beaming smile. 
“So pretty,” she cups Marcus’ face approvingly and she takes your hand and pats it gently as you say hello tentatively. 
“Mamá. Por favor deje de.” He’s all a blur as he simultaneously hands Missy her scarf and fishes out some bills from his wallet to hand to his mother. But she refuses. 
“You’re not paying for your own Christmas gift, Dad.” Missy corrects him as both of them stare him down into submission.
“Alright, smartass.” Marcus grins much to the dismay of his mother who sighs and berates him in Spanish for cussing in front of his daughter. 
Missy reaches up to give him a kiss and so does his mother, and he finally ushers them out of the door and turns to face you, his back resting against it and breathes out in some relief. 
You chuckle. “I still can’t get over all this.” You say.
“What?” His features pull into a mild panic.
“This. All of this. You.” You say, your eyes scanning around the organised chaos of the kitchen and the sight of the lounge in the corner of your eye decorated like Santa’s Grotto. 
Christmas garlands are draped over the mantle, complete with two stockings hanging above it; both Marcus’ and Missy’s names are stitched onto the front of them delicately.
The Christmas tree has grown in height and width, seemingly overnight - you don’t recall it being that big when you stumbled in giggling with him in the early hours - and is covered with candy canes and twinkling lights in all the Christmas colours.
Underneath there are presents galore stacked up in little cluster’s and tied in pretty, neat bows. It’s like stepping into all your childhood Christmases - the nostalgia, the romance, completely flooring you.
And then there's him, handsome with dark eyes. Muscular in his black t-shirt and looking at you as though he's hungry.
“I thought guys like you only existed in superhero movies.” You say, flippantly. 
“Funny you should mention that,” Marcus simpers at you and you smirk.
“You definitely had some super powers last night.” You say, as he pushes forward from the door towards you. 
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhm…” you nod as he reaches you. You reach your finger up and scoop the nub of icing off his cheek and suck it into your mouth.
He blushes as he leans in, hands on your hips as you stay seated on the stool, and kisses you gently. 
“It wasn’t too much, this morning?” He presses, tentatively.
He doesn't want to scare you off, you can sense it. Doesn’t want to come on too strong. But the fact you just inadvertently met his mother and his daughter, both in the same morning and both incredibly briefly, pulls at his gut. 
He wanted it to be different. But he couldn’t resist holding you in his arms all night either. Whimpering for you to stay, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drove deeper into you.
Grunting into your ear about how good you felt, how he wanted to come so deep inside of you, and he did after what felt like hours of him pulling orgasms out of you first, with fingertips that crackled and buzzed all over your nerve endings.
It’s only your fifth date with Marcus, and you already feel that pull; that magnetism between you that becomes more solid the more time you spend with him.
Learning about him and his secret talents. He was upfront with you over dinner on your first date, that he had a young daughter and was widowed. He still wears his wedding ring and you don’t feel threatened by it. Instead, it comforts you to know that this man is a man that can love hard and forever. And one that is incredibly adept and resilient.   
You shake your head. “No. I really like this side of you. Competency kink activated.”
Marcus blushes behind his spectacles and you smile. 
There’s so much he wants to tell you, to reveal to you. You’ve no idea that he really is a superhero, and that his hands can do so much more than leave you gasping and panting his name into his bedroom walls.
And there’s so much more that he wants to hear about you too. You’re only beginning to scrape the surface off, but it feels so right regardless. 
He feels right. 
“I’ll help you clean up.” You say gathering your plate.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.” You give him a peck and shimmy over to the sink. He watches you go wondering how the heck he got so lucky. 
He reaches for the piping bag of icing and there’s still loads of it left in the bowl too. 
“What should we do with this, it’ll be a shame to just waste it?” You say. 
“I could make more cookies.” He suggests, and then looks at you as you look at him and it’s apparent to you, that you both just had the same, illicit thought rearrange the wiring in your brains. 
The same thought, that quickly turns to reality, where you’re dipping your fingers into the bowl and bringing them, smeared with the white icing, up to his lips. 
Marcus doesn’t hesitate to open and suck them into his mouth and groans with delight. You watch, enthralled as his tongue slips between your digits as he cleans the icing completely from them.
“Tastes good.” He sighs.
“Yeah? Let me try.” 
He does the same for you with his own fingers, but as you lean forward to catch it, it plops down your front. 
Chuckling, you go to wipe it away, but he stops; his fingers twisting inside of your own, sticky and wet, and relishing the feel of his thumb rubbing against your skin.
You both glance at your intertwined fingers; smooth and slightly adhesive in their stickiness, neither one of you pulling away.
Marcus leans in closer into your intimate space; those brown planets of his penetrating into you. “I’ll get it…”
He bends forward and his tongue makes sweet contact with your skin, sending shivers immediately bleeding out of it.
Your nipples come alive with electricity as it snaps and crackles around you. He licks it away; sucking it out of the fabric of your shirt that’s resting on the top of your bare breasts, which he’d noticed the moment you had sat down at the breakfast bar, and his pants had felt a size smaller ever since.
You couldn't help it, you couldn't actually find your bra when you dressed, searching for it. Deducing that it was probably stuffed down the side of the bed somewhere. All you remembered was him unclasping it and sucking your nipples into his mouth as you writhed on top of him.
Marcus runs his tongue up your clavicle and collarbone, stopping when the milky, sweet remnants of the icing is gone.
“Tastes really good,” he confirms, lingering just inches in front of your face. You can smell the sweetness on his breath; feel the warmth of it on your face and see your wanton reflection back inside his lenses.
He snaps his head back, reaching for the bowl and spoons out another blob, although this time he takes it in his own mouth, much to your dismay.
The way he fucks. 
But then Marcus leans forward and simply presses his lips to yours, dribbling the icing all over them as you’re taken back by his carnal boldness.
Something you know he possesses under the somewhat nerdish outer shell he presents. It’s in the way he moves, the way he kisses.
You can feel it pooling in the corners of your mouth; the cool, velvety texture as it begins sliding over your lips and down your cheeks. 
“So sticky.” He muses with a brilliant grin. 
Marcus hoists you up onto the counter top easily, muscles straining around his biceps. Your legs now dangle off the edge of it and he parts them, standing in between. His immense hardness presses into the inside of your thigh and it feels marvellous.
You remember it, still feel the ache of him from being buried deep inside you for the first time last night. 
He licks the icing off of your cheeks and chin, taking his time in cleaning you up, eyes crinkling around a subtle smirk. 
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you tease. 
“I am. Hard not to when you’re delicious.”
He then darts his tongue into your mouth. The taste of him; the taste of the icing makes your head spin in a syrupy mess.
He claws for the bowl once more, and this time dunks all his fingers inside it, bringing them up to your face dripping with sugary goodness.
He inserts them slowly into your mouth, but not before rubbing them over your lips in a way that would make the Devil himself blush.
You suck them clean, all the while holding his eyes; those gorgeous chocolate eyes that drink you all in. He bites down on his plump bottom lip, watching as his fingers swirl around your tongue and begins to fuck your mouth slowly with them as you suck on them eagerly.
“Does that taste good?” Marcus questions, through clenched teeth.
You nod as you suck his index and middle deeply like they’re his cock, popping out of your lips like a lollipop. He feels it wiggle inside his boxers and you can feel it throb against your thigh.
He looks down at your shirt collar; the damp patch from the previous dollop spilt there like an unfurled rosebud. He strips his fingers fully from your mouth; a luscious blend of silkiness and slight tackiness envelopes them.
He slowly begins to unbutton your shirt, but you stop him; clasping it together preventing him from going any further.
“What if they come back?” You say with a brewing grin. 
He shakes his head. “Trust me, Missy is shopping with my mom. They won’t be back for hours.” He reassures and you drop your hands as he continues to unbutton. 
It’s agonisingly sweet, and as he opens it, your bare, supple breasts greet him, and Marcus audibly groans. Pert, with swollen areolas, looking like a juicy and inviting meal for him to gorge upon to his heart’s content. You rest backwards on your palms and they perk up further for him.
He runs his tongue all across your breasts, licking up the icing and leaving a sticky residue of both his saliva and the icing cooling on your skin. 
He picks up the bowl and pours the icing down the middle of your chest and you can feel it running; making that slow, sweet journey towards your navel.
He reaches a nipple and takes it fully into his mouth; the hard, perky bud of it tasting sweeter than the cookies he’s iced. You can feel it dripping down your stomach and it begins pooling at the waistband of your jeans.
After he’s done a delicious and sinful number on your breasts; each one having their fair turn with his attention, Marcus runs his tongue down the track in the centre of them, looking up at you with those bewitching browns.
You run your hand through his hair, ruffling it up and tugging at the roots inside your grip. He pulls your hips further to the edge of the counter top and slides his tongue across your skin just above your waistband.
“I do.” You agree with hooded eyes as his fingers linger on your button.
“I know you taste better than this,” Marcus says, licking his lips.
You pulse as you recall his face between your legs last night, expertly eating you out as you clawed at the sheets.
You raise your ass off the counter top momentarily as he tugs off your jeans revealing you in a black thong. The same one he took off with his teeth only hours ago. 
He rolls off your socks; bending down so his nose just brushes past the apex of your thighs, the heat emanating from it and the smell of your sex driving him wild.
He tosses your fuzzy socks over his shoulder casually; one lands inside the sink and you giggle.
Marcus picks up your foot and presses his lips to the side of it, all the while watching you. You have to remind yourself to keep breathing as he kisses up the entire length of your leg.
You lay back on the counter top as he stands; resting upright on your elbows as he hooks his thumbs inside the thong and pulls it off slowly.
He stuffs it inside his pants pocket with a wicked glint inside his eyes. “Mine now,” he grins. 
Your pussy is glistening at him and it smells incredibly inviting. The stickiness of the icing has stuck to your skin right above it and that’s where Marcus starts. Kissing you right there, his chin inches from your clit.
His smooches are light and give you goose pimples again. The anticipation of when he will brush against your opening makes you utterly mad.
He runs his tongue around the outside of your mound, all around the skin inside your legs, parting them further to reach inside the crevices. Prolonging the agony before he’ll glide that warm tongue of his all inside your gooey folds.
His head is seen buried in between your legs and unable to escape the view of him no matter where you look.
“Mmm…” You groan, throwing your head back.
You catch your reflection in the chrome pots and pans hanging above the counter top; dangling above your head bearing witness to this incredibly tantalising deed.
It’s shiny with your slick and he bears down on it with his mouth, sending your legs into a frenzied twitch as he gorges.
His tongue finally finds you, darting into the puddle of your sopping core and out again; slipping all over you and lapping you up like a starving dog craving raw meat.
It makes you pant as he spreads your folds open with his sticky fingers, revealing that pert nub of your clit on show to him.
“Oh... God!” You hiss.
“You taste so sweet, querida.” He purrs around your pussy looking up at you, his eyes framed by the thick, black rim of his glasses that get knocked slightly askew as he pushes his mouth onto your cunt. 
He dives in for more; flicking his tongue back and forth over your swollen bundle of nerves. He suckles hard on it, sending you buck wild. Spread wide open before him, you look down to see his eyes meeting yours whilst he licks and sucks.
He reaches his fingers up towards your mouth, still clamped on that sweet spot; his cheekbones flexing from sucking on you hard, and slides them inside your mouth. They taste sticky and sweet from the icing remnants still on them.
You bite down on them gently and see his eyes twitch, driving you further into the walls of insanity.
“M-marcus, I’m gonna come…” You utter, his fingers slipping out of your mouth and fondling your breast; pinching your nipple between his fingers as your legs shudder uncontrollably.
You want nothing more than to press them together, unable to handle it anymore and deny what he’s doing to you; how he’s unwinding you so. It’s too much... too intense - fuck, it’s too-
You begin squirming; the feeling beginning to spew out of your pussy where he drinks like he’s parched from you. Your clit buzzes and ricochets under his lips and tongue as he intensifies on you, swirling quicker, sucking that nub harder.
“Oh, don’t stop! Marcus!” You pant, throwing your head back more and arching your back as the feeling begins drowning and pulling you under, twisting you from the inside out.
And he never wants to stop, never wants to stop hearing you moan for him and gasping his name like this.
“Marcus!” You cry out as you release into his waiting mouth, and he swallows the saccharine juices pooling around that sweet cunt of yours.
He rises, his lips shiny with you and licks them frantically like a man possessed. Not wanting to miss any trace of you.
You look up at him, legs still spread wide and eyes like you’re on some kind of drug binge; high as a kite, soaring in the euphoria of the blast that zapped out of your body.
His glasses are smeared with you, a clear gloss across one of his lenses and he smirks as he takes them off. 
Marcus then begins frantically pulling his t-shirt over his head; staring you down with an intense hunger as you sit upright under your shaky arms.
He unbuckles his belt once he’s dropped the t-shirt to the floor, revealing those toned abs that shape above the small swell of his tummy, and tanned skin you’d glimpsed before; the perfect dad-bod.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Marcus asks in a voice that drips gold honey, as he unzips his pants.
The coil of dark hair around his belly button draws you in, screaming out at you to lick it.
You slide off the counter top.
You simply smirk and pick up the bowl and approach him.
“I’m hungry.” You reply.
He feels you stroke the firm trunk of his swollen cock as you reach inside his boxers. You run your hand around in there whilst slowly tipping the icing down his chest and he shudders.
He pushes his slacks and boxers to the floor, stepping out of them whilst your hand clamps around his thick shaft, pumping him.
He grips onto your ass cheeks, pulling you into him as the icing slides down his torso between you both; coating your breasts and smooshing it against you both, squelching.
Marcus whines, as he watches you take his icing covered cock inside your mouth and suck up and down the length of him; the icing pooling in the corners and dripping down your chin, pelting your breasts.
You lick his chest and run your tongue down the length of his body, all the way down until your eyes are level with his bulging cock inside your hand.
You simply take the bowl and dunk him inside of it and he hisses out between his teeth, jaw clenched.
“Oh, mierda. You’re so good at that.” He mewls, arching backwards; his hands thrown over his head completely beside himself at the feel of you sucking him off in the middle of his kitchen, which is easily a chef's wet dream.
You work his shaft, running your hand up and down, pumping him as you suck deeper and harder. He can feel himself expanding inside your mouth; the feeling amazingly rampant on his dick.
“Oh God.” He growls as he feels your mouth constrict around him. You release him and take him deep again and he begins to clutch the back of your head, greedy for your divine deep throating.
“Take me all in,” Marcus pleads, watching as you swallow him deeper, feeling him at the back of your throat. Feeling like he’s as deep as he can go without choking you.
But you continue to take him further; all the way down until your lips make contact with the base of him and your nose is pressed into the soft fat of his groin. 
He’s gasping; his legs feeling like they could collapse under him at any given moment as you suck him deeper, over and over again. When he feels like he can’t take anymore, you do it again.
Of all the times he had glanced that pretty mouth of yours, he’d never once imagined it could do this and do it so incredibly well.
“I’m going to fuck you so hard after this…” He breathes, losing all his sweet, polite composure as you continue with your momentum, settling into a steady, deep rhythm around his cock.
He feels you giggle; the vibrations of your hum against him feels wondrous. It makes his brain explode, feeling your hunger for it - for him.
Marcus is grabbing at your hair now; winding it around his fist tightly and controlling your depth with his arm, bringing you back to the base of his cock and on tip toes almost as he flexes and rolls his hips into your face as he fucks it.
He feels your hands clamp onto his buttocks and your nails begin to dig into him.
“That’s it… like that. Oh, I’m gonna come!” He whines, feeling himself begin to bubble.
He yelps out in garbled Spanish, as he begins to buckle; his legs spasming as he pumps that creamy foam into your willing mouth and you swallow it down, deep down; savouring his salty taste, cutting through the cloying of the sweet icing. 
He pulls out of your mouth; his come and the lingering sweetness mixing together inside of it, creating a pleasing cocktail that you would willingly drink forever from him with eager enthusiasm.
Marcus marvels at you, helping you up onto your feet and kissing you instantly; his body subtly trembling as he floats back down to planet Earth.
He can taste a faint descry of him on your lips and it makes his cock twitch in satisfaction.
“Well, that was unexpected.” He confirms as you pull apart.
“Mmm, tasty too.” You smile as he kisses you.
“You’re incredible, you know that?” he says, pushing your hair over your shoulder.
“Why, because I just gave you the best head ever?" You smirk.
He nods, considering it. “That, sure, and the fact you’re beautiful. And that you want me. And all this… mess.” He says, waving around the kitchen, but you know what he really means as you watch him blush again.
“I think I’m always going to want you, Marcus.” You confirm, your skin sticking to his as he wraps his arms across your lower back.
“Good, because I think I’m going to always want you too, querida.”
He nuzzles his nose against yours before you kiss him, tasting remnants of sweet icing as he holds you closer against him.
Marcus surveys the kitchen; your clothes in sticky heaps. The counter top flooded with icing. It’s a fucking wonderland of edible kink he never wants to leave. Although he’s dreading the clean up. 
“What was that you said about kink earlier?” He queries. 
“Why, do you think you’ve discovered a new one?” You say, reading his mind. 
“Most definitely.” He nods, licking his lips.
“Food kink activated.” You say, punching the air. 
You run your hands over his chest, smirking and he feels clammy and sticky to the touch, much like you do. 
“Shower?” Marcus murmurs, kissing your shoulder.  
“Mmm, sounds delicious.” You smile latching onto his lips again. 
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12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
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magpiepills · 7 months
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Girl Lunch
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Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY MDNI
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x AFAB reader
Word count:1.2
Summary:Marcus comes home from work for a quickie, the knee pads stay on.
Warnings: SMUT PIV, oral (m -and f receiving), slight don/sub dynamics, big dick Marcus, light spanking, fingering, little bit of edging, etc. reader has hair that can be flipped over her shoulder, but otherwise no physical description. No use of Y/N. No editing, no regard for canon, the armpits!
A word for the author: had to be done. @rarachelchel , @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin this is all thanks to y’all and for my fellow unwitting armpit enthusiasts. Xoxo Bat
Banners by @cafekitsune
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You barely heard the sound of the door closing over the rush of water in the sink where you stood washing dishes, a mindless domestic chore that allowed your mind to wander to more exciting things.
Exciting like your boyfriend Marcus with his head between your legs, lapping at your wet and swollen cunt for as long as he could, until you tugged at his dark curls and begged for mercy, orgasms having started bleeding into each other long ago.
Marcus, telling you his own thoughts of having you draped over the hood of his car, legs spread wide for him, taking everything he would give you while he stretched you with two thick fingers, trying for a third in your tight pussy, thumb expertly teasing your clit while you whined, spurred toward a trembling orgasm that left his hand dripping to the wrist.
You thought of his cock, diamond hard no matter how he took you, slow and gentle in your bed, bodies wound around each other, eyes locked, your heavy breaths the only sounds until your orgasm built slowly and deliberately to crest over you both, followed in quick succession by his own, throbbing inside you, filling you deep, right where he liked it.
Just as hard as when he fucked you with abandon face down on the living room floor, with his knees outside your own, strong hand on your back to press you into the arch he wanted with one hand, smacking a blush into your ass with the other before rolling you over, “Open up, baby. Tongue out. Don’t you dare swallow until I say.”
No wonder that you were only snapped out of your thoughts by the sound of his heavy tactical vest hitting the kitchen floor and his boots thudding toward you.
“Home for lunch? What a nice-“ he cut you off as you dried your hands on a towel and spun you around against the counter. He silenced you with a greedy kiss, tongue filling your mouth, making your knees weak.
“Only got a few minutes.” you knew that deep rasp. Marcus Moreno was a handsome man. He had the sort of face you immediately trusted, someone you’d be relieved to see when you were in need. He was warm and disarming. His thick rimmed black glasses on his curved nose made him look so innocent and studious.
You knew this voice, though. This was not that Marcus. This Marcus had a bedroom voice that dropped your panties with a single syllable. When the door closed behind him, Marcus was insatiable. He needed you like you were his only vice. The vest was all he had taken off. The sight of him in his tight black shirt, snug around his thick, bulging biceps giving you a peek at his armpits when he raised his arms, black pants that hugged his thighs, knee and elbow pads that would have looked dorky on anyone else made him look like he could stop the world from spinning if he wanted to. He was commanding, and right now you were melting under his dark stare.
Snapping into action, you made for his belt while he bunches your soft hersel skirt into one fist and rutted his heavy cock against your bare hips. He moved fast, almost dizzying in his desperation to have what he came for. Your dress was snatched over your head, bra pulled down under your tits, and nipples sucked to firm peaks. His mustache and scruffy beard burned as they dragged over your skin, but it just added to the sensory overload he was raining on you.
“Suck it for me sweetheart. Get on your knees. Come on.” It wasn’t really a request as much as it was a plea for you to submit. You’d never deny the man you loved. Not when you were soaking wet and dripping down your thighs.
Marcus was fully dressed, something you were wild for. It felt extra dirty to be bare and vulnerable while he was in control. Digging down his pants just enough to free his rock hard cock and heavy balls, you took him in your mouth and steadied yourself with one hand on his thigh and the other between your legs. He loves how you looked like this, lips stretched around his turgid member, obedient just for him. He thrust into your mouth, fucking your throat shallowly just a few times, “Good girl. Yeah. Just like that. Suck this big cock. So good.” Such a filthy mouth he had.
He gathered your hair into a messy ponytail, careful not to snag your hair on his fingerless gloves, and pulled you off of him with a moan. He would have loved to coat your throat in his cum, but he was on a mission today and time was running out.
“Hands and knees, honey.” You were on the precipice of your own orgasm and were eager for him to take you over the edge. You flipped your hair over one shoulder and arched your back as deep as you could, presenting yourself to him.
He might have been in a hurry, but he wasn’t selfish. He dropped to his knees, cushioned by his worn knee pads and ran his fingers through your slick folds. He brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. “Wanted this all day. Couldn’t think of anything else. Dangerous to be distracted at work…” he plunged two fingers in as far as he could without shoving his glove inside, but delighted when your arousal smeared over the thick leather. “Marcus, please.” You moaned his name so sweetly. “What do you need? Hm? Tell me.” You whimpered and wiggled your hips toward him. “Need your cock, Marcus. Please. Please!” He loves it when you beg and he loves to give you everything you want. He would give you the world. But for now, he would fuck you good and hard just like you deserved.
In one thrust he was buried to the hilt. You groaned together, him at how tightly you gripped him, you at how completely he filled you. You were two perfect puzzle pieces connecting.
Once you’d had a moment to adjust, he squeezed your hips. “I’ve got to move baby. I can’t wait.” He started slow, with shallow thrusts that let you breathe and feel every ridge and vein of him, every single inch. Your orgasm was building again, the heat growing and growing, and you needed it to consume you. Marcus knew how to stoke the flames, and he moved his hips just so, rubbing right against the unreachable spot inside that only he could find. “Yes..yes..Marcus, fuck. Yeah.”
He felt you drawing tight, and he bent over you, reaching to roll your clit between two deft fingers, reaching to feel where he entered you, then back to focus on your clit. Your heavy, rolling orgasm triggered his own, and he fucked you through it was deep strokes and tender murmurs.
Marcus pulled you into his lap, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead as you both drifted back to reality. “That was incredible.” He was gushing, and he looked so good with his cheeks flushed and his hair disheveled. You snuggled against his chest, smelling his sweat and what remained of his cologne. He really was a good guy. “Do you want spaghetti for dinner?” You asked him, a practical, domestic moment after such a torrid encounter. “No, let’s go out tonight.” With one last kiss, he was back out the door, off to save the world or something, and looking freshly fucked doing it.
@sin-djarin @pedroswife69 @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @imalrightllama @youandmeand5bucks @blueheat1-blog1 @redhotkitchen @sparklefarts38 @arcanefox207
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absurdthirst · 6 months
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Kinktober 2023: October 2nd
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Day 2: Frottage, Sexual Frustration, Virginity
Marcus Moreno x F!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: Virginity, loss of virginity, vaginal sex, unprotected sex
|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||
Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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Tonight is probably the most nerve wracking, terror inducing night of your life. The night you are going to give your virginity to the one and only Marcus Moreno. 
It’s not like you meant to stay a virgin. It just kind of happened. A combination of high standards and concentrating on your work has led you to be a middle-aged woman with no sexual experience. About to try to take this next step with a man that you not only respect but you are really, really attracted to. 
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you take a deep breath. Smoothing down the lines of your lingerie that you had decided was the most appropriate to show that you are ready to do this. 
He’s been amazing. The conversation had been hard, breaking down into tears while you confess the dark secret that you’ve been keeping from the man you’ve been dating for three months. He had not judged you, just wrapped his arms around you and assured you that it didn’t matter to him. He would wait until you are ready to do anything. 
That, more than anything, told you that this was the man that you wanted to give your virginity to. Or, maybe a better way to put it would be that this man is the one you wanted to experience sex with for the first time. 
Now, you feel like you are ready. Every night you spend in his company convinces you that you are eager to take this step. Every lingering kiss, the tension builds, but he still holds back. Ending the make out sessions with one final kiss and then a breathless sigh as he shoves his hand through his hair, shooting you a sheepish grin before he discreetly adjusts the proof of his own desire. 
Taking one more breath, you turn and slip out of the bathroom. Turning off the light and finding Marcus waiting on the bed for you. His own nerves are not on display as he turns towards you. Eyes widening behind his glasses as he stands up. “Wow.” 
The breathed out awe in that one word soothes you, making you smile and giggle slightly as you pop your hip out to pose for him. “You like this?” You ask, watching as he takes off his glasses and closes them to put on the dresser before he steps closer to you. 
“Yeah.” He nods and licks his lips and slowly reaches for you so you have a chance to back away if you want. You don’t want to back away, you want to press closer. 
“Marcus…” You bite your lip and your heart is pounding in your chest. Nerves fluttering and churning in your stomach. “I- I want this.” You had talked about this at dinner, but you feel the need to make sure that he knows that you really do want this. 
“Are you sure?” In front of you is a superhero. A man who has saved the world countless times, has powers that you cannot even match. Yet, right now, all his attention is on you. His warm eyes darkened with desire, and you feel the way that his grip tightens on you. Still, despite his own needs, he’s making sure that you have a choice. 
“I’m sure.” You nod, fingers curling into the shirt on his arms. “I’m really sure.” 
Once he’s given permission, Marcus instantly becomes the lover that you’ve always dreamed of when you secretly read those romance novels. His touch is worshipful as he starts to slowly caress you, his mouth kissing yours over and over again before he starts to trail kisses down your neck. 
Never moving too fast to overwhelm you, he keeps you yearning for more, every perfectly placed touch meant to keep you on edge for him. Your breathing heavy and your thoughts completely turned to mush by every calloused pass of his hands on your skin. 
Marcus hums as he lays you down on the bed, one knee between yours. Hands gentle as he starts to peel you out of the lingerie. Groaning and dropping feather light kisses on the skin that he exposes. Making you feel like a princess, or a goddess as he makes every doubt about yourself fade into the warmth of his presence. 
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He groans, his cock twitching in his pants as he looks down at you. 
Squirming under the weight of his gaze, you don’t feel like a virgin, you feel like a vixen. A seductress that could tempt any mere man and make them fall at your feet. “You’re gorgeous, Marcus.” You pant quietly. “I need more.” 
Being the glorious man that he is, Marcus knows exactly what you need. His fingers sliding  through your folds and starting to rub your clit in slow, tight circles. Your eyes roll back and your moan is embarrassingly loud. Not that he seems to mind, his groan matching yours when his lips descend on yours again. 
You had already told him that you didn’t want him to go down on you. Too embarrassed or scared of what he might think when he’s face to face with your pussy. It’s not like you’ve ever had that done to you before, and you know that you are nervous enough about letting this man’s large cock inside you. You know it’s large, you’ve felt it pressed against you when your make out sessions got a little steamy. 
“I’m going to make you cum just like this, baby.” Marcus’s voice is like honey whiskey. Rough and smooth as he coos at you. “Just relax and let me take care of you.” 
It’s hard to give over control, but you know you are in good hands. Those hands, the same ones on you right now, have literally held the fate of the world in them. You think you can trust that he will do right by you. Your eyes are closed, lips curled up in a slight smile. Missing the way that his own eyes narrow slightly in concentration. Wanting to make tonight perfect for you. 
“Marc.” Your whine is breathless, body trembling under his touch as you start to creep closer to the edge. “Oh, oh god.” It’s the first of many times that you will cry out in pleasure. 
“That’s it, baby.” He murmurs, his lips pressing against your pulse to feel it pound under them. “You need to cum, so I can make sure you enjoy when I’m inside you.”
Those words throw you over the edge. The pleasure bursting in a sharp kaleidoscope of heat, flooding your body in waves. “Marc!” 
Marcus groans, cock twitching and throbbing in his pants. He hadn’t pushed his fingers inside you, but you would be so tight and wet right now. Slowing down the circles of his fingers as your hips chase the pleasure he is bringing you. 
Coming down from the utter bliss is soft, slow. Slow enough that you don’t even realize that you lose contact with Marcus for a moment. The shuffling of clothes not even registering until he’s back in your arms. His hot skin pressed against yours and immediately firing all new sorts of sensations and shivers. 
His kisses are tender, reassuring you as he starts to settle between your thighs, the long length of him pressing against your clit and making you gasp into his mouth. Swallowing them down for you and rocking his hips forward, making you want to wrap your legs around him. 
The moment he slips inside you, time ceases to exist. Everything stops, even your heart as he slowly pushes in. Filling you, stretching you beyond anything that you imagined in your wildest dreams. Letting you cling to him as he kisses you and pets your hair, murmuring praises. 
He moves slowly, letting you feel every inch, every ridge and vein as he pulls and pushes inside your slick walls. Every roll of his hips pulls another sensation, another moan out of you. Working your body back up slowly, but just as steadily as before. 
The weight of him is magnificent. The crease of his brow as he hovers over you. The flex of his arms as he keeps his full weight off of you. Totally focused on you and how this is making you feel. Every moan listened to, responded to. When you gasp, he’s making sure that it’s in pleasure and not discomfort. 
Your orgasm takes you by surprise, sure that you wouldn’t be able to cum from sex alone, but he had taken his time to make sure you weren’t falling behind. Grinding his hips just perfectly to hit the right angle inside you. His cock pressing against something amazing.
His own pleasure follows right behind yours. Obviously holding himself back to make sure you had cum before he gives into his own needs. Groaning out your name is the sexiest thing that you’ve ever heard in your life and even though you are panting, breathless, you can’t help but stroke his chest and his cheeks as he rides out his pleasure. 
“How was it?” Marcus asks after he’s cleaned you up and you are cuddled into his chest. His fingers stroking your arm as the softness of the moment isn’t lost on you. You feel amazing, tired, but energetic all at the same time. 
“It was amazing.” Turning your kiss his chin and smile when he looks down at you. “Thank you for making my first time special.” You whisper quietly. 
“My pleasure, sweetheart.” Marcus assures you, licking his lip and leaning in for another kiss. “My absolute pleasure.”  
Marcus Moreno took your virginity, and made it a perfect night for you. Ever the superhero. 
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wardenparker · 11 months
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What Happens in Vegas, part 2
Marcus Moreno x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 12.3k Warnings: Mentions of partner death and divorce, hurt/comfort, fertility issues/illness/pregnancy symptoms, if I ever write a story where Marcus doesn’t use his powers to undress his partner assume something is wrong with me, intimate piercings, oral sex (f and m receiving), soft!dom Marcus, fingering, a dash of praise kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex. Summary: It is time for honesty, as you and Marcus decide what your future will hold and how to mesh your lives together. Notes: We’ve had this one on the back burner for quite some time, and we’re so glad that it was finally time to break it out to share with you all! As always, thanks for reading and for being such lovely folx 🧡🧡 Part 1 is right Here!
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Once in the safety of the elevator Marcus wraps his arms around you again, this time out of sheer protectiveness. All this insanity is centered around both of you, and he feels like maybe he can absorb some of the impact by keeping you bundled up. “That was...enlightening.” What else can he really say? “I guess there’s no real place to lay the blame.”
You snicker softly. “We can blame it on the alcohol.” You sigh, leaning some of your weight against Marcus. “We don’t– well, shit, I’m supposed to check out of my room today, so I guess we better check out this room they got us and have a talk.” You venture.
Marcus glances down at the room number written on the key and presses the corresponding number on the elevator's keypad. He doesn't let you out of his arms when you don't indicate that you want to step away, just leaning against the elevator wall with you leaning against him in turn. "You looked beautiful," he mumbles, not sure if he's even allowed to say that. "In your dress, I mean. I mean you always look beautiful, but the dress – it was good..." Ugh. He hates how he rambles when he gets nervous. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he gathers his words. "Last night. You looked beautiful last night."
You smile, remember how he had stumbled over his words when you and he were together. “Thank you. You looked very handsome. Still do.” You add since he is wearing the same suit as last night. “Although I’m sure you want to change into something more comfortable.”
"I would kill for jeans and a t-shirt," he admits, cracking a grin. "And a coffee. Not the watered-down crap they had downstairs. Real espresso. What are the odds this room they got us has a good coffeemaker in it?"
“50/50.” You quip, walking down the hall until you reach the door. “Or maybe….” The door is larger than the average door, looking like you’ve arrived to a suite instead of an average room.  Marcus inserts the key and the door swings open. “Oh God, they’ve gotten us the honeymoon suite.” You breathe out when you step inside and glance around.
There's an absurd amount of rose petals strewn around, an ice bucket holding champagne, and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries right there when you walk in the door. There's a coffee table further into the room laden with all kinds of trinkets that the hotel must leave out for every couple that rents the room. A banner in Susan's handwriting reads Congratulations Mr and Mrs Moreno! and has been signed by all of the people who were in the chapel with you in the video. "Well I'm glad they're getting a kick out of this," Marcus grumbles, his ears burning.
“It’s sweet.” You acknowledge, sighing and wishing for a moment that this was real. “I–” you are nervous about bringing it up but it needs to be addressed. “What do you want to do, Marcus?” You ask softly. “Obviously I don’t think you would have done this sober, so, I’m not going to hold you to this– this– whatever this is.” You choke on the words, but keep your voice steady.
"You sound like you want to stay married." The observation has him hesitating, standing in the mass of flower petals on the rug and looking over at you like it's prom night and you've just come down the stairs in that light blue and silver dress you loved because the beads reminded you of snow. He can feel how soft his expression is despite how wide his eyes have blown. He had never for a minute considered the idea that this was something you might have actually wanted.
You give him a sad smile, not wanting to bring up your past. “What I want doesn’t matter.” You insist, looking over at the window so you don’t see the rejection in his eyes. “This wasn’t something that was planned out and I’ll understand.” You promise, thinking about how this could completely upset his life.
“It absolutely does matter.” Marcus insists. Pieces of last night are starting to fall into place, along with some of this morning. It’s only a few paces for him to be standing next to you, with one hand gently touching your arm. “I texted my daughter last night. I told her what was happening. So it’s not like this is something that we’re just going to sweep under the rug.” Taking the risk on stepping around you, he puts one crooked finger under your chin and makes you meet his eyes. “Whatever happens, we’re going to decide on it together, okay? Which means we have to be honest with each other.”
“Oh god? Your daughter? She must be freaking out.” Your eyes fill with panic and you squeeze them shut. “I’m so sorry Marcus. I shouldn’t have– this is–” You break off with a soft sob as you imagine how much his daughter must hate you. “Just–” You sigh. “Wanting to marry you was never a question for me. But you–I understand. I wasn’t it for you.”
“C’mere.” Marcus opens his arms, enveloping you in a full body bear hug. He trusts his instincts, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry.” He says after a pause. Once of his hands runs up and down your back in a steady rhythm. “I’m sorry I was bad at explaining things to you. But we were 19 and I didn’t know how to tell you how confused I was.” This is somehow easier without looking you in the eyes, but it seems dishonest so he pulls away to look down at you. “I had every intention of marrying you.” The truth, out loud, after so many years makes him feel like even more of an asshole. “I didn’t plan on meeting her. I didn’t know she was out there.  But...you’re the only two women I’ve ever loved. Just you two.” Come on, Marcus. Spit it out. “Then...I saw an article about you in a newspaper last year. And then you were on a talk show. I found your website. You were everywhere again and I realized how much I missed you. Not just...not just missed having a person. I missed you. So please don’t think I don’t care about you.”
It both broke your heart and helped mend it knowing that Marcus had been going to marry you. You knew that the heart wants what the heart wants as the old saying goes. Letting out a shuddering sigh, your body relaxes against him and your arms come around his waist hesitantly. Marcus was a good and honorable man, had been when he was a teenager. Of course the idea of falling in love with someone else had probably confused and terrified him. For so many years the idea had been set in stone that you were each other's person, that someone new had knocked him on his ass. From everything you had read about her, she was a wonderful woman who had loved Marcus and their daughter. A candle in the wind that had been blown out too early. “I– after your wife....passed, I–” You bite your lip and wonder if he's going to hate you for this, having wanted to do something, anything to help but wanting to respectfully keep your distance. "I was the one that had those meals delivered to your house." You confess softly. You knew from when your parents had passed that people brought more food than you could deal with right after they heard or to the reception following the funeral. Well meaning and heartfelt, but after that, their lives went back to normal while you tried to figure out exactly what your new normal was. Marcus Moreno's wife dying had been front page news nationwide, and you had hated that he was left to flounder with a seven year old. So you had quietly arranged to have meals delivered to their house for a while starting a few days after the funeral, asking them not to say who was the silent donor.
“Oh...” The word punches out of him and for a second he’s that heartbroken young version of himself that had discovered the meals and cried over them in his kitchen every time, wondering who had been so generous. Over the years, he had had many theories as to who had sent them, but it never would have occurred to him that it was you. “I always...” He pauses the thought, getting emotional all over again. “Those were a lifesaver. I had a hard time getting used to doing everything myself and... having one less thing on my plate made a huge difference.” His forehead drops to lean against yours, eyes momentarily closed so he doesn’t tear up. That wouldn’t help the situation at all. “Thank you.”
Your arms tighten around him, relieved that he hadn't taken your gesture the wrong way. "You're welcome." You whisper, not wanting to add anything more to that. It hadn't been for the recognition or for him to feel in some way in your debt, but you couldn't keep a secret like that from him when you both were trying to decide what to do about your current situation. "I never actually said it, but I'm so sorry for your loss, Marcus." You murmur quietly, the words muffled against the fabric of his suit, the same suit that he had married you in. You feel better, now that you've had this heart to heart. Even if Marcus didn't want to stay married to you, after all you were virtual strangers after twenty years apart, you felt like this wasn't something that you would regret. Old wounds and self doubts from that time had vanished, leaving your heart less scared than it had been and for that you would be grateful.
This time when Marcus sighs, it’s with a slight shiver and a mile’s worth of confusion. “What are we going to do?” He asks.  Honestly he has no idea. He doesn’t regret sleeping with you again, but he’s guilt ridden at the idea that you’ve been forced into something so life changing. He’ll straighten things out with Missy once you’ve managed to talk things through here. The idea that you might actually want this is seeping slowly into his bones and he has a voice in the back of his head that says he doesn’t deserve any kind of relationship with you since he broke your heart.
"The obvious choice would be to quietly get divorced." You pull away and turn, kicking off the heels you had worn as you walk over to the window. You didn't want to see the relief in Marcus's face when you are the one to propose it. He had skirted around it but was too much of a gentleman to be the one to voice it first. He had even said something about you keeping the ring before you ever knew it wasn't a joke. "I– surely this has happened plenty of times. Maybe they would even allow an annulment since we were obviously far more intoxicated than we should have been." You look out over the lights of the Vegas strip and blink back the tears that were threatening to spill down your cheeks. "I'm not going to force you to stay married to me, you don't deserve that."
“You keep saying that like being married to you would be the worst thing in the world.” He protests, and all of a sudden it hits him like a freight train. He’s been trying to get you to say you want him, and he hadn’t really realized it. He hasn’t jumped on the idea of a divorce at all since it’s been brought up because he’s missed you. Miracle Guy is always saying that you don’t say anything drunk that you don’t feel when you’re sober and Marcus hates that his annoying best friend might be completely right this time. “What if we tried it?” He asks quietly. Almost afraid of what he’s saying but at the same time resolved to see what you think of this idea. “I mean...I don’t know where you’re living right now or anything like that...there’s logistics and stuff. But...what if?”
Your eyes are wide when you whirl around to face him, shock written on your face. "Wha— are you kidding?" You ask, praying that he isn't but then again, this is Marcus. He wouldn't joke around about something as serious as this. "Would you want that?" You ask quietly. "Not so there isn't a press release or to save face, but do you want to stay married? To me?" You bite your lip, feeling like you are naked in front of the entire world rather than trying to admit how you feel to one man, but this is the man that you have loved for your entire life. "I–I moved on, dated plenty, fell in love, got married." You need him to know that this hasn't just been about him, that you've had a life outside of him and the day he broke your heart. "Got divorced, but I've always kept you in my heart. I never hated you or stopped loving you."
“We’ve both had our own lives.” He agrees, taking one careful step toward you. He doesn’t want to spook you, but he also doesn’t want to shout this conversation between you across the living room of your suite. “Maybe this is the universe telling us that now we should be having a life together.” He believed in fate wholeheartedly, believing that fate brought his late wife into his path and Missy into their lives when they had struggled so hard to get pregnant. Fate’s hand was here, too. “You were my first love, and you’ve always had a place in my heart. Maybe...” Marcus takes one more careful step. “We said we loved each other on that video. Which means we must have talked about it. And...marriage is about communication and honesty as well as love.”
You watch his eyes, solemn and serious behind his glasses as he watches you. Gauging your reaction to his thoughts. Nodding, you yield, taking your own measured step towards him. "I wish I could remember what we said. I'm sure it would help if I could just know what we said to each other." You sigh, confessing your one hang up to all of this. "I just– I don't want to compete with her memory, Marcus." You whisper, struggling to keep your eyes on his. "I can't do that. I don't want to do that. It's not fair to me, or to you." He had reminded you it was about communication and honesty and you were laying your cards on the table.
Marcus feels himself nod, knowing you are completely right. But at the same time, there was a flip side to that coin. “And I don’t want to be competing with the memories you have of me.” It felt odd to say out loud. That your memories of him were different than the man he is now, even if he was still so similar to who he had been there in many ways. “You’re...you’re so amazing. You always have been and from what I know about you now, you’re doing great work and really succeeding. You’re not second to anyone. Not to me.” With one more step forward, he reaches out to take your hand. This is becoming so real with every passing second and his heart is pounding in his ears. “If we do this, it would be about who we are now. Memories are memories and that’s great, but I don’t want to get caught up in the fact that things turned out differently than we expected.”
You nod, understanding his point completely. "Still so smart." You murmur, inching closer and reaching up with your free hand to cup his cheek. You sigh when his eyes flutter at the contact and your pinkie sweeps over the stubble on his jaw. "I want to do this...if you do." You admit, your gaze focusing on his lips again and you want to kiss him. "I want to stay married to you and make this work. I want to be with you."
For Marcus, the scariest part of this wasn’t waking up this morning beside you, or how mad you had been in the beginning, or how upset with all of your old friends he is. It’s admitting to himself that he would be sad if you walked away from him. That the shock of everything was actually surpassed by how happy it is making him. How his tipsy texts to Missy were filled with so much hope, and despite her understandable confusion, she was doing what she could to be supportive. He would have to call her later and explain everything, but right now you’re right in front of him, telling him you care – and this time his head is spinning without the hangover. “You’re okay with being a stepmom?” He hears himself ask, cursing himself for ruining the moment but knowing this was the nail in the coffin. If you aren’t okay with his daughter, then this has no chance of working.
Your brow furrows and you know he sees the sorrow in your eyes. You hope he doesn't mistake it for not wanting to be a stepmom. "I– my ex and I tried for years to have kids." You admit quietly, remembering the heartbreak when you got your period every month. "It was the reason that we got divorced, he – he wanted kids and I couldn't give them to him." Your breath catches. "I don't – I've always wanted kids but I won't try to take over her mother’s place. Stepmom would be fine." You bite your lip and try to keep it from trembling. "I can't give you another baby though, are you– can you live with that?"
“I’m so sorry,” is the first thing he says, tugging you into his arms. He remembers how hard it was to try and try and feel like the world was against them for almost two years. “That must have been hell.” When he leans back to press a kiss to your forehead, he’s smiling a reassuring smile. “I don’t need anything else.” He tells you softly. “I just want you.”
Your doubts fall away, everything that had kept you from really believing that this was happening was gone. Your fingers curl into the hair at the base of his neck. "Marcus, " you look up at him and smile. "Kiss me. Please." You beg, wanting to remember this kiss that wasn't for show, wasn't for anyone else but the two of you.
“With pleasure,” his smile turns into a giddy grin. “Mrs. Moreno.” There’s no hesitation in the kiss - one hand reeling you in to him by your waist and the other tipping your chin back ever so slightly so he can taste you as soon as you open up to him.
You can't help but moan, your mouth opening and a whimper slipping out when his tongue flutters against yours. Your hands slide up to his back, fingers digging into the fabric while you try to get as close to him as you possibly can. Your entire body ignites, and you feel that pull of need.
Marcus echoes your moan, pulling you up in his arms until the only way to get physically closer is to be inside you - which is bringing his body back to life in all sorts of delicious ways. He’s fairly certain there’s a sofa behind him and takes a chance that he’s right - walking you back two steps until he tips backward with just enough warning to pick you up off your feet so you land on his lap. No one could ever say he doesn’t know how to use his strength to his advantage.
Your dress rides up your thighs, letting you straddle him easier. Making you shudder when his hands are warm on your bare skin. Your arms wind around his neck and you lift up to your knees so you can press closer, holding the back of his head while you give in to the kiss and groaning when his hands squeeze your flesh. "Marcus," you mumble against his lips, your tongue licking into his mouth and your cunt throbbing with need. "I want– fuck, I need you." You pull your mouth away from his and start kissing along his jaw. One hand coming back around him and sliding down his chest to reach between the two of you and your fingers find his belt. "I want to remember this."
Tangling one of his hands in yours to stop your eager pulling at his belt, Marcus wraps his lips around your pulse, sucking on your skin and nipping at it, tongue soothing away the sting. "Let me take care of you," he insists. It's not that he doesn't want to be inside you right fucking now, it's that he's not going to have sex with his wife for the first time (that he remembers) on a sofa. His free hand lifts from its grip on your hip and flexes, making him grin cheekily when you gasp at the feeling of your dress being unzipped without his hands on you. Katanas weren't the only metal he ever used his powers on. Reveling in your surprise, Marcus takes an extra second of concentration to undo the metal clasp of your bra as well. His eyes tip up to yours, blown black with anticipation and lust.
"That's new." You giggle, even more turned on by that move. Marcus hadn't tried his powers on you when you were younger. His mother cautioned him to not abuse his powers and his sometimes lack of control over them had made him wary of trying manipulate your clothing. He grins and winks at you, making you whimper at the self assuredness he has come to possess. "Jesus." You pant, wondering if he remembers that one little detail about you that was so different from when you were together the first time. He would find out soon enough you supposed, and hoped that he wasn't too shocked by it. You had definitely gone through a wild phase in college, but you didn't regret it.
He’d have time to be pleased with himself later, right now he cared much more about the way you were subtly grinding down in his lap, making him harder with every passing second. “Shit, sweetheart.” He huffs, bucking up against you before he can stop himself. His hands skim under the bunched hen of your dress, nudging the material. His powers nudge at him a little and he dismisses it as a reminder of your dress’s zipper, but the feeling is coming from somewhere different. Marcus quirks one eyebrow at you, intrigued by your expression of amusement, and pulls your dress over your head - tossing it and your bra several feet away. “Jesus, hermosa!” He groans, his hands immediately coming up to cup your breasts, mesmerized by the piercings he definitely did not remember being there before. How he didn’t remember them last night, he doesn’t know. “How do you keep getting hotter?”
You smirk, loving the awe that is in his eyes as he stares at the hoops in your nipples. “You like?” You tease, feeling how much he likes them from the way that his hips bucked up again when you arched into his touch, pushing your tits into his hands harder. “I got them in college– after we –” You weren’t going to keep feeling embarrassed about your past, or trying to deny it. “Took my clit piercing out because my ex hated it, but I couldn’t get rid of these.” You admit, remembering how he had hated them, refused to touch your tits when you had them in. But it was for you, not him, and you had stubbornly refused to give in to his wants.
Marcus almost pouts over the fact that he was losing out on playing with a clit piercing, but when he trains his eyes on your tits and watches you writhe with pleasure as he twists the little hoops with his powers, he’s so hard it doesn’t matter anymore. “Need to taste you,” he mumbles into your skin, tongue laving over your nipples where he’s been playing with them. Marcus lifts you off his lap, turning a little to settle you down in the pile of throw pillows on the sofa. “Will you let me taste you, hermosa?”
You moan, his fingers curling under your panties and you nod, lifting your hips up so that he can drag them down your thighs. You spread your legs wider, modesty and being shy throw out the window. You bite your lip and squirm, your own hands on your breasts while Marcus rocks back, hastily shrugging out of his suit jacket and tossing it down on the floor with no thought. “Fuck you look pretty like that.” He groans, flicking the buttons of his shirt open and taking off his glasses to toss on the floor, hopefully to not get crushed later on. You whine, needing him to hurry up and you let go of one of your breasts to slide it down to your mound, circling your clit with your fingers while you watch him strip.
“Nuh-uh,” Marcus grabs your hand, pulling your fingers away from your clit and licks them clean with a stern look on his face. “Only I get to touch and taste you right now.” He tells you and revels in your moan. Positioning your ankles on the edge of the couch, he takes in your spread-open pussy with a lascivious smirk. “So fucking pretty,” he praises before leaning down and sucking your clit into his mouth.
Your hips jerk up and a squeal breaks free at the insistent feel of his mouth. Control looks so fucking sexy on Marcus. The fumbling boy that was asking if what he was doing was okay was gone, replaced by a man who was confident in his ability to please. You squeeze your breast and moan when his tongue flicks over the sensitive bundle of nerves, closing your eyes. Only for them to spring back open in shock when he pulls his mouth away and lightly slaps your folds. "Eyes on me, baby." His lust-rough voice makes you shiver and you meet his satisfied gaze, making him quirk his eyebrows, pleased at your obedience before he puts his mouth back on you.
Part of Marcus had been slightly concerned that the more dominant style of pleasure he’d adopted since knowing you wouldn’t be something you enjoyed, but from the way you are panting and mewling above him as he spears his tongue as deep into you as he can manage, he knows now that it’s more than welcome. He hums his approval into your folds, his nose intentionally bumping against your clit with every stroke of his tongue. He could look up at you like this forever – shivering and shuddering but keeping your eyes on him like he ordered. “Don’t even think about cumming until I tell you.” He punctuates the sentence by driving two fingers deep inside you, sliding along your tight folds gripping him so well that he moans along with you.
You whimper and try to grind your hips down on him, but he throws his free arm around your hips and jerks them up high, practically holding your ass up while he utterly destroys you with his mouth. Pleas and praises fall from your lips as you try to stave off your impending orgasm. "Oh God, oh fuck Marcus." You whine, watching him pump his fingers into your fluttering cunt and his nose is pressed against the neatly trimmed hair above your clit. "So good, so fucking good." Your walls clench around him and you squeal again when he curls his fingers up. "Oh please, God – I'm so close." You ramble, scratching at the couch and trying to keep from cumming so hard that your thighs are starting to shake. "Please baby, please let me cum."
It’s the first of what he intends to be many orgasms today, so he eases a third finger into you and watches your face contort for a second before nibbling on your bundle of nerves. “Cum for me baby. Wanna drown in this taste. In you.”
His permission given, you fly off the cliff and wail his name while your walls clamp down on his fingers. Flooding them with your juices and your entire body humming in pleasure while he keeps sucking on you. Making stars burst behind your eyes, you can't help but squeeze them shut and tilt your head back against the cushions while you thrash around in pleasure and make so much noise you are sure that there will be a noise complaint coming soon.
There are few things, in Marcus Moreno’s opinion, better than having a woman cum in his mouth. Something made even better by the fact that he knows he’ll have your scent lingering in his mustache for the rest of the day. He curls his fingers against that perfect spongy spot inside you and hums in delight as your second orgasm follows the first without warning. Hearing you scream his name might be the most musical sound he’s heard in a very long time. “Listen to you,” his voice is like honey. “Screaming my name for everybody to hear. Now they know you belong to me.”
He takes pity, taking his mouth off of you and slipping his fingers out to let you calm down while he savors the flood of your juices on his fingers, alternately kissing the insides of your thighs while he coos praises from where he kneels on the floor.
Your cunt throbs and your walls flutter around nothing now that he's pulled his fingers from you, the low sigh that you let out sounding as boneless as you feel. Your entire body relaxes with your eyes turning heavy and slipping closed from how good you feel. "Oh God." You whisper, reaching down and carding your fingers through his hair and lifting your head so you can look down at him. "I want– no, I need you inside me." You beg, looking over at the bed that was so beautifully set with rose petals. "Please, I want my husband to make love to me."
Marcus’s lips curl into a smile, much gentler than he had been a second ago and he stands up, cock red and weeping from neglect, hard as diamonds as it bobs a few inches from your face. He sees the hungry look in your eyes and shakes his head slightly – instead leaning down to scoop you up in his arms and carry you over to the bed. Marcus has absolutely no desire to pull back the covers, laying you down on top of the rose petals like a beautiful gift. He sighs, loving the sight of you like that, devastated and shaken from intense orgasms but beaming at him at the same time. “I love you,” he tells you, crawling up on the bed between your legs as they open for him. “I’m glad our classmates meddled. And I’m so glad I get to spend the rest of my life with you, sweetheart.”
You reach for him, your arms wrapping around his back, so much broader than the last time you remember him being over you like this. His body no longer lean and wiry with youth, but broad and filled out deliciously with age. “I love you.” You whisper, your heart beating like a drum in your chest from happiness. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” You assure him, leaning up to kiss him and drag him back down over you. Wanting the weight of him on top of you. “Want you to fuck me… husband.”
“So impatient when I’m trying to be romantic,” the chuckle comes from deep inside him, the same rough, lusty place that had him taking his cock in his cum slick hand, and pumping a few times before sliding the head through your folds. “So wet for me,” he groans, happy to know he was the one who had made you that way. “You ready for me, good girl?”
"Yes." You whine out, eager to feel him stretch you out again. You know you had him last night, but you didn't remember more than a few flashes of memories and the ache you had felt when you woke up. You cup his cheek and watch his face when he starts to slowly push inside you. Your own mouth falling open with a needy moan filling the air while your walls give to accommodate him, making your hips lift slightly to make sure that every inch of him is inside you when his hips are flush against your own.
“ Fuck,” he bites out the curse as he bottoms out inside you, knowing he looks as absolutely wrecked as he feels just from being inside you again. “So tight, hermosa. So tight around my cock.” The authoritative voice from a few minutes ago rumbles from his core as he lifts one of your legs up onto his shoulder, watching your mouth drop open even wider. He draws back again until only his tip is still inside you, snapping his hips back against yours with a pleased grunt, and then again to hear you moan. “That’s it, baby.” He leans down to kiss you, greedily drinking down every sound you make.
He's so fucking deep inside you. Making you feel like he's pushing up into your stomach and rearranging your insides with every hard thrust. You love it, love how he's not being gentle even though you know he's holding back. Now fully aware of why you ached for hours after you woke up,  you wanted to feel that way again. Loving how much he had changed over the years and it makes you crave to find out every way that he differed from the boy you knew. You gasp out on his next thrust. "Oh god!" You cry out when he changes the angle of his hips and hits directly against your g-spot.
Marcus focuses on that spot, loving the way you call out and wanting you to cum one more time for him before he lets his restraint snap. He knows he’s different in bed than he had been when you knew him - no longer worried about being enough or whether or not he was reading your body correctly. He knew he was stronger now, more confident, and a better lover; and he was careful to keep himself in check so he wouldn’t go too hard this time. He nips and sucks at every bit of skin he can reach as the sound of skin smacking against skin fills the room. Unable to resist, Marcus focuses just enough of his powers on those little hoops through your perfect nipples to make them hum and vibrate, shoving you closer to the edge.
“M-Mar-cus!” You cry out, the very air being pushed from your lungs every time he drives deep inside you. Your fingernails dig into his skin, leaving crescent shaped marks in his flesh and you clench down on him when he moans. “Yes, yes, yes!” You scream out when your entire world shatters and the subatomic explosion in your core radiates white hot and all-consuming as you come apart for him.
He grunts, held so tight by the way that you’re clamping down on him that he can barely move and it’s absolutely delicious. Marcus makes one more thrust before he’s groaning your name and painting your still-spasming walls with his seed. He drops his head against your shoulder, panting and wonderfully spent.
Your leg slides down off his shoulder and you let it wrap around his hip while your hand glides up and down his back. The touch is soothing - his skin under your fingers and as you relearn the planes of his back. “I love you.” You whisper, holding him close and enjoying the weight of him on top of you.
“I love you too,” he breathes a kiss on your lips, running one hand up and down your side. The contours of your body have changed as you got older and he is determined to memorize your body as soon as possible. “Don’t want to crush you,” he murmurs into your kiss, shifting his body off of you but tugging you close to his side as he lays down.
You sigh and roll over with him. Resting your head on his shoulder and stroke his chest gently. “So, I have to admit, I never expected this to happen at the reunion.” You giggle, unable to believe that this is real.
“I don’t think anyone did.” He agrees, but laughs. “Well, maybe Susan.” He plants a kiss on the top of your head before lifting himself off the mattress and padding off to the bathroom for a damp wash cloth to clean you up.  When he re-emerges he has the bottle of champagne in hand as well.
You giggle again and raise your eyebrow at him. “Ready to drink already?” You ask playfully, making him snort in amusement. “At some point we are going to have to pack up our old rooms to check out.” You remind him.
“And I have to call Missy.” Marcus nods his head, disappointed to have to come back to reality. “She’s fantastic,” he assures you, squeezing your hand and kissing your palm. “You’re going to love her. And she’ll love you. But drunk texts from your dad are no way to find out he’s in a relationship.”
“No it’s not.” You agree, standing up with a groan and taking the wash cloth so you can quickly clean up. “How about I get dressed and go pack up my room so you can have some privacy to talk to your daughter?” You ask, knowing that he would probably want to be alone for that conversation.
“Hurry back?” He’s pouting and he doesn’t care.
You smirk and lean in to kiss him once more. “I will. You will need to pack up your room too.” You remind him before you pull away to walk over to where your clothes had been flung.
“I’ll do it after I talk to Missy,” he promises. It takes a minute or two for him to track down his pants and find the room key, holding the spare hostage until you pay the ransom of three more kisses. “And then we’re gonna be naked for the rest of the day.”
You hum, smiling against his lips as you pluck the card from his fingers. “So I guess that means you don’t want to see the lingerie I brought just in case I got lucky?” You murmur.
“Minx.” He teases, but that fire is back in his eyes. “Put it on before I get back.”
You smirk and walk to the door. "Sure thing baby." You tease, winking at him before you open the door and disappear down the hallway.
******
In the weeks since returning from his reunion, Marcus had done his fair share of groveling. Missy had been at her abuela's while he was away and both of them were (understandably) fiercely upset with him for the way things happened. It was two full weeks before Missy stopped being mad at him, and only then had his mother agreed to be the one to host everyone for dinner. She had loved you when you and Marcus were teens and was glad to see that you were the one who was making him happy again. The night you'd all had dinner together she made ropa vieja and the biggest pot of rice and beans that Marcus had seen in years, and he knew exactly how glad she was to see you - your favourite foods laid out on the table for everyone to enjoy.
You'd agreed that you would keep your apartment until the end of the month, giving Missy time to adjust to you being around the house. She had warmed up to you quickly, finding you much more entertaining company than her dad for any number of things. She had even helped you unpack when you moved into the house with them after leaving your apartment.
These days Missy could be spotted teaching you her favourite cookie recipe and raiding your jewelry box some days before school. It warmed Marcus's heart to see the two of you bonding, relieving him in equal measure.
******
"You know, I'm so glad dad doesn't cook breakfast anymore." Missy rolls her eyes and you snicker conspiratorially. You love this little girl like she is your own. She's an easy girl to love and you are so thankful that it worked out that she doesn't hold your intrusion in her life against you.
“You aren't telling me that your dad is a bad cook, are you?" You ask, arching your eyebrow at him while you whisk the eggs for the omelets.
She rolls her eyes again. "Dad burned everything! We once ate mac and cheese for breakfast because that was all he could make without messing up."
"I do not burn everything!" Marcus has a very serious look on his face. "I would never, ever burn bacon."
You laugh and lean back, tilting your head so that Marcus can kiss you. "Mmmm." You smile against his lips and pull away so he can move past you. "Okay maybe not bacon but cracking eggs down the sink and throwing the shells in a bowl, Marcus?" You giggle, watching him flush and rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"That was one time!" he pouts, embarrassed. Missy was never going to let him live that down. "And that was a very stressful day, thank you very much." He shuffles over to the coffee pot when it dings, grateful to have a distraction. The smell is divine, those beans you love had turned his morning cup into something divine from the perfunctory wake-up it had been before. "Big mug or little, babe?" He asks you, pulling spoons out of the drawer and his favourite mug out of the cupboard.
"Little." You answer, your stomach feeling queasy. "I'm still not feeling one hundred percent." You admit, hating that you had this stomach bug that you couldn't seem to get over. You had been sick over the weekend and had put a damper on your plans and you were still feeling guilty over it.
Marcus still hadn't said anything about you not feeling well. He had tucked you in and gotten you plain things to eat and drink, letting you rest until you felt better. He dared to hope that he knew what was wrong - recognizing the little signs from years ago. He got out a little mug, fixed your coffee for you and slipped the mug down the counter, watching you carefully. "If you're still not feeling well maybe you should go to the doctor?" He suggests gently. A doctor would be able to confirm or squash his idea immediately, but he wouldn't push you.
You shake your head. "No, I don't need to go to the doctor." You’re still stubborn about seeing doctors after all those appointments that your ex had forced you to go to. It made you anxious for any type of clinical setting. You give Marcus a soft smile, and pick your cup up. "Thank you, sweetheart." You thank him as you lift the cup to your lips and take a sip. As soon as the hot beverage hits your lips your gag. Your stomach rolling and you drop the mug, shattering on the edge of the counter and you cover your mouth, running for the half bathroom that was down the hallway.
Marcus shifts gears quickly, grabbing a rag to scoop up the broken stoneware and toss the whole bundle in the trash. "Be right back," he tells Missy, hurrying down the hall after you.
He finds you bent over the toilet for the fourth time in four days and kneels down next to you to make sure there's no hair in your face or clothing soiled. "Babe?" His eyes betray how worried he is, but he tries not to show it on his face. "Was it the coffee?"
"Oh God." You moan, hanging your head and mouth waters again at just the mention of the coffee. "Did the creamer go bad?" You ask, cursing the fact that your stomach was so queasy and you couldn't shake this bug. You retch again, but luckily you hadn't eaten anything else so there wasn't anything more to come up.
"I brought it home yesterday." He runs his hand up and down your back, soothing and supportive. "I didn't want anything old in the house, just in case."
You pant, nodding while you reach up weakly and pull the handle for the toilet so the coffee and bile from your stomach start to flush down, resting your head and on your arm for a second before you look up at your husband. "I'm so sorry. I know this is annoying to deal with." You whisper, hating that he is having to take care of you.
"It's not." Marcus promises. Stepping away for just a second, he wets a washcloth with warm water and offers it to you to clean up. He's learned over the past few days that keeping a washcloth and your toothbrush nearby was a very good idea. "Don't apologize, love. But...I do think it might be more than a bug." He hates how much he hopes he's right. You had talked about it. It wasn't something in your plans. You had told him it was impossible. But he couldn't help but hope you might actually be pregnant.
You frown and immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion. "Cancer?" You whisper, your eyes widen, and you pray God wouldn't be so cruel as to do this to Marcus.
"No, baby." Marcus has to stop himself from laughing at how you went straight to the other side of the illness spectrum. He presses a kiss to your hair, breathing out slowly. "I think you might be pregnant."
You rear back, your frown fierce and you step out of his arms. "Marcus, I– we talked about this." You tell him flatly, trying not to raise your voice. Anger and sorrow swirling inside you. "I can't have kids, so I can't be pregnant." Your jaw sets and you look at him warily. "I knew– God, I knew that this would happen." You mumble.
Marcus sets himself down on the tile next to you, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together. "I don't have my hopes up." A blatant lie. He absolutely does have his hopes up. "And I don't think it's likely," at least that was true. "But...I've been through this before, with Missy. I remember what it looks like. And I know not all pregnancies look the same, but humour me." His smile is soft, trying to be encouraging and as supportive as possible. "I'll go down to the store and grab a test. When it comes up negative like you think it will, we'll drop it and I'll give you foot rubs all night to apologize for even thinking it. Is that a deal?”
You want to say no. Want to scream that you've taken enough tests for a lifetime and cried enough tears when every single one of them came back negative. The doctors had never been able to tell you why you couldn't get pregnant, just that it wasn't happening. Of course it had caused some horrible arguments that had eventually led to your divorce. However, Marcus isn't your ex, and you see nothing but worry in his eyes. So you find yourself nodding, biting your lip as you agree. "Okay." You tell him quietly, feeling him squeeze your hand gently.
"Okay." He sighs with relief that you're willing to take the test, knowing that it's a hard thing for you to agree to. He helps you up off the floor, staying with you while you brush your teeth, and then tucks you into the couch with the remote in your hand before he heads out. Missy has already put the eggs and veggies from the forgotten omelets back in the fridge and gotten herself a bowl of cereal. "I'll be right back," he tells both of you, grabbing his jacket and wallet from the sideboard by the front door. "Don't burn the house down while I'm gone."
"Bye dad!" Missy calls out sarcastically. She finishes her cereal and comes out to the living room with you. Obviously worried from the way that she keeps looking over at you. Picking at the edge of the armchair she was sitting in; you can see that she's wanting to ask you what's wrong. "I'm okay sweetie. You can get ready for school. The bus should be here soon." You remind her, glancing at the clock on the DVR.
“You sure?” Missy has come around to you faster than she expected to, learning to like having you as part of her day and fully appreciating that home cooked meals are actually pretty good now. She’s been up front about the fact that she’s not ready to call you mom, and you’ve promised her she never has to if she’s not comfortable with it. She calls you by your name, and just the fact that you’re not trying to force yourself on her has made all the difference in the world. What happened was kinda screwed up, but it’s turning out okay.
"I'm sure." You assure her, giving her a small smile. Missy grins, reassured, and hops up. "Okay! I have to get ready for the audition today."
You sit up a little straighter and call up the stairs as she thunders up them. "I want to hear all about it when you get home!" You call out. "And we'll make cookies!"
******
When Marcus gets back from the store he has a little bag with him – your favorite M&Ms and a bottle of that raspberry tea you love sitting alongside the box of pregnancy tests. “Missy got to the bus stop on time?” He asks, having just missed her.
"Yes, she did." You smile, remembering her exuberant goodbye as she raced out the door. "She was excited for her audition, and I promised we would make cookies when she gets home." You know you are probably spoiling her by baking nearly every day after school, but she loves it and it’s good bonding time for the two of you. Plus, the Heroics love when Marcus brings in the leftovers every morning. You catch sight of the bag and look up at him nervously. "Marcus..."
“I know.” He bobs his head apologetically. He knows this is hard for you. You’ve talked it out before while you explained things that had caused you anxiety with your ex. Marcus had been determined never to touch a single one of those things, but he could feel it in his bones that he was right. “I...um...when I was at the store. I realized...you haven’t had your period since we got married. So even if this comes up negative and I give you apology foot rubs until the end of time, I think we should see a doctor anyway. In case something is wrong.” He pulls out the M&Ms and holds them out flat in his palms to you like a sacrifice. “Please don’t be mad at me. I just want to take care of you.”
You give him an amused smile, taking the M&Ms gratefully. "I know you do." You admit, knowing he is nothing like your ex. He had never made you think he was upset by you not being able to have kids, so you had realized your fear was purely out of instinct. "I'm not upset at you, I promise." You sigh and throw the blanket off your legs, getting up and cupping his cheek. "I just don't want you to be disappointed."
Marcus smiles, a little lopsided, and pulls you up into his arms. “How could I ever be disappointed when I have you for my wife?”
You laugh, comforted by the fact that your husband always seems to know what to say to put you at ease. "I guess it's a good thing that I have to pee." You joke, holding out your hand for the box. "Are you going to want to be in the bathroom while I do this?" You ask, tilting your head at him curiously.
“If that’s okay with you.” He presses a kiss to your cheek.
You nod. "Okay, sweetheart. How about we go upstairs to our bathroom, rather than crowding into the hall bath again."
“Anywhere you’re more comfortable.” With your hand in his, Marcus takes the stairs one by one right beside you. “Tea to make you pee?” He giggles at his own stupid rhyme, holding out the bottle of tea. God, he just wants you to be okay. No matter what the outcome was.
You giggle even as you roll your eyes, taking the bottle of tea. “You are such a dork.” You tease him, making him scrunch his nose up and lean in to kiss you when you reach the top of the stairs.
“But I’m your dork.” He argues, making you smile.
“Yes you are my dork.” You kiss him again and sigh. “Let’s get this over with. My bladder is starting to scream at me.”
You’re past the awkward stage of being in the bathroom together, and Marcus perches himself on the counter beside the sink while you take the test. “It’s just peace of mind,” he reminds you. “There’s a bug going around Missy’s school and that might be all it is. This is just checking one possible cause off the list.” He’s rambling and trying to be as kind as he can, not letting silence linger so you can’t sink into bad memories. He never wants any pressure between you, and he knows he signed up for no more kids. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be thrilled if it turned out to be true, but it means he’s not expecting it.
You know why he is talking so much, and you appreciate it. Although it’s not necessary. Once the test is sitting on the back of the toilet, you wash your hands and step over to your husband, wrapping your arms around his waist and sighing when you feel the warmth of his embrace. “I love you.” You whisper, conflicted about looking at the test. Part of you just wants to tell Marcus to look to satisfy his own questions, but you know that will hurt his feelings.
"I love you, too, sweetheart." He murmurs back, gently peppering kisses in your hair and all over your face until you can't help but giggle. It's a long three minutes. By far the longest three minutes of your entire relationship, past or present. When the timer on your phone goes off, he squeezes you tightly in his arms. "Do you want to look or do you want me to do it?" He asks quietly.
You bite your lip and look up at him, falling more in love with him when you don’t see any judgment in his eyes. “You look.” You whisper, having seen enough negative tests to last a lifetime. “I know what it will say.”
"It's just peace of mind." He says again, but somewhere along the line he's gotten mixed up about whose mind needs the peace. Marcus slips off the counter, squeezing you again before he lets go and steps over to the toilet. He catches himself, not wanting you to hear him hold his breath. Willing himself to look normal and calm, Marcus leans over to look at the most important piece of plastic he's seen in years.
He's grateful that he's facing away from you because he knows how wide his eyes have blown. "Baby..." His voice waivers, carefully picking up the test and staring down at the little plus sign in the window. He's on the verge of exploding, trying not to get excited before he sees your reaction. He has no idea what you'll say when you see this.
You sigh, knowing that despite what he said, when you hear his voice catch, you know he had been hopeful. “I’m sorry Marcus, I really am.” You turn around and rub your hand up his quivering back. “It’s– I’m sorry.” You shouldn’t apologize but you do. “I’ll make a doctor’s appointment to find out what’s wrong.”
"Honey." Marcus inhales softly, turning around to face you and practically cradling the test in his hand. "You should look at this."
“I don’t—" You freeze when you see the face of the test, your heart stopping or skipping several beats as you stare at the  positive result. You make a noise that can’t even be described and rip your eyes away from the test to look up at Marcus. “Is that– Marcus, it that…positive?” You whisper, not daring to believe it. You’ve taken hundreds of tests and never even gotten a false positive.
"It is," he nods his head. He's trying so, so hard to keep a poker face until he can figure out how you feel about this but he's not sure how well he's doing. "It's positive, babe."
Your lower lip trembles and your eyes are already starting to fill with tears. “Positive means…I’m pregnant?” You whisper, staring back down at the test again, your lips starting to pull into a wide, ecstatic smile. “Marcus, I’m pregnant!”
The relief he feels at seeing you light up is palpable. He drops the test on the counter and scoops you up in his arms, feeling you grin against his neck as you hug the life out of each other. "You're pregnant," he whispers it against your lips, grinning along with you. "We're pregnant."
“Oh my God.” You sob out, the tears streaming down your face definitely ones of joy as you kiss your husband over and over again. “We’re, oh! I have to make an appointment. A blood test just to be certain, but I’ve never, ever had a positive test Marcus.”
"We'll call in a minute." His thumbs gently swipe away the tears running down your cheeks. Marcus is fairly certain he's never seen you this happy before, even in the video of your wedding. "We'll get the tests done and get you checked out, okay? Make sure everything is okay and get the coffee out of the kitchen so it won't make you sick again." He'd switch to tea and energy drinks in a heartbeat. This was the best reason in the world to have to change his routine.
You can’t help but beam up at him, excitement humming through your veins, and you feel like you could move mountains at this moment. “Later.” You tell him, pulling him to you for another kiss. “First I want you to take me to bed. Celebrate the little one the exact same way we created them.”
"My girl's always so eager." Marcus nips at your bottom lip, hands sliding down your back to squeeze your ass tightly with both hands. "So gorgeous when you're excited, hermosa." His kisses trailed from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck. One hand snakes around to rest over your belly. "Going to look even better growing my baby inside you."
You whimper at his words, never thinking that you would actually hear them in this context. It was so much sweeter that it had happened with Marcus. "I can't believe it." You admit, loving how his hardness is growing at your hip, twitching with growing need. "You like the idea of me fat and pregnant with your baby? Mood swings and sensitive tits?" You had thought your breasts being sensitive was just because of your oncoming period, the one that Marcus had noticed you missing. Being sick and the upheaval of combining your lives had just made you think that it was delayed. You had been late plenty of times with a negative test for you to trust your cycle.
“I’ll end up getting really protective,” he admits, stroking his thumb over the place your tiny baby has decided to settle in and grow. “I went a little crazy with the whole thing before Missy was born. But I’m your man for 3am snack runs, foot massages, a good solid fucking whenever and wherever you want, and keeping every doctor’s appointment scheduled so you don’t have to worry about it.” He already knows you will hate the doctor’s visits. All the poking and prodding will probably give you serious flashbacks, but he will be there to hold your hand every step of the way.
"I love you." You close your eyes and curl into his body, loving how much he is already putting you at ease. "I– Marcus I want you to take me to bed and give me that good solid fucking, and then I want to schedule our first appointment for our baby." You breathe out, your voice wavering slightly with the overwhelming emotions that are coursing through you. "And I can't wait to see protective daddy mode."
Marcus growls playfully, fusing his mouth to yours instantly. It is only a few steps to walk you backward from the en-suite into your bedroom, and he can make the walk from muscle memory alone. “Glad I called out of work,” he mumbles against your lips, already reaching for the hem of your t-shirt. “Gonna spend all day celebrating with you.”
You hum, smiling as he pulls back to lift your shirt over your head. "You seem to like that." You tease playfully, reaching down and cupping his hard length over his jeans. "Spending all day in bed with your wife."
He hisses at your touch, but can’t stop smiling. “Maybe I’m just really, really in love with you.” It’s no word of a lie. The last two months had proved to him that you were always meant to be a part of his life and he had grown exponentially more in love with you every single day. “And maybe I’m also turned on by how excited you are.”
"Mmmm." You love how open and honest he is with you. "I am excited and I want to show you just how excited I am." You normally let Marcus take control in the bedroom, reveling in his more dominant side, but right now you push him back from you slightly, smirking at his confusion as you look at him. "Strip." You order, biting your lip and looking at him in challenge.
His smile quickly morphed into a smirk. “Yes ma’am.” Never one to disobey a pregnant wife, Marcus pulls his t-shirt up over his head and tosses it aside, aiming for the laundry basket but failing miserably since he can’t take his eyes off of you. His favourite trick - undoing a zipper with his powers - comes in handy here and reveals that he hadn’t bothered to put underwear on this morning when he got out of the shower. Stiff and proud, his cock bobs when it’s free of his jeans and his smirk turns darker when he sees your eyes travel south and you bite your bottom lip. “See something you like?” He teases.
You inhale sharply, your own need making you reach for your clothes. "Fuck yes." You moan. "Get on the bed." You order him again, pulling your own shirt over your head and watching him lay down before you push the leggings and underwear you had been wearing down your legs and kick them off. He watches you as you kneel on the bed, making you smirk when he groans, your hands trailing lightly up his thighs. Bending down, your tongue runs up the length of him before coming back down, moving past his shaft and down to the hot and generously full balls beneath. Your lips press against them and you hear his moan when your tongue swipes at the soft skin. Paying special attention to the part of him that had given you such joy.
There is something about the gentleness of your caresses that lights a fire in Marcus as much as his normal rough and ready does. Making love is different than fucking with you - both are intense and highly pleasurable - but lovemaking always seems to press primal buttons in him that keep him close and doting on you for days. He knows that there will be more of this to come, but the sweet way you kiss his body is already making him squirm.
"Never thought I would get to have a baby." You admit, knowing he already knows this, but you feel like it needs to be said. Your lips press against his skin again and again in praise and worship, teasing and admiring. "But you, you gave me one." You realize now that it was your ex that was the issue. He had never shared the results of his tests, claiming they were normal, that you were the problem. Your nails scratch at the skin on his hips while you move up to let your tongue flutter around his frenulum. "Strong, virile and all mine." You whisper.
Marcus preens under your praise, feeling like there’s nothing at all special about him but if you say he’s special to you, then he believes it. Moans litter his responses to your touch, one hand slipping into your hair so he can make sure to see as much of his cock disappearing into your mouth as possible. “Anything for you,” he pants, humming in pleasure. “Try as much as you want or just love the hell out of this baby now.”
You moan around his cock, loving how he wants to give you options, leaving it up to you. "I'll be greedy later." You murmur, pulling off of him and kissing the tip of him, feeling his twitching where your hand is wrapped around the base. "Right now I just want to love the hell out of my baby daddy," you tease, winking up at him before you lick him again. He moans again and you release him, kissing up his stomach before you straddle him. Your dripping core pressing against his cock.
“I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He promises. He gently strokes your clit, loving the way you let him watch your slick cunt slide up and down his length before you sink down on him. His hips buck, already looking more than a little wrecked as his eyes plead with you to keep going.
Your eyes roll back, a soft moan filling the air at how full you feel. His cock fits perfectly inside you and while you know it's all in your mind, you feel more sensitive than you were last night when he had taken you. Your walls flutter around him while you grind down on him and circle your hips slowly, relishing the way that he grabs onto your hips to try to control himself.
“I’m all yours, baby,” he repeats, hissing when you grind down harder into his lap same he plants his feet flat on the bed to fuck up into you with more force. “Yours to use.” There’s a flash of dominance in the statement as he tells you what to do, but he is relinquishing control to you. Letting you set the pace and take what you need.
You moan, jostled on his cock and you love how he hits. Leaning down, you don’t miss how his eyes drift down to your tits, where they are brushing against his chest. “Marcus.” You whine, wanting his mouth on them. You push your chest towards his mouth.
He gladly latches on to one tit, tracing your piercing with his tongue and palming the other to give equal attention. He’s found out that the best way to make you squeal is to play with your tits with his powers, so the hard peak pressing against his palm receives a jolt of energy - just enough to be pleasurable before the threshold of pain. He explores with sucking kisses, already having memorized your body but always wanting to praise your peaks and valleys. He’s sure to leave live bites littered across your torso that the doctor will see but politely not comment on, and he loves it.
Your walls tighten around him, making your hips jerk when he tugs on the piercing with his teeth gently. "Oh fuck baby." you pant out, bouncing on him faster. Your walls slide up and down his shaft, your thighs burning from the fast pace that you start, needing him urgently and wanting to fall apart on him.
He knows that look on your face. He has dirty dreams about that face even though he sees it at least once a day. You’re so close that you would normally be begging if he were in charge. Begging for permission to soak his cock in your release, screaming his name as you came. Marcus loves that look.
He swaps his attention to your other breast and snakes his hand down between you to rub your clit, pushing you even further toward your peak. His spine is tingling deliciously and he knows he’s going to follow you right over the edge.
"Oh God, oh fuck, Marcus." You whimper, barreling closer to cumming, especially when he brings his hand down to rub your clit. The perfect pressure that you love against the sensitive bundle of nerves. "Oh fuck!" You cry out, your body jerking and you collapse on his chest, trying to grind your hips down to keep moving while you cum around him.
He fucks your through your orgasm, rhythmless thrusts jerking deep inside you until thick ropes of his cum paint your cunt and claim it as his. Marcus holds you tight to his chest as you both come down from your high, peppering kisses in your hair and finding your lips sweet, loving kisses. “I guess this is what happens when we never use protection,” he jokes, catching his breath while still inside you.
Your breath catches when you realize that. "Oh God." Your brow furrows and you pull back to look down at him seriously. "I– Marcus I didn't mean for this– how do you feel about this?" You ask. Logically, you know he is happy, he wouldn't have reacted the way that he did, but you had told him that you were safe. That you couldn't have children and now you are pregnant. That miniscule part of you feels like you tricked him into this and that is what is prompting this moment.
“Sweetheart...” he sees the worry in your eyes. The flash of guilt. “Baby, I’m thrilled .” He promises. “Please don’t think of this as some kind of accident.” His arms tighten around you, cradling your body against his. “This is a gift. You never thought you’d get to be a mother and now you can be. Honestly? I love being a dad. And Missy will be a fantastic big sister. Our family is growing and that’s a beautiful thing to be grateful for.”
You slump down against him, relieved by his reassurances. You press your lips to his and sigh, happy that you got to be with this man again. That you were able to even be where you are right now. "I love you, Mr. Moreno." You whisper, smiling against his lips and closing your eyes when his arms tighten around you. "So very much. I am so happy that we got married at our reunion. Best drunk decision I've ever made."
Marcus presses a playful, smacking kiss to your lips. “I wonder who won the bet?” He muses, waggling his eyebrows. “How many of our classmates do you think bet on you getting pregnant on our honeymoon?”
You snicker and bite your lip, contemplating. "Susan and Tim for sure." You guess, grinning down at him. "We will have to announce it on the app after we confirm it with the doctor and see who crows the loudest." You suggest, leaning down and kissing him again.
“We should call the doctor,” he mumbles, now kissing down your jaw and the line of your neck. He absolutely doesn't want to pull out of you even though he’s gone soft inside you, but neither of you has a cell phone nearby and it’s a very important appointment to make.
You murmur a soft protest but start to get off of him. "I guess it's for the best." You grumble before you flash him a grin. "I have to pee again."
“Get ready for a lot of that.” With one more kiss, Marcus lets you off of him and follows you into the bathroom to clean up. “You’re going to be a great mom,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand tight and pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re so good with Missy already. You’re going to be amazing.”
"I hope so." You tell him, nervous but eager to face the challenges that come with motherhood. You break away from him so you can go use the bathroom and clean up. Watching Marcus pick up the pregnancy test and pad out of the room while you finish up, you hear him on the phone, murmuring too low for you to hear and you smile to yourself, your hand drifting down to cover your stomach protectively.
Miracles do happen it seems.
You're married to the first man you've ever loved and are now carrying his baby. You smile, looking down at the test you couldn't resist taking while you were cleaning up. Another pink plus sign, making you truly grateful.
______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    
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ladamedusoif · 4 months
Text
Music (Marcus Moreno x Music Teacher F!Reader)
A Merry Fic-Mas - December 5
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Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, follow @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.
Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Music Teacher F!Reader
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Fluff; intended as taking place after the events of We Can Be Heroes; one very tiny minor swear; Missy plays the trumpet; some references to Christmas carols and A Christmas Carol; yes the denouement is partly inspired by a scene in Love, Actually; no physical descriptions of reader; no use of Y/N; Marcus Moreno in a Fair Isle sweater.
Word count: 1565
Summary: Marcus Moreno is a Band Dad. You’re Missy’s music teacher and director of the junior high school orchestra. And you might have a tiny crush on a Heroic. And where better to realise that than at the holiday concert?
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“Marcus. Marcus. MARCUS!”
Anita Moreno stands in the doorway of her son’s kitchen, wondering why Marcus is so oblivious to her voice as he empties the dishwasher, back turned. 
“Oh, shit!” He lets a plate fall, startled by the seemingly sudden apparition of his mother. “Hi, Mom.” Marcus removes a pair of earplugs, scoops up the broken crockery, and crosses the room to embrace Anita.
“Earplugs, mijo?”
He shrugs and points upstairs, in the general direction of his daughter Missy’s bedroom. The strains of the trumpet solo on Joy to the World float through the house.
“She’s practicing extra hard for the holiday concert in a couple of weeks. She’s really good, Mom, she’s a star soloist. But… there’s only so many times you can hear the same stuff."
Anita huffs a laugh. “Been there, done that. I was secretly very glad when you decided you didn’t want to keep up piano lessons.”
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Your rehearsal with the school orchestra is winding to a close with a final run through of Carol of the Bells, when you catch a glimpse of Marcus Moreno slipping quietly into the little auditorium and taking a seat near the back. He nods towards you in recognition, and you return the gesture while continuing to conduct the musicians. 
Missy joined the orchestra a couple of months after her mother died, the camaraderie and creative outlet a useful form of therapy for a grieving child. Marcus, understandably, had been a little protective of her at first: ensuring he was there to pick her up after evening rehearsals, insisting on driving her to weekend day-long training and performance events, and always being one of the first to arrive for every show.
You had a quiet, teacherly pride in the way Missy had grown in confidence and independence since joining the group. Marcus still sometimes arrived early for pick up, settling in to hear the last piece of music at the back of the room, just like this evening. And he remained an enthusiastic “band dad”, as his Heroic colleagues teasingly called him. He’d worked closely with you on fundraising events over the years, and gladly used his public profile to boost support for programmes designed to give instruments to children otherwise unable to afford them. You had come to enjoy spending time with him, quietly thrilled whenever he would appear at rehearsal or join you at funding drives.
The final note rings out from the handbell section. Your hand signal marks the end of the piece. The teenagers begin chattering excitedly, and Marcus “Band Dad” Moreno applauds in the back row. 
You can’t help but laugh when he starts cheering “Bravo!”, sending a mortified Missy diving for cover behind her trumpet case. He swiftly walks down the aisle when he notices you struggling to fold up the portable music stands, insisting on lending a hand as you start wrangling them off stage. He makes short work of it, lifting them with little to no effort and carrying them in his strong arms.
“Sounding great, as always,” he muses, stacking the stands in the little music store room. “I’m really looking forward to the show. Missy’s been practicing every minute she gets, she’s so excited about that solo.”
“She’s a talented musician, Marcus.” You lean in conspiratorially. “Even so, I hope you have invested in those earplugs I recommended. No matter how talented she is.”
He smiles that warm, genuine smile that somehow feels like the sun coming out, even in the depths of midwinter, and leans even closer. “Two pairs, just in case. And thank you. Seriously, thank you.”
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“Has anyone heard from Missy?”
Your musicians shake their heads. It’s 6.55pm, the show is due to begin at seven, and there’s no sign of your lead trumpeter. The students have been trying to contact her on every social platform they can (and that’s a lot), and you’ve left a voicemail for Marcus.
“I’m going to try her dad one more time. For now: please take your places. If she doesn’t show, we’ll just have to fudge Joy to the World.”
Your left hand twitches nervously as you pace around backstage, listening to the ringing tone on the other end of the line. The telltale click of a call going to voicemail makes your heart sink. 
“Marcus, hi, just me again. Um, we’re a little worried to have not heard from you or Missy and we hope you’re both okay. Please don’t panic and get here whenever you can, okay? But be safe. Hope you’re safe.”
As you hang up, you realise just how worried you are about them. 
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Marcus is getting out of his car before it has fully come to a halt, grabbing Missy’s bags and setting off at speed in the direction of the back entrance into the auditorium when his daughter calls him back. 
“Dad! You forgot to turn off the engine?”
He swears under his breath, sprints back to the vehicle, and grabs Missy by the hand as they run into the school. 
“Do you think we’ve missed your solo? I’m so sorry, sweetheart, you know how work gets sometimes and -”
Missy thinks for a moment, listening carefully to the music coming from the auditorium as she leads her dad down the narrow backstage corridors. “No, they’re still on In the Bleak Midwinter,” she whispers in reply. “Then there’s an intermission, and then it’s Joy to the World.”
Marcus exhales in relief, but keeps up his pace. “Phew. Okay. Guess we have to wait for intermission, right? Do you feel okay? Able to go on? Not too out of breath?”
Missy pats her dad on the arm. “It’s fine, Dad. I’ve got this.”
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The orchestra and vocalists file off for the short intermission and you follow close behind, mentally trying to work out how to cover up the missing solo in the second half of the show. 
And there they are. Missy, silently practicing on her silver trumpet, while Marcus, wearing a dark green sweater with a Fair Isle pattern around the yoke, stands with his arms folded and what can only be described as a look of sheer anxiety on his face.
“You’re here! You’re okay! I mean, uh… you made it!”
Marcus looks up at the sound of your voice and shrugs apologetically. “I’m so sorry, it was…work stuff, I can’t… I’m so sorry, is it still okay for Missy to perform? She’s worked so hard and -”
Instinctively, you place a reassuring hand on his forearm. He feels warm and solid under the soft yarn. 
“Breathe, Marcus. Of course she’s performing. I’m just so happy you’re both here.”
He unfolds his arms, visibly relaxing, and lightly touches your shoulder. “I’m happy we’re here, too.”
Is he…blushing?
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Missy’s solo is, as expected, a triumph. She plays better than she’s ever done before, the house erupting in applause as the piece ends and she takes a special bow. 
You have a little break now from conducting duties, as the orchestra remains on stage while a couple of students from the drama club perform extracts from A Christmas Carol. You return backstage to get a drink of water, and find Marcus standing behind the black curtains serving as a backdrop, peeking through and beaming with pride and delight at his daughter.
“She’s wonderful, Marcus.” 
He nods as you stand beside him. “She is. But she has a great teacher, too. You’ve been so important to us - I mean, to her - the last few years.”
Now it’s your turn to feel heat rise through your body as you become aware of just how close you are to him, of the feelings that refuse to go away, no matter how much you try to suppress them. 
Even in the semi-darkness, you can see how he’s looking at you from behind his glasses. Warm. Kind. And…wanting?
There’s no one else around. Everyone else is either on stage or in the auditorium. 
You move closer simultaneously, leaning in and inclining your head in anticipation of what you think - hope - is about to happen. And then those big, broad hands are caressing your face and cradling it as his plush lips meet yours, his moustache a little ticklish against the soft skin of your mouth, and your arms wrap around Marcus’s broad body as his kiss intensifies.
The student acting as narrator is declaiming how Ebenezer Scrooge was a second father to Tiny Tim - who did not die - as Marcus Moreno holds you tight and kisses you. Even Dickens couldn’t top this.
And then you forget, for an instant, where you are. Marcus shifts just a little too much to the right, you move with him, and with a thundering crash the backdrop falls from the rigging to the floor, exposing the two of you wrapped around each other.
The kid playing Tiny Tim isn’t going to let anything interrupt his big moment, not even the music teacher making out with a literal superhero on stage during the big holiday concert. As the auditorium gasps, the orchestra swivels and stares, and Missy slumps forward and groans, he doesn’t miss a beat as he throws his arms wide and proclaims: “God bless us, every one!”
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